Tomorrow I will watch KF make endearing gestures and explain Plato with a callous thoroughness that leaves nothing to be desired and everything to be appreciated. My attention will, undoubtably, be drawn to the way his well-worn jeans clash with his crisp dress shirt and the solid thighs and heavy cock that must lurk underneath.
Tomorrow I will see scruffy-cute (over whom I will swoon) and small-and-dear (to whom I will be respectfully endeared) and spindly-grace (over whom I will indulge in a moment of intense envy).
Tomorrow I will hang on to M's every word and revel in her innocently erotic hand gestures as she inevitably surpasses the lecturer in wit, depth and grace. She will coax, desperately, drivel from our brains and teach us inexorable truths through a perfect combination of poise and potty-mouthed conveyance. I will, more than once, each, be distracted by her perfect tiny mouth, her broad sweeping cheekbones, the crinkle of her eyes, her unbelievably hourglass figure.
Tomorrow I will learn something new from the cafeteria ladies, just like every other day.
Tomorrow I will go to practice where R will work us like dogs. Where R will love us and ply us and shape us into something potentially prepared for success. I wish him luck. With an extra bit of luck, N will be there too, and I will be able to revel in their togetherness. I will adore them and I will loathe myself. I will work hard (but not hard enough) beside other girls pouring their blood, sweat, tears and brains onto the field, together, and I will wish that we could be good enough for R. My eyes will slip, repeatedly and undeniably, to his broad, rough fingers, to her tiny, crinkled laugh lines, to his long, lean legs, to the perfect cut of her teeth when she laughs.
I promise to hate that I procrastinate, to hate my ignorance and most of all, to hate myself.