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Elijah Hewson always seemed to be lost in a world of his own.
During lessons, whilst people had their heads down - scribbling away on worksheets, or watching the board as numbers were being written in faded whiteboard marker (they seemed to be always running out of ink) he would be preoccupied. Either by staring outside of a window or, when he wasn't sitting near one, mindlessly analysing every scratch and piece of chipped wood on the pencil he had just been messing with.
Always with the same blank expression on his face; he never looked deep in thought but rather calmly void of concern. His face gave her no clues as to what he was thinking about if anything. A complete lack of emotion. If anything he appeared slightly worried but she knew that he just always looked like that, she had concluded that it was because of his eyebrows and pouty lips.
The daydreaming was probably just a byproduct of being bored, he seemed quiet when he wasn't with his friends. Like he was just counting down the hours until he could be reunited with them. With them he'd be constantly laughing, far more energetic - she saw the four of them before at lunch always in hysterics. It was clear that he liked to be involved with the fun.
School could be boring so she understood the desperation of waiting in misery for the bell to ring - the chiming being associated with freedom. However, as draining as it could be to always be distracted was impressive.
Sure, writing three paragraphs in ten minutes about Frankenstein isn't the most riveting of tasks - though, she enjoyed English so maybe science would've been a better example because she'd be happily immersed in explaining how Frankenstein's monster is misunderstood - but it wasn't any worse than the desolate view of the school ground.
There was absolutely nothing of interest, she had checked.
After a couple of times of seeing him mesmerised, she wanted to see what could be so captivating. She was intrigued, but when she looked out of the window she only saw what she had expected. The view was of the other plain white buildings that made up the rest of the school and lifeless nature. There might be a rouge daisy in the freshly mowed grass or seagulls pecking at someone's lunch that had been thrown to the ground, but that was only if you were lucky.
The Chemistry classroom had the best view, but even then it wasn't worth staring at for an hour.
He must be thinking about something even if he didn't look like it because he simply can't be admiring the scenery. She always wondered what it was that he was thinking about. It was hypocritical for her to judge him for being distracted since she'd often find herself being more focused on figuring out the boy's thoughts rather than on what was being taught.
Then again, the trees couldn't be any more boring than hearing Mrs Doyle drone on about fractions or the Pythagorean theorem. She would rather count every leaf from a distance than listen to her breathy voice, always sounding like she needed to cough - soft but in a grating way that it sounded painful.
