{Latin ^ meaning conference} Monday, January 31st 2011 {Day 23}
{Words: 3257}
Later that night...
Scott and Allison settle into Allison's car, seeking warmth as she raises the temperature. They rub their hands together in front of the heater. Allison expresses her contentment, "To be honest, this was a pretty amazing birthday."
A smile forms on Scott's face as he replies, "That's great to hear. But even if you were fibbing, I'd still be able to tell."
Allison grins mischievously, challenging him, "Oh, really?"
Scott's smile widens as he confidently states, "You have a tell. You stroke your brow. This is it."
He gently strokes her brow with his thumb, and she takes his hand, pressing it against her cheek.
Allison continues to grin, teasingly saying, "Now see if you can figure out if I'm lying."
Scott nods playfully, determined to discover the truth. "Alright..."
In a soft whisper, Allison reveals, "I was hoping my parents wouldn't return from the parent-teacher conferences so I could spend the rest of the day with you."
Scott responds with a grin, caught up in the moment, "The rest of the day?"
Allison confirms with a nod and a smile, "The rest of the night."
Scott takes a deep breath, his heart racing, and asks, "With me?" She nods, her smile indicating her agreement. Excitement fills the air until...
Suddenly, Scott's demeanor shifts to one of concern and worry. "Oh, God. Parent-teacher conferences. I was supposed to be there. I'm falling below a C in everything."
Allison reassures him with a smile, "But they're happening right now. You're not late."
Now is the time, she implies, and their night together awaits them.
Back at the school, in the chemistry classroom...
Mr. and Mrs. Whittemore engage in a conversation with Mr. Harris. Mr. Harris asserts confidently, "Jackson is a highly motivated student. I'd even say he's remarkably driven."
Mr. Whittemore nods in agreement, expressing his concern, "We were hoping he would ease up on himself a bit."
Mr. Whittemore lets out a sigh and straightens up in his seat, adding, "He has always been a perfectionist. We attributed it to the fact that he was adopted."
Mr. Harris acknowledges, understandingly, "I see. He has never had the opportunity to meet his biological parents."
Mr. Whittemore lets out a frustrated groan and states, "That's correct. It's this need to be liked, the inclination to overachieve, the desire to please someone he has never even met."
Mr. Harris nods in comprehension, remarking, "Well, from an external perspective, it seems like something has intensified his drive for achievement to a whole new level."
Mr. Harris then adds with a hint of disbelief, "He appears almost...obsessive, to put it plainly."
Back in the woods...
Jackson's BMW casts its headlights on a serene grove of trees, nestled near an open field. Amongst the branches, a small hoop sways gently in the breeze. Jackson's grip on his beer bottle loosens, and it slips from his hand, landing softly on the grass. He reaches down, picking up a lacrosse ball with his stick, simultaneously launching it towards the hoop with a swift flick of his wrist. The ball sails past, missing its mark.
