Ryan, all tall and lanky-looking, sighed enviously at Emily, subconsciously imitating the Leaning Tower of Pisa. It was so obvious he liked Alana. I wondered why he hadn’t just got with the programme and asked her out. I mean, it was obvious the feelings were mutual.
The routine catch-up at the top of the stairs continued then, without my cerebral focus. They were all smiling and talking, but I couldn’t really hear them. My thoughts were off with my troubles, somewhere in clueless land. David wasn’t really present, either. He was smiling and talking, too, but kept looking at me with those narrowed eyes—studying me—probably unaware he was even staring. And all my brain could do was worry that he felt he’d made a mistake talking with me that way last night. But I could feel the energy between us, still alive as always, and after praying so hard, every breath of yesterday afternoon, that he’d lean forward and kiss me, I think I grew a little tired of wishing. Yet, despite that, I still kept looking at his lips, imagining it. My feelings had manifested overnight and ‘I think I like holding your hand’ was not going to do for me. Not long term. Either he had a confession of love buried somewhere in those emerald eyes, or I needed to go to therapy.
David laughed, catching a paper canon, then hurled it up the back of the room where its journey ended on the brow of a football jock. I slinked down lower in my chair; I’d really rather avoid getting a headache from unfinished English homework. It was bad enough that Mr B, with his strict designated seating plan, placed me right up front, right next to David. Not that I minded the David part, I was just kinda worried I might do something to embarrass myself—like drool all over his notebook or start playing footsies with him under the table.
“Morning, class.” Mr Benson walked in, oblivious to the origami air-raid going on behind him.
David sat quickly in his seat, playing the good student.
“Faker,” I scoffed.
He opened his mouth to speak, then dropped his words with a smile as his hand shot up behind his head. Everyone behind us broke into claps and cheers. “Nice catch, man,” one of the jocks called.
“Settle down, class.” Mr Benson eyed the room for a second before turning back to write on the board.
Totally and utterly confused, I frowned at David. What the hell was all that about?
He smiled broadly and opened his palm to reveal a paper cannon.
“Did you just catch that behind your head? Without looking?”
He dumped the scrunched up paper onto his desk and leaned closer. “Of course not. I just made it look that way.”
“Well, you’re a good catch. Er. I mean catcher.”
He looked to the front of the class, crossing his arms over his chest, laughing to himself.
I left my lips slightly open as I smiled, because the sweet scent of his cologne brushed pleasantly over my tongue every time he leaned in or spoke. He smelled so fresh, like he’d just stepped out of the shower, still steaming and hot, then sprayed deodorant all over his skin.
“I need everyone to take out their notepads and jot some notes down for...” Mr Benson started, but I lost focus as David leaned down and unzipped his bag. With his body angled that way, one side lengthened, his arm slightly up, stretching forward, his cologne dominated our private little space; I drew a really deep breath, then opened my eyes slowly—meeting with his direct gaze.
“You okay?” He held back a chuckle, placing two pens and two notepads on his desk.
“Uh. Yeah.”
“Were you…thinking about ice cream?”
“Ice cream?”
“Yeah.” He bit his lip, looking at mine. “You looked like one of those girls off a seductive ice cream commercial.”
I flashed him a grin and he sat back, breathing out his laughter.
“Okay.” Mr Benson folded his arms, leaning on the front of his desk. “Today, we’ll be having a class discussion about…”
Toes in the sand—standing on a beach at sunset, kissing, making everyone who passes jealous...
“Ara?” Mr Benson said. “Perhaps you can answer that question for us?”
“Uh—” I sat up a little. Crap!
David nudged me and held out three fingers under the desk.
“Um—three?” I said.
“That’s correct.” Mr B turned back to the board. “There were three characters in…”
“Thanks,” I whispered.
“Don’t mention it.” David folded his arms again and kicked his legs out straight in front of him, crossing his ankles. He was wearing those heavy black boots again; I’d seen him in those nearly every day, except yesterday, when we sat on the grass by my swing, talking for hours—our fingers entwined; his cold, like mine, yet warmer than mine. It felt so good, but for such a short time, because as soon as the sun went down, he left. I offered him to stay for dinner, but he said he already had plans. Talk about disappointment.
I wanted to touch his fingers again—to make sure they really felt the way I remembered.
When David’s head turned to watch the pacing teacher move around the class, I stared down at his hand, just to gauge the distance. Maybe I could accidentally brush past him or…
“You could at least try to concentrate.” He leaned his head a little closer as he spoke, keeping his eyes forward, his arms folded.
How could I concentrate when every time he breathed, I could feel it and hear it? All I wanted was to rest my head against his chest and listen to his heart.
“Ara, stop that,” he whispered gruffly.
“Stop what?”
“You…you know that look you get—when you’re thinking…things?”
“Mm?”
His lips parted, his eyes sparkling with a grin. “Well, you’re…thinking.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t sit next to me then,” I whispered back playfully.
“I shall ask Mr Benson to move my seat if you wish,” he muttered.
“No, David, I—”
“Eyes forward please, Miss Thompson,” Mr Benson said.
The eyes of every student in the class made my spine go stiff. Damn this tongue.
When Mr Benson looked away, I tore a strip of paper from my notepad, coughing over the sound it made. David smiled, watching my crafty display of rebellion. “What are you doing?” he whispered so low it was only his cool breath I heard as his lips shaped the words.
“Shh.” I frowned at him and nodded toward the teacher.
“Show me,” he said, leaning over to look at the paper.