Your Head

by Monica Lyrehart

You carefully part your braids, left and right, and watch yourself in the mirror as you leave.

Downstairs, Mom expertly flips pancakes, passing Dad a plate without turning.

You keep your eyes on the clock and your breakfast, the analog arms ticking red circles in your syrupy stack. You can't miss the bus today. Not when hooded and handsome in the rear row has been darting glances at you, as if you can't see him just as well from the back.

Not many people wear hoods since The Opening, but God is it a mood.

When he glances over the seat, you wink, mimicking the act with the front pair.

He blushes.

Monica Lyrehart is an author, poet, and artist. She lives in the USA, wrangling and teaching three little goblins who are a lot smarter and more empathic than her. She is forthcoming or published in Twist Lit Magazine, Quotidian Bagatelle, and Rat Bag Magazine. Find her on bsky or MonicaLyrehart.com