No Face to be Seen

There’s a boy in my class. He wears the same sweatshirt to school every day. I still think he’s cute. It’s his hair. It’s the way it curls up around the beanie. There’s just one problem. I’ve never seen his whole face. His name is James.

He wears his mask all the time. I asked my friend, Carter, whether James takes his mask off when he changes in P.E. 

“Nah,” Carter said. “The man’s a mystery.”

Part of me wants to see his face. I want to hold his nose and lips in my eyes. I dress down his mask and imagine finding an angular jawline. Maybe he has a broken nose. That’d be hot. Maybe his teeth are perfect, or just a little crooked. That’d be a reminder of his realness. 

“Maybe the dhude has some sick problem,” Carter suggested. We were eating bagels on the south quad between 3rd and 4th periods. “Like, what if he has lymphoma or some shit. Compromised immune system.” We each tore off pieces of bagels and tossed some crumbs to the crows near our feet.

I never spoke to James. He never spoke to me. He didn’t speak at all, really. The teacher never called on him. Perhaps it was an agreement. 

When the state decided to lift the mask mandate, I practically squeeked. I texted Carter. “You think he’ll still wear a mask?” 

“TF? nah. noone wants too wear those,” Carter replied. “todays youre day. James ‘the man behind the mask’ lol.” 

When I got to school, I rushed to homeroom. I sat in the corner. I had my phone in front of me, but I was just watching the door. Minutes went by. No James. Then the bell rang. 

I never saw James again.