When people describe me, they usually say the same thing.
“Kyle? Man, he’s such a cool guy!”
“Kyle is so cool! He has an air of mystery about him.”
In the eyes of the world, I am cool. Girls also like the term mysterious. In my opinion, I am just shy. I do not talk much and fumble with what to say to people. I usually sit in the back, trying to remain unnoticed by teachers and students alike. I kept to myself, reading a book or drawing. This worked for me--until I entered high school.
Tenth grade started on a low note over the summer. Mom forced me to go clothes shopping since I had shot up about six inches in two months. I hate stores and crowds. All those people make me nervous.
The first day of class, I took a seat in the back of the room and pulled out a book like usual. The talking died down to whispers, which was unusual. I looked up from my book to see what everyone was whispering about. A group of girls in one corner kept looking at me and giggling. Some boys by the window were discussing some sport, and occasionally looked in my direction. My hands started shaking. Why are they looking at me?
“Hey,” one of the boys said to me, “What’s your name?”
I froze. “Name’s Kyle,” I replied, internally flinching at my deep voice. The boy nodded and rejoined his friends. A few of the girls blushed and whispered more fervently.
“So his name is Kyle? He is so cool!”
I still do not understand why everyone thinks I am cool. I am not even sure what it means in particular. Nevertheless, I accept their words and move on, hoping to gain enough confidence to ask them why.
