Literature
An Exercise in Gratitude
He's looking at me again.
It's been four years since the incident, and the boy with the bread still watches me from across the hallways, or our math classroom, or from the other side of the yard after school. And I wish he wouldn't. It's driving me crazy.
Right now, it's in the middle of our math class. He's sitting with his head stooped over his desk, seemingly concentrating on something, but I see it. Every so often he turns his head slightly and I catch those blue eyes on me again. He must be wondering why I never said anything to him about it, why I never thanked him for how he helped me those years ago. Because why else would he still