2. First Impression
While Sara and I walked to Journalism class, I could tell the lunch performance was still lingering. She looked enchanted, and it was a little eerie. I paced alongside her in silence, hoping she’d snap out of it.
Upon entering class, I went straight to the computer with the oversized screen and pulled up the latest draft of this week’s Weslyn High Times. Focused on the screen, I zoned out the scraping of chairs and murmuring voices as everyone found their seats. I had to get this edition to the printer before the end of class so it could be distributed in the morning.
Faintly, I heard Ms. Holt gather everyone’s attention to review the progress of the assignments for next week’s paper. I blocked out the conversations. I continued scrutinizing the formatting, moving ads to accommodate article space and inserting the photographs to compliment the featured articles.
“Is it too late to consider another article for next week’s paper?”
The voice distracted me. I didn’t know this voice. The guy spoke without hesitation, with a sense of purpose and confidence. I stared at the computer screen without seeing what was in front of me, waiting. The room was silent with anticipation. Ms. Holt encouraged him to continue.
“I wanted to write an article about teenagers’ self-image and if they’re able to accept their flaws. I’d like to interview students and hand out surveys to find out what part of the body they’re most self-conscious about.” I turned my chair around, interested in who would think of such a controversial topic. “The article could reveal that despite a perceived social status, everyone's insecure about something.” He glanced over at me during his explanation, realizing I was paying attention. Some of the other students also noticed I was no longer working on the computer and were watching me, trying to decipher my pensive expression.
The voice belonged to a guy I’d never seen before. As I listened to him finish, I was irked by his request. How could someone, obviously without flaws, think it would be okay to interview emotionally vulnerable students to reveal something they didn’t like about themselves? Probably confiding an insecurity they had a hard time admitting to themselves. Who’d want to openly discuss their embarrassing whiteheads, or admit that they wore an A cup, or that they had the muscle structure of a ten year old? It sounded cruel. The more I thought about it, the more irritated I became. Honestly, who was this guy?
He sat in the back of the class wearing an untucked sky blue collared shirt and a pair of perfectly fitted jeans. His sleeves were rolled up and the buttons undone enough to reveal his smooth skin and a hint of a lean muscular frame.
The shirt complimented his steel blue eyes that moved across the room, connecting with his audience. He appeared relaxed, even though everyone in the class was staring at him. He probably expected people to take notice of him.
There was something else about him that I couldn’t quite put my finger on – he seemed older. He definitely looked like he was either a junior or senior. He had a youthful face with a strong jaw that extended to the angles of his cheekbones, complimenting his brow line and straight nose that pointed to his perfectly defined lips. An artist couldn’t have chiseled a better bone structure.
When he spoke, he easily captured everyone’s attention. He obviously got me to stop and take notice. The projections in his tone made me think that he was used to talking to a more mature audience. I couldn’t decide if he seemed distinguished or just arrogant – he was so confident. I leaned towards arrogance.
“Interesting idea…” Ms. Holt began.
“Seriously?” I interjected before I could stop myself. I could feel fourteen pairs of eyes shifting toward me. I even caught a couple of mouths dropping open out of the corner of my eye. My gaze remained focused on the source of the voice. I found the perplexed smoky eyes looking back at me.
“Let me get this straight, you want to exploit the insecurities of a bunch of teenagers so that you can write an article exposing their flaws? Don’t you think that’s a little destructive? Besides, we try to write news in our paper. It can be entertaining and witty – but it should always be news, not gossip.” He raised his eyebrows in what appeared to be shock.
“That’s not exactly –” he began.
“Or are you planning to write an exposé on how many girls want bigger breasts and the number of guys who want bigger…” In my pause, I heard a few shocked inhales. “.. um, muscles. Superficial and sleazy may work for tabloids, or maybe that’s what you’re used to where you come from. But I give our readers the benefit of assuming they have brains.” There were a few muffled laughs. I didn’t flinch - I stared intently into the unwavering blue eyes. There was a slight smirk on his face. Was he amused by my verbal assault? I set my jaw in preparation for his attack.
“I take my assignments seriously. I’m hoping my research will uncover how much we all have in common, regardless of our popularity or conceived attractiveness. I don’t think the article will exploit anyone, but assure us that everyone has insecurities about their appearances, even those who may be considered perfect. I respect the confidentiality of my source, and I understand the difference between a puff piece and actual news.” His voice was calm and patient, and yet I thought it was patronizing. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks.
“And you think you will get honest answers out of people? They will really talk to you?” There was a bite in my tone that I was not used to hearing, and by the silence in the room, it was a surprise to everyone else as well.
“I have a way of getting people to open up and trust me,” he said with a smile full of conceit and narcissism.
Before I could rebut, Ms. Holt interrupted, “Thank you, Evan.” She looked at me cautiously. “Emma, since you seem to have reservations about this article, as the editor of the paper, would you be willing to permit Mr. Mathews to write the article, and then you can have the final say as to whether it makes the cut?”
“I can agree to that,” I stated methodically.
“Mr. Mathews, is that acceptable to you?”
“I’m comfortable with that. She is the editor.”
Oh, he was pompous, wasn’t he?! I couldn’t stand to look at him any longer. I turned back to the computer.
“Great,” Ms. Holt replied with relief. Then she directed her attention back to me. “Emma, are you just about done with the computer? I’d like to begin today’s discussion.”
“I’m sending it now,” I confirmed without looking back.
“Wonderful. Would everyone please open your textbooks to page ninety-three, with the heading Journalism Ethics?” Ms. Holt attempted to redirect the attention to the front of the class. I took my seat next to Sara, feeling the lingering stares of shock upon me. I kept my eyes glued to the book, unable to concentrate.
“What was that about?” Sara whispered, just as shocked. I shrugged, not looking over at her.
After what felt like the longest fifty minutes, Journalism was finally over. When we were released into the hall, I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Who does he think he is? How completely arrogant can a person be?!”
Sara stopped when we rounded the corner, heading to our lockers. She gawked at me like she didn’t recognize me. Not acknowledging her confounded stare, I went on, “Who is he anyway?”
“Evan Mathews,” his voice said from behind me.
My back tensed, and I stared at Sara, mortified. I slowly turned toward the voice with a reddened face. I couldn’t say anything. How much had he heard?
“I hope I didn’t upset you too much by suggesting the article. I wasn’t trying to offend you.”
It took me a minute to compose myself. Sara stood beside me, unwilling to miss out on the front row seat of our confrontation.
“I wasn’t offended. I’m just looking out for the integrity of the paper.” I tried to sound aloof, as if the interaction in class hadn’t bothered me.
“I understand. That’s your job.” He actually sounded sincere, or was he patronizing me again?
I changed the subject. “Today your first day?”
“No,” he said slowly, appearing baffled. “I’ve been in class all week. Actually, I’m in a few of your other classes too.”
I looked to the floor and quietly said, “Oh.”
“I’m not surprised you didn’t notice. You seem pretty intense in class. It’s obvious school’s important to you. You don’t seem to pay attention to anything else.”
“Are you accusing me of being self absorbed?” I shot my eyes back up at him, feeling my entire face flame up.
“What? No.” He smiled in amusement at my reaction.
I stared at him in offense. He held my glare, unblinking with his cold gray eyes. How did I ever think they were blue? He was full of himself, and it repulsed me. I shook my head slightly in disgust and walked away. Sara could only stare with her mouth ajar, as if having witnessed a horrific car wreck.
“Where the hell did that come from?” she demanded, her wide eyes glued to me as she strode alongside me. “I’ve never seen you act like that before.” I couldn’t get over her astonishment. She almost sounded disappointed.
“Excuse me?!” I shot back defensively, unable to look at her for more than a second. “He’s a conceited jerk. I don’t care what he thinks of me.”
“I thought he was just concerned that he hadn’t offended you in class. I think he might even be interested in you.”
“Yeah, right,” I replied dismissively.
“Seriously, I know you’re extremely focused, but how did you not notice him before today?”
“What, do you think I’m self absorbed too?” I snapped, regretting it as soon as I said it.
Sara rolled her eyes. “You know I don’t, so stop being stupid. I get why you shut everyone out. I know how much you need to get through high school, like every breath depends on it. But I also get how it looks to everyone else.
“It’s just accepted that this is who you are, so no one really pays attention anymore. Your lack of,” she hesitated, looking for the right word, “interest is expected. I think it’s amazing that a guy, who’s only been here a week, has picked up on your intensity. He’s obviously noticed you.”
“Sara, he’s not that perceptive,” I accused. “He was just trying to recover from the blow he took to his ego in class.”
She let out a quick laugh with a shake of her head. “You’re impossible.”
I opened my locker, then looked over at Sara before putting my books away. “He’s really been here all week?”
“Don’t you remember when I mentioned the hot new guy during lunch on Monday?”
“That was him?” I scoffed, shoving my books in my locker and flinging the door shut. “You think he’s good looking?” I laughed like the thought that he could be attractive was insane.
“Yeah,” she responded emphatically, like I was the one who was insane, “along with like every girl in school. Even the senior girls are checking him out. And if you try to convince me that he’s not gorgeous, I’m going to slap you.”
This time, I rolled my eyes. “You know what - I really don’t want to talk about him anymore.” I was oddly exhausted by the outburst of emotion. I was never out of control, especially in school - with witnesses.
“You know everyone in school will be talking about it. ‘Did you hear Emma Thomas finally snapped?’” Sara teased.
“Nice. I’m glad you’re finding this funny,” I shot back before walking past her down the hall. Sara jogged to catch up, still smiling.
As much as I wanted to forget it, I couldn’t help but replay the entire scene over in my head while we walked to study period in the cafeteria. We continued through the caf, where I could already hear the whispers, and out the back doors that led to the picnic tables.
Seriously, what happened? Why did this guy bother me so much? I shouldn’t care enough to be this upset. Honestly, I didn’t even know him. Then my overreaction sunk in.
“Sara, I’m an idiot,” I confessed, feeling truly miserable. She was lying down on the bench, taking in the warm rays, peeling back the straps of her tank top to avoid tan lines – messing with every guy within eyeshot. She sat up curiously and took in my agonized expression.
“What are you talking about?”
“I have no idea what happened to me in there. Really, why should I care if this guy writes an article about the imperfections of being a teenager? I cannot believe I acted like that and then made a scene in the hall. I’m completely humiliated.” I groaned and put my face down in my folded arms.
Sara didn’t say anything. After a moment, I looked up at her, questioning. “What? You’re not even going to try to make me feel better?”
“Sorry, I’ve got nothing. Em, you were pretty crazy in there,” she remarked with a smirk.
“Thanks, Sara!” I connected with her smiling eyes and couldn’t hold back. We simultaneously burst out laughing. It came out so loud that the table next to us stopped mid-conversation to stare. I definitely looked like I’d lost my mind now.
It took a full minute for me to break through the hysterics. Sara tried to stop, but small bouts of laughter would escape whenever she’d look at me.
She leaned toward me and lowered her giggling voice, “Well, maybe you can redeem yourself. He’s on his way over here.”
“No way!” My eyes widened in panic.
“I hope the laughing wasn’t about me.” It was that same confident, charming voice. I closed my eyes, afraid to face him.
I took a calming breath and turned to look up at him. “No, Sara said something funny.” I hesitated before I added, “I shouldn’t have gone off on you. I’m not usually like that.”
Sara started laughing again, probably replaying my mortifying moment in her head. “Sorry, I can’t help it,” her eyes watering from trying to hold it in. “I need to get some water.”
She left us alone. Oh no - she left us alone!
“I know,” he responded to my indirect apology. His perfect lips curled up into a soft smile. I was surprised by the casualness of his response. “Good luck in your game today. I heard you’re pretty good.” Without allowing me to respond, he walked away.
What just happened? What did he mean he knows I’m not usually like that? I stared at the spot where he stood for half a minute, trying to comprehend what just played out. Why wasn’t he upset with me? I couldn’t believe I was so worked up, especially over a guy. I needed to shake it off and be over it - stay focused.
“He’s gone? Please don’t tell me you insulted him again!”
“No, I swear. He wished me luck in the game today and walked away. It was… strange.” Sara raised her eyebrows, grinning.
“Oh, and I guess you could say he’s decent looking,” I mumbled. Sara’s face lit up with a huge smile.
“He’s so mysterious, and I think he likes you,” she taunted.
“Come on, Sara. Now you’re being stupid.”
Somehow I completed the homework that was due the next day, despite glancing around and searching for him every other minute. I couldn’t get to the longer term assignments. I saved them for the weekend. It’s not like I had anything else to do.
“I’m going to the locker room to get ready for the game.”
“I’ll be down in a minute,” Sara replied, from her meditative spot on the bench.
I gathered my books and walked through the cafeteria. I did everything I could to stare straight ahead so I wouldn’t look for Evan – unsuccessfully.