---Tweek's pov---

I stared at him. I always do. Who pays attention in math class anyway?

I look over his bored expression, his black hair that messily - yet hotly - falls out of his blue hat and barely hangs above his eyes. His dark blue, eyes that swim in emotion. They're so attractive... Even from afar. If you ever look in them you can see exactly what he's feeling.

His blemish less, perfect skin. His toned body, that attracts all the girls. He's tall too. Really tall.

I'm jealous of how perfect he is. I wish I was more like him, but I don't just envy and look up to him, I'm also in love with him.

No one knows. It's not hard to keep a secret when no one talks to you unless it's one of those days where they call you twitchy, spaz, fag, or a combination of them or some unique insult.

I continue to stare at him and wonder how someone could be so special, so perfect, so godly and still be on this Earth, while the teacher rambled on about functions and coordinate planes.

He was so much better than me. In every way. He looked over at me, and narrowed his eyes.

I instantly snap my neck the other way, staring at the wall. I feel his eyes burning holes in my head.

This is going to be a long class.