Near Touch

Chapter 2: History

"The French wanted to take down their enemy on the global expansion front, an enemy they had in common with American Revolutionaries..." Mrs. Aplin was animatedly orchestrating a mass snooze session, and Amy was sure everyone was responding positively. She could swear that most of the class had passed out.

Everyone except her. Her head was buzzing. The clouds were slowly gathering, obscuring the sun. From the open windows, the breeze carried an almost undetectable, earthy smell of a distant rain shower. In Georgia, the weather is pretty much as inconsistent as your average ex-girlfriend.

Amy sat on the very edge of her seat, tapping her foot without rhythm, looking tremendously agitated. Whatever stupid shit she had felt just before entering the classroom was long gone, replaced by incredulous doubts regarding her own sanity.

'"I had understood him perfectly?"' - Jesus. Disgusted by that particular feeling of 'understanding' more than any other, she crinkled her nose.

There had to be some justification. Amy couldn't have just felt sympathy for a world class dick out of nowhere. Maybe seeing him look like a hunted animal made me nervous, she wondered. Nervous, to a point just below hysterics. That is all that there was to say, she decided. A momentary lapse of judgment.

Amy shook her head, trying to clear it, pushing her long, dark russet-colored hair behind her ears. If I don't think about the asshole, I will be fine. She decided on drawing leaves swirling around out in the common. It would distract her nicely.

As if right on cue, Caleb stormed inside the class, completely disregarding Mrs. Aplin. His narrowed eyes were pinned on Amy and he started striding purposefully between the aisles. Her neck nearly snapped as she turned to see what response this rude exhibition - rude even by Caleb's usual standards - would garner from the wizened history teacher.

But she didn't even notice. Amy hadn't even detected a change in her intonation. She ploughed on resiliently - determined to ignore the sudden, six-foot interruption.

"You can see me!" Caleb cried, practically shouting in her face. His eyes were flashing with urgency, and for the first time Amy noticed flecks of light blue in the deep cobalt. He was towering above her desk, blocking Mrs. Aplin.

"What?" Amy spluttered, her typical poker face gone. In its place was an earth-shattering, disbelieving look. It wouldn't be a stretch to say that his attitude - and the sheer lack of dire consequences - had pulled the rug from under her feet.

She believed she was gawking and a nasty thought crept up among her dazed ones - finally joined the dumb, googly-eyed crowd, have we?

"Pardon me, Ms. Irvine?" the old teacher inquired. Amy couldn't wrap her head around what was happening. She wanted to point at Caleb and then at herself; then point to each one of her classmates, just to make sure they hadn't suddenly become blind.

It was as though Caleb had jammed a wrench in the shifting gears of her brain. The ludicrousness of this scene was messing with her ability to respond to simple questions. She blinked a couple of times. "What?"

"Do you have a question?" Mrs. Aplin asked in her old-lady southern accent.

"No?"

"Alright. So we were discussing the role of..."

Amy looked at her hands. Maybe I am hallucinating? Dreaming?

I should just pretend that I don't see him! Yes, that will make this stop. She screwed her eyes shut and tried to rationalize the situation. Gemma inquisitively peeked at her from under the tent she had formed using her copy of The History of the United States.