his thick, heavily sticky-noted notebook, glanced at it,
and dropped back onto his wood desk with a resounding plop – “no,
those were the only ones, so now we can actually get something
done.”
Mid-semester or not, that
was unfair. It wasn’t like I’d done it on purpose. But my cheeks
still flushed. I couldn’t see Camille’s face up at the front of the
room, but I learned she was left-handed by the way she somewhat
awkwardly situated herself to take notes in a right-handed desk. I
bent to retrieve my notebook and pencil from my bag, and tried to
use the opportunity to sneak a glance at some of my other
classmates. Though only a cursory look, it was clear that the
beautiful people lived in the back left corner, furthest from the
door. There was a blonde girl who had the looks and posture of a
model, another girl who was a brunette but otherwise matched her,
and two guys sitting against the back wall. One had tousled brown
hair that made him look like he’d just woken up, so therefore had
probably been styled within an inch of its life; he was staring out
the window with his chin in his hand, looking bored to tears. The
fourth was him .
The guy from the atrium was twirling his pencil in his fingers,
apparently paying far more attention than the other three combined
as Mr. Tailor talked about the social norms of Elizabethan England
that informed the opening act of A
Midsummer Night’s Dream. I continued to
rummage in my bag as a pretense to keep staring surreptitiously.
Maybe my initial impression had been wrong. He was actually far
plainer than the other three. When I considered him separately,
nothing about him actually stood out, despite the fact that he was
Asian.
His eyes flicked to mine, and he winked.
I straightened up in a
flash. My hands were uncommonly steady as I opened my notebook and
found a clean page to take notes, but my brain was endlessly
repeating what was that? What was that? What was that?
Plain? No. No, certainly not. I couldn’t
believe that had even crossed my mind. I kept flashing back to his
almond-shaped eyes as they locked onto mine for that brief instant,
and my heart constricted.
Oh crap.
I didn’t think I heard any of the rest of
the lecture, but apparently my right hand could take notes
separately from my brain, because when the bell rang I had a full
three pages of scribbling about Demetrius and Hermia’s parallels to
– I balked at my own handwriting – Romeo and Juliet? How had I
missed the mention of my namesake? I sighed and hoisted my bag over
my shoulder.
Mac approached with his tall friend behind
him. He had the grace to look sheepish this time. “Sorry, that
probably wasn’t the best intro ever.”
“ Well,” I said, “I survived,
I guess.” Boy, did I sound positive. I glanced fearfully at Mr.
Tailor, but he was focused on Camille collecting her belongings,
like she would steal something if he looked away. Teachers around
here seemed to really not like her...
“ We have chemistry with Ms.
Miller next,” Mac explained, bringing my attention back to him.
“She’s way nicer,” he said in an undertone. “The labs are down in
the basement, did you want us to show you where? Oh, this is
Destin,” he introduced his friend, the tall, lanky boy with dusky
cinnamon-colored skin and overlong bangs. He gave an awkward
wave.
A slender arm looped through
mine. I looked in shock at the girl who’d moved up next to me; it
was the blonde Model, with her matching friend in tow. “Let me save
you the embarrassment,” she told me condescendingly, drawing a
circle in the air around Mac and Destin with her finger. “This is a
girl-free zone. Come on, we’ll show you where chemistry is.” She pulled me away
before I could say another word. We passed Camille on the way out
of the room and her brow creased slightly, noting my unexpected
change in escort.
The Model weaved us expertly through the
crowd of students changing classes. Some people even seemed to
and dropped back onto his wood desk with a resounding plop – “no,
those were the only ones, so now we can actually get something
done.”
Mid-semester or not, that
was unfair. It wasn’t like I’d done it on purpose. But my cheeks
still flushed. I couldn’t see Camille’s face up at the front of the
room, but I learned she was left-handed by the way she somewhat
awkwardly situated herself to take notes in a right-handed desk. I
bent to retrieve my notebook and pencil from my bag, and tried to
use the opportunity to sneak a glance at some of my other
classmates. Though only a cursory look, it was clear that the
beautiful people lived in the back left corner, furthest from the
door. There was a blonde girl who had the looks and posture of a
model, another girl who was a brunette but otherwise matched her,
and two guys sitting against the back wall. One had tousled brown
hair that made him look like he’d just woken up, so therefore had
probably been styled within an inch of its life; he was staring out
the window with his chin in his hand, looking bored to tears. The
fourth was him .
The guy from the atrium was twirling his pencil in his fingers,
apparently paying far more attention than the other three combined
as Mr. Tailor talked about the social norms of Elizabethan England
that informed the opening act of A
Midsummer Night’s Dream. I continued to
rummage in my bag as a pretense to keep staring surreptitiously.
Maybe my initial impression had been wrong. He was actually far
plainer than the other three. When I considered him separately,
nothing about him actually stood out, despite the fact that he was
Asian.
His eyes flicked to mine, and he winked.
I straightened up in a
flash. My hands were uncommonly steady as I opened my notebook and
found a clean page to take notes, but my brain was endlessly
repeating what was that? What was that? What was that?
Plain? No. No, certainly not. I couldn’t
believe that had even crossed my mind. I kept flashing back to his
almond-shaped eyes as they locked onto mine for that brief instant,
and my heart constricted.
Oh crap.
I didn’t think I heard any of the rest of
the lecture, but apparently my right hand could take notes
separately from my brain, because when the bell rang I had a full
three pages of scribbling about Demetrius and Hermia’s parallels to
– I balked at my own handwriting – Romeo and Juliet? How had I
missed the mention of my namesake? I sighed and hoisted my bag over
my shoulder.
Mac approached with his tall friend behind
him. He had the grace to look sheepish this time. “Sorry, that
probably wasn’t the best intro ever.”
“ Well,” I said, “I survived,
I guess.” Boy, did I sound positive. I glanced fearfully at Mr.
Tailor, but he was focused on Camille collecting her belongings,
like she would steal something if he looked away. Teachers around
here seemed to really not like her...
“ We have chemistry with Ms.
Miller next,” Mac explained, bringing my attention back to him.
“She’s way nicer,” he said in an undertone. “The labs are down in
the basement, did you want us to show you where? Oh, this is
Destin,” he introduced his friend, the tall, lanky boy with dusky
cinnamon-colored skin and overlong bangs. He gave an awkward
wave.
A slender arm looped through
mine. I looked in shock at the girl who’d moved up next to me; it
was the blonde Model, with her matching friend in tow. “Let me save
you the embarrassment,” she told me condescendingly, drawing a
circle in the air around Mac and Destin with her finger. “This is a
girl-free zone. Come on, we’ll show you where chemistry is.” She pulled me away
before I could say another word. We passed Camille on the way out
of the room and her brow creased slightly, noting my unexpected
change in escort.
The Model weaved us expertly through the
crowd of students changing classes. Some people even seemed to
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