Wednesday, February 20 – 3:45 PM
Owen
“And for this next part, there were a bunch of ways you could set up your hypothesis grid. I’m only going to cover one of them, but go ahead and bring up your questions after class if you did it differently.”
The dry-erase marker squeaks as I sketch out the answer to the last question of the test. Only two students out of the twenty in my section got it right, and when I glance over my shoulder, only one of those two is even paying attention to me.
Maria’s head is down and she’s scribbling something in a notebook. I can’t tell what it is from all the way up here, but I don’t plan to call her out on it—not with how nervous she gets.
I turn back to the board, but as I’m about to finish explaining the solution, I feel as if I’m being stared at. Of course I’m being stared at—I’m the teacher. It’s part of my job, so why do I suddenly feel so awkward about it?
The feeling grows stronger and stronger as I try to finish off the question until I just can’t handle it anymore. I cut myself off and spin around just in time to see Maria’s head jerk down and hide behind her notebook again.
“Sorry... lost my train of thought,” I stammer to the rest of the startled class, and I bury my face in my lecture notes and pretend I’m trying to figure out where I was. I suddenly can’t focus on anything and my thoughts refuse to turn into coherent sentences. There’s a whole classroom full of people waiting impatiently for me to teach them, and here I am trying to make my brain work correctly! Some teacher I am.
I take a deep breath, turn back around, and finish off the problem.
“I have to do this. This is my job. Stop thinking about her.”
I can’t stop, of course. I’m staring at the whiteboard, but all I’m seeing is Maria hunched over her notebook.
I glance over my shoulder again, intending to check for raised hands but instead gazing directly at Maria. Her gorgeous black hair is tied back in a ponytail, and she’s taken her coat off today. She’s wearing a gray sweatshirt from Cornell’s freshman orientation, and she couldn’t have picked a baggier, worse fitting shirt if she’d tried.
As I turn back to the whiteboard, it suddenly hits me that she did try. She’s trying her hardest not to draw attention. She’d make herself completely invisible if she could.
“Okay folks, that’s it for the test and for class today too,” I call out, boxing the final answer on the board before turning back around. “If you have any questions, come talk to me after class or send me an e-mail. Either way’s fine.”
I sit at the front of the room in my uncomfortable plastic chair and watch as my students pour out of the classroom. Nobody ever stays after class to ask me questions; they all just go straight to the professor. I don’t think they realize that he just forwards their questions to me anyway.
Maria gets up to follow the crowd out the door and my eyes instantly lock onto her. Baggy sweatshirts can hide a lot, but not even the ratty, faded black jeans she’s wearing can hide legs like hers.
She follows behind the rest of the crowd toward the door, and I can’t help but follow her long, slender legs as she crosses the room. I wonder if she knows that she sways her hips as she walks. It’s absolutely mesmerizing.
“Hey, Maria?”
I immediately panic as the words come out of my mouth. Why did I do that? I don’t have anything to tell her! Shit, she’s looking at me, and I...
...I’m speechless.
I have absolutely nothing to say as those beautiful green eyes of hers pull me in. Between the gorgeous black hair, pale skin, and those incredible eyes of hers, I’m absolutely speechless.
“Yes?” she asks apprehensively, and I cobble together the first sentence I can think of as I break free of her spell.
“Good job on the test. I... I just wanted to tell you.”
Her eyes are dark with distrust, and she hesitates before answering me.
“Thanks,” she finally says, and then she turns and hurries out the door.
After the last student finally leaves, I bang my head on the table and groan in embarrassment. That’s not what I wanted to tell her at all. I never meant to call out to her in the first place, but whatever it was that I wanted to say, the test had nothing to do with it!
Now that she’s gone, I can think of all sorts of things to tell her. I could tell her how damned beautiful she is and how I can’t get her out of my mind. I could ask her why she’s so scared of me.
All I’d do is scare her even more, though. It’d be horrible of me to hurt her like that.
Hell, if I’m going to hurt her, I might as well get it out of the way and tell her how I wish I’d never met her.
I wish I’d never met her because she reminds me of my sister, and no matter how much Samantha’s memories come alive—no matter how much I suffer from them—I’ll still never get to make it up to her.