The Thorned Rose

We took seats in the back of class. Then a boy waltzed in the room. His kind of long-for-a-boy, straight, brown hair lay combed down over his face, down to his nose. He threw his head to the left, so his gorgeous, yes, I said gorgeous, blue eyes could see. "Who is that? I asked, leaning toward Kel. He fidgeted with his imaginary glasses and squinted a bit. "Well, I believe - holy crap, that's Mason Pelt. "No flipping way! I exclaimed in a whispering manner. "Hey, Mason, Kel called. "Uh, yeah? a deep voice somehow managed itself from this boy. Last year he was skin and bones, a complete nerd with a horrible sense of fashion. I guess puberty brought out the man in him. Whoo!