His eyes. Dang it, those observant eyes of his. Connected to his immaculate brain, he can survey the surroundings in an instant. His face is cold and calculating, ironically fitting for a genius like himself. But when he smiles, he flashes his perfectly symmetrical white pearls, and fine, it may capture the hearts of many, but it certainly will never capture mine.

He has a stupid smirk.

It’s a grin that screams, “I know I’m the best, and I want you to know too.”

I’ll never forget. That moment he won 1st place, and I had to stand beside him like an idiot, lowered on the ‘2nd place’ podium, which honestly could have been named ‘the biggest loser’, for it gave the same effect.

Jealousy is an ugly emotion. I know. But what else was I meant to feel? I didn’t feel admiration, looking up at him from my depressing podium stand, that’s for sure.

Even his hair is pretty. That’s not fair. It’s short and curly, dark and soft. He has a slender figure, and he always looks so neat and precise. Like he has his mind set on something, and he will achieve it without trying.

His face, his hair, his eyes…

He has it all.

Intelligence and talent, appearance and personality.

Of course.

He’s perfect, after all.

And I’m always just the runner up loser.

[ I write this based off of experience funnily enough … darn high school maths contests. 2nd place hurts, even after giving it my all ]