*Watty's 2021 Shortlist*
Samantha Roberts and Ben Evans have one thing in common - they both attend Sir Robertson's School for the Gifted, an elite boarding school for the children of the world's wealthiest. Both scholarship students, they gravitate...
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My stomach's in knots. It's not a date. I know that. It just feels an awful lot like one. I guess that could just be me feeling hopeful, but... I just get the feeling that Sam likes me too. At least, I hope she does. She does. I think?
Seriously, if I don't stop this, I'm going to drive myself crazy. There's still an hour before we're supposed to meet. I got here early, to stake out the best table—the one with the cozy chairs and the view of the ocean, the one they put on the pamphlets—but I may have gotten here a little early. So now I'm nursing a coffee and trying not to jump out of my seat with nerves.
I think that today is the day I finally, finally ask her out. If I don't chicken out first, that is. And if I can make sure she doesn't get too distracted with our project. Sam can be pretty determined when she gets her teeth into something. And she's competitive. I know she wants more than anything to win. So I'm going to help her. I mean, we're like the perfect team. I honestly don't see how anything could go wrong here.
The knots in my stomach loosen, and I relax, letting my back sink into the plushness of the chairs. As I come out of my mental fog, taking a gulp of not-too-hot-not-too-cold coffee, I notice a girl across the room staring at me. She's got thick, brown hair and a t-shirt that reads, "Danger! Bookworm alert!"
I kinda recognize her. I think we might share a class? Maybe English Composition (yes, that means writing. It was a requirement for my scholarship).
I decide for the sake of awkwardness to smile and wave, hoping that she's just zoned out and will realize it. I hate it when people stare at me. It always makes me feel so uncomfortable. I never know what to do, especially when I think they are doing it on purpose.
The girl startles, an embarrassed expression flitting across her face before she seems to steel herself, grabbing a to-go cup from the table beside her and moving towards me.
"Hi," she says, "I'm Katelyn. We have -"
"English Composition, right?"
She smiles and nods in agreement. "Uh, the thing is—you missed class the other day. No one seemed to know where you were?"
"I was just sick. I'm fine now," I say, wondering why this girl is talking to me. I remember Katelyn, of course—the classes are small and lean towards student participation, which means a lot of group projects.
But I can't say that we've been particularly chummy before. Just as I'm about to ask as politely as I can manage why she's bothering me, she bursts out with:
"Sorry—I'm really bad at this stuff—It's just that Ms. Brookhold partnered us up together for the short-story collab project."
"That was days ago, though," I say, confused.
"I know," she smiles. "It's taken me a while to get a hold of you. The school doesn't give out students numbers, I can't imagine why not, and I'm not really in the same crowd as you."
