Is my short story for the Seventeen short story contest good?

Question

I was at his locker when I told him.

“So…you…like me?” He mumbled a little, his voice dropping a fraction as he took in the crowd around him. “Wha-I…I’m..do you…?” he stuttered as he twisted open his locker and began to shove books and papers in. His body was lean but tall, and I could tell that he couldn’t even fit part of his torso inside. But he was trying to hide from me. I could tell.

He doesn’t like you back, Sam. It’s no big deal. No big fat deal.

But it was. It was to me. I just wanted to see what he would say.

I had to say something. “So…” I moved closer to him, and tilted my head to the side, sweeping my dark multicolored hair out of my eyes.

At the sound of my voice, he froze, stopping all the movement of his hands. Slowly, he glanced up at me.

I lost myself in his eyes. They were the color of coffee, a deep rich color, and I felt myself slowly falling into them, and into their profound temptations.

I blinked. When I came to the view of his face again, however, I saw he was still there, in the same position as he was in before, just watching me. I cleared my throat, trying to get over the magical affect he had on me. “So…” I said again, this time more firmly.

Standing up straight, he clicked his locker shut, and then gradually, he turned to face me, shoving his slim hands into his pocket. I glanced over his body in one quick motion. Thick jet black hair, beautiful face, slender body. Yup. Just as gorgeous as ever. He had changed from his normal blue jeans look to his soccer jersey and shorts, and I couldn’t help but love him. He wasn’t like other boys. He just wasn’t. Coming from Spain only a half a year before, Pedro was the only boy I knew who I had an ounce of respect for. The first time I met him I was running to photo class, because I was fifteen minutes late. It was the grunge period in life, and I was wearing a long faded gray ripped tee with dark navy blue leggings, running through the lengthy hallways of Howard High. It was so cliché, the way we met. He was coming out of the counselor’s office right as I was rounding the corner. I didn’t see the door opening. I just remember the darkness. And then a gorgeous face was hovering over me. It couldn’t have been anything other than an angel. I knew I was dead. I remember groaning, and then it hit me. His smile. His teeth were a bright white and they seemed to glisten against the tan of his skin. And then the gorgeous angel picked me right up in his arms and walked me to the nurse. When she saw him walk in she ran at him at once, and he slid me into the bed in the backroom. And then he left me in the room alone. I could hear him mumbling to himself in the doorway of the nurse’s office, and then, before I knew it, he had come striding back into the room, taking my hand, and saying in a slow thick accent, “I am so very sorry.” I remember laughing at him, and then when his look turned puzzled, I mumbled slowly, “It’s ok…you’re new to this country, aren’t you?” He nodded his head, and I whispered to him, “call me Sam.”

And so he did. But now as he stood here in front of me, that strikingly beautiful face and those passionate chocolate eyes staring me down, I couldn’t help but yearn for that first day again, when he held me in his arms and carried me as if I were a feather all the way to the nurse’s office. And how he stayed with me while they nursed me, even when she insisted that he go to class. And the way he held my hand, and whispered Spanish songs into my ear, the words tickling my earlobes and swimming through my ears as if it were a lullaby.

“Sam.” My name on his tongue broke me from my daydream. Looking up at him once again, I tried to see what was inside of him by looking into his eyes. But all I could see was…”Sam, I don’t know what to say.” At those words, I slammed my eyelids shut, shaking my head back and forth. They hit me like a rocket, and I felt my body trembling with the blow.

“Sam?”

Opening my eyes, I glimpsed at him. On his face was a look of total pity, and a tiny flare of anger welled up inside me.

“Pedro, it’s cool. I get it. Don’t worry about it.”

And then I twisted on my heel and halfway ran down the hall. I heard him call my name. Sam. Sam. Sam! once, twice, three times. But then I was too far away to try and listen to the words I didn’t want him to say.

Hours later I was slumped out on my lumpy bed, strumming my guitar, my baby, thinking of what had happened. My fingers licked the strings sadly, and before I knew it, I was creating a song, something I hadn’t ever been able to do. Not when I was turned down at my seventh grade dance. Not when my best friend moved away. Not even when my parents decided to split. But right now my head was spinning with thoughts of Pedro, and before I knew it, I had a song. My first song. Which I had to play at Showboat on Friday.

***

The stage was brighter when you were on it. The lights shine down much brighter then you think, and the heat the

Answer 1

I really liked it, especially the ending.  

Answer 2

i liked it

it was great!!

good luck=]

Answer 3

i thought it was pretty good!