I turn around and smile pleasantly. "Wesley." Really, it was a surprise that I had even remembered his name. "Are you in this class?" Wow. For deals right now? Thats the best you could come up with? Besides my total inability to fraternize I was glad to see him in such high spirits.
Wesley laughs. He thrusts a hand through his lush golden hair and grins at me. His brilliant white pearls showing. "Actually, you're in my seat."
"Oh...I see." No amount of hair in my face could hide the embarrassment I felt just then. "Yeah, sure of course! I'm so sorry." I stutter and cringe at how unbearably dumb I sounded. Get it together you dope Geez. Of course I was sitting in his seat. DUH. What other reason would he talk to me. Great, he's staring at me now. He was probably wondering why I was staring off into nothing again. I really needed to get a handle on that.
In a rush and because he was staring intently at me, I shoved my papers across the table to the other side all the while feeling his eyes on me. It was unnerving when he looked at me and I was nervous because he wouldn't take his eyes off me. Creeped out, I keep my head down and force myself to move my things quickly that way he didn't have to look at me anymore.
Rushing, I get up with breakneck speed pretending like I was totally cool and unfazed when really I was dying inside with embarassment. Kudos to Wesley for not mentioning how disgustingly red my face had to have gotten just then. Stupid light skin. I couldn't sneeze without turning some shade of red. I swiftly sit my butt in the other chair and without looking up- because I couldn't trust that I would not say something totally stupid- I opened my notebook and copied what was on the board.
Wesley lifts his shoulder bag up on the desk and sets his binder out. From the corner of my eye I wHdiscreetly watch him open a three ring legal size binder. He fingers down the sharp printed high quality pro tabs in six beautiful colors and stops at the fourth one. Turning a page he writes in pen, neat strokes curving upward in perfect eligible cursive. "I was beginging to wonder when I would get a new partner." he muses aimlessly without my prompting for a conversation.
I didn't comment. What was a seventeen year old girl pretending to be normal supposed to say to that? And then the image of Dr. Cambridge came into mind as I thought of how she would encourage me to breath three times before I spoke. But I panick and so I don't listen to Dr. Cambridge. Not this time Doc, I just can't. I tell the representation, a figment of my imagination that looked at me with that same likeness of dissapointment Dr. Cambridge did whenever I failed to try one of her exercises.
He lets the conversation linger on a cliff of unspoken words as we become engrossed in the assignment. I didn't see reason to interupt the collaborative steady rythym we had going: the silence intermitedly filled with each stroke of our writing utensils, the ball point scratching fresh paper line after line, a cacophony of lengthy pages getting shuffled and flattened out as we jotted down notes.
All of a sudden I heard myself talk without someone else initiating the conversation. It felt strangly involuntary. Like my frontal lobe and the muscles in my lower jaw worked simultaneously without my permission leaving me tongue-tied. I couldn't take it back now. I didn't know what was worse; if he chose not to answer me or if I let my stupid mouth keep rambling.
"Oh? What of the other one?" I blamed my interest in making small talk because of the unfinished conversation we had not long ago. Normally I wouldn't care but I wanted to know more about Wesley and since I was starting a new leaf I figured it was best to start off with light topics that I could handle. Dr. Cambridge smiled at me, clearly she was won over. I was equally as proud of myself except I was still worried I might say the wrong thing. I never knew talking was so exhausting.
"Transfered over to biology, sociology, and economic issues. Ever heard of it?" He asks me half-hazardly, uncapping a big yellow marker with one hand.
I shake my head unfamiliar with the name and tell him "No." Before admitting how ignorant I was. Not even the psychiatric ward I went to could compare.
Turns out, more professors taught at Starkhouse than I had first surmised which seemed appropriate given how substantially enormous Starkhouse was compared to my other school. I watched him mark a string of bright yellow lines on the paper. As we continued the invigorating conversation that always seemed to have gigantic pauses between the both of us I cast sideways glances at Wesley's open paged assignment because I was curious.
I shouldn't have been surprised that his handwriting was impeccably intricate right down to the somewhat slanted lowercase t's and f's. He seemed like the type of kid any parent would show off. I thought the way he wrote was kind of cute in a familiar signature sort of way.
Wesley nods his approval of me. "Good." He looks up at me, those blue eyes brimming with intensity. "Professor Snodgrass is a total prick." he sneers vehemently.
I didn't get to ask what he meant by that because suddenly Miss Donovan spoke out of her characters narrative.
"Mr. AppleTree, you're late."
I knew when Miss. Donovan was annoyed because she spoke with a high-pitched accent. Like the one she directed toward a certain untimely miscreant.
I sit back and watch him get out of this one.
Wesley smiles cordially at the Professor. At all times he was attentive and gracious unlike me who sat with a stupid looking expression on my face. Wesley put on a good show.
"Forgive me Miss. Donovan but I did not think it was prudent to interrupt your inspirational pep talk."
I cover my shit-eat grin. Wesley was missing the hearts and flowers. It was indearing to witness Wesley's charisma affect the professor and a little awe-inspiring.
"Whilst you were so eloquently teaching I put a slip right beside to your laptop." Wesley was the epitome of polite, respectful, and cordial, no surprise there.
When Miss Donovan speaks I was positive it was not the reaction Wesley had hoped for. Increasingly annoyed, Miss donovan raises one black brow. "Very well, then." The professor sneers and gives Wesley a sour look before parading over to her desk. The heel from her boots left a click-clack staccato as she made her stretch across the emaculate marble.
The professor turns half her body around and with a very serious look that dared anyone to interrupt her, extends the reprimand to the entire class. "A piece of paper entrusted by the admissions office might reprieve simple matters of assembly, but does not by any means exclude any of you from partaking discussion. My expectations from each of you is high. You are here for an education not to monkey around and waste my time, is that understood?" And with that Miss Donovan retired to her desk with an irate look of disapproval that I was sure was meant for Wesley.
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