She is jealous. She wants what they have, the can’t-eat, can’t-sleep, reach-for-the-stars, over-the-fence, world-series kind of love. Or what she assumes they have, because he looks at her in such a way and she talks about him in such a way that there’s no other explanation for it.
She wants to know every detail of their relationship, so that when she sleeps she can dream that it is her and the boy she loves, though she knows that when she wakes nothing will have changed. She will still be too shy, he will still not see her that way; she will still be jealous.
She imagines herself wearing the white-gold rings, sharing the covers with someone; snuggling under a blanket with a puppy tucked at their feet. She imagines it but deep down knows she won’t ever be that girl. Any ring will probably remain on a chain around her neck for otherwise she will lose it, she can’t even share covers with a friend, and if anything the dog will be snuggled under the blanket with her before the man is. She likes to pretend though.
She imagines that one day someone’s hand will fit in hers, and that is really what she wants the most. She wants to feel their fingers threaded together, and she’s excited for the day he will eventually come, if only because then she will finally have a hand to hold that doesn’t let go when someone better comes along.
She will probably always be jealous of them. She will always see the look in his eyes and hear the words fall from her lips and know that their world-series love is more than she can ever hope for.
