Paradise

Chapter Two

Bald Mr. Anders paced in front of the black board. If his monotonous voice brought on the Zs, than his Biology lessons were enough to cure anyone of insomnia. I found myself practically compelled to close my eyes, especially when the lights were turned off for the projector.

My hand scribbled his notes mindlessly as I gazed at the screen with a dull expression; my eyes threatened to seal themselves shut with help from the crusted residue of my eyeshadow-- which I intended to wash off immediately after class. It had been a huge mistake putting it on when I was so tired. I could only imagine how bad it looked after my short nap on the bus.

The only redeeming factor of this class was that Robert Bronson sat two seats across from me. I loved watching him work, how his chocolate curls tumbled into his eyes when he looked down at his paper, and how he would rest the tip of his pencil against his lips when watching Mr. Anders write notes on the board. He was truly beautiful, like a prince. I often fantasized about fantastical circumstances, where he would have to rescue me, the damsel in distress. I sometimes played through those fairy-tale scenarios in bed, right before I drifted off to sleep. Other times, the circumstances were more realistic, like me just going up and talking to him. Suffice to say, I kept in my head a lot. It was the only place that I truly felt safe.

"Ahem." Mr. Anders' eyes were on me. He didn't look very amused, either. "Sorry to interrupt your nap, Miss Springfield."

I heard the snickering of my peers, and my cheeks reddened. "I wasn't sleeping," I murmured, quickly flinging my textbook open to the appropriate page, and sending papers flying in the process.

Before I could bend over to retrieve my fallen papers, Mr. Anders said, "Good to hear, Miss Springfield. You can tell the class what a phenotype is, then."

"Um--" I skimmed the page quickly, feeling my face growing redder all the while. I could feel the eyes of my peers on me, and it felt unnerving.

I guess I must have taken too long, because Mr. Anders turned his attention to Robert. "Mr. Bronson, would you tell the class what a phenotype is?"

"Yes, sir," Robert said, his voice incredibly smooth. "A phenotype is every observable characteristic of a living being conditioned by its genes."

"Very good," Mr. Anders smirked, his eyes darting to mine then back to the board. "I'm relieved that some of my students take their education seriously."

Sighing, I stooped to retrieve my papers, but one had slipped beneath the desk in front of me, and was now stuck beneath Erica Dorsey's sneaker. When the blond cheerleader saw me reaching for the sheet of paper, a cruel smile spread across her lips, wrinkling her freckled nose, and she sent the page flying toward Robert's desk with a flick of her foot.

"Fetch, dog," she hissed.

Robert glanced over at me as I lowered myself to the floor, and I felt the first flutter of butterflies. This always happened when he looked at me. I only wished I could stare into his eyes longer, because they were the most amazing shade of green, like the color of pine needles. But it wasn't just the color that fascinated me so, it was the depth and compassion that was in them.

He reached over and plucked the paper off the floor, now imprinted with the logo of Erica's sneaker, and offered it to me. I accepted the sheet timidly, and mouthed, "Thank you." as he turned his attention back to the board where Mr. Anders was writing more notes. My heart felt like it had stuck in my throat. That feeling was also enough to get me past Erica's rude remark. But she had actually done me a service this time, sending the paper toward Robert like she had. I wondered if she regretted her actions, because I definitely wasn't wallowing in misery anymore, at least not for the moment.