Blonde hair. Greasy, but fashionably so. Messy, but purposefully so. Everything about you was screaming, "I'm trying very hard to look like I'm not trying very hard. Notice me! Don't notice me!"
I noticed you.
I heard you as you walked into the bathroom, shouting into your cell phone, "God, I need some pot!" I waited for you as dozens of other women entered the restroom after you and exited before you. I watched in confusion when you finally emerged thirty minutes later with a woman who must have been twice your age, calling out to her, "I love you, babe!" (She was wearing a dirty baseball cap and rumpled clothes; she appeared to spend her free time rolling in automotive fluids and cigarette butts. She loves you, too.) I flashed you a sad smile when I saw you being escorted by a campus security guard later in the day.
I noticed you, but I think I should have hugged you instead.