“Hey, Luke,” said my best friend James awkwardly, running a hand through his sandy brown hair. He looked at the ground for a moment before meeting my eyes. “Sorry about your mom. You know, if there’s anything I can do . . .”

I swallowed hard. It was my first day back at school after the funeral, and although it was good to see James again, I didn’t know how I was going to make it through the day. “Yeah,” I managed to say. “Thanks, James.”

He nodded uncomfortably. “So yeah . . . Are you coming to English?”

I followed him into the large brick building, towards our English classroom. The minute I walked in, everyone was silent. A few kids came up to me and said how sorry they were about my mother, and I just nodded tersely. What can you say to that?

Then I noticed her.

She was sitting in the third row of the classroom, her clear blue eyes scanning the room uneasily. She was slim and petite, with waist-length platinum blonde hair and clear, pale skin.

I knew the instant I saw her that I was in love.

Ambling over to the girl, I plopped into the seat next to her and said, “Hi.”

Her eyes widened when she saw me, but she relaxed after the initial shock. “Hi.”

“My name’s Lucas,” I told her.

She held out her hand shyly. “I’m Caitlin.”

“Are you new here?”

She nodded.

“Did you just move here?”

Caitlin hesitated for a moment, but before she could answer, Mark, whose seat I was sitting in, came up behind me. “Yo, dude. You’re sitting in my seat.” Mark was one of those guys who looked out of place at school. Heck, he was one of those guys who looked out of place without a cigarette dangling from his lips.

I got up and retreated to my own seat just in time to see Mark slip an arm around Caitlin. “Yo, ****. What’s a pretty girl like you doing talking to a loser like Lukie there? You wanna hang out sometime with me? I’ll introduce you to some cool dudes.”

She pulled away from him. “Leave him alone. His mother just died, for God’s sake.”
I looked over at her. How did she know my mother had just died? Did news spread that fast, even to the new kids? I sighed, but was comforted when Caitlin smiled at me. Boy, she was drop-dead gorgeous.

Our English teacher, Mr. Devili, trudged into the classroom. He was a tall, paunchy man with thick spectacles who had been teaching at our school for at least half a century. All of us wished he would just retire already, because he was easily the most annoying teacher of them all. With his monotone voice, he only had to drone on for ten minutes before we all lost interest and either started texting, reapplying makeup, picking fingernails, doodling, or sleeping.

“Hello, class,” drawled Mr. Devili. “Everyone take out your textbooks and turn to page 96.”

We heaved a collective sigh but obediently opened our textbooks. “All right,” said Mr. Devili. “Who read the poem for homework?”

I hadn’t, so I quickly scanned the poem. It was called Richard Cory and it wasn’t actually a bad poem, considering that it was part of the eleventh grade curriculum.

I tuned out as he spoke, instead focusing my attention on Caitlin, who was actually paying attention to Mr. Devili. Wow, a pretty girl who also cared about school! But something about her niggled me, although I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. She felt familiar somehow, even though I was just meeting her today. Something just wasn’t right.

I shook off that feeling and instead imagined what it would be like to run my fingers through that silky blonde hair.

I’m a 14 y/o aspiring writer. Is this good and how can I improve?