Leticia [The ADAMS Family]

07

Astrid

THE BELL for the second break rings and our English teacher leaves the class after giving us our assignment for the day to practise word formulating and finish the next exercise since time ran out on us.

I start to put back my pencils and pens in my pouch but a book slams on my table and I slowly lift my eyes at the culprit—only to find our class prefect staring at me with that blank look on her face. Her short black hair that is trimmed in a cute pixie cut made her look a bit older but her round black framed glasses makes her remain youthful.

"Please, collect everyone's maths homework and take them to the staff room," she orders.

"Why don't you do it since you're the class prefect?" I ask.

"That's because Mr. Kang wants to see you," she replies and turns around to leave.

I sigh and take out my maths notebook and place it on top of hers before standing up and telling everyone to bring in their work. The students flock around my desk, slamming their books on top of the stacked ones.

"Has everyone turned in their work?" I shout, and a chorus of "yes" is heard and I nod, grab the heavy pile and start to leave the class but I stop when I hear someone telling me to wait.

I turn to see who it is and my heart starts to plummet.

His tall, muscular physique that is on the lean side, strides over to me and I catch a whiff of his cologne. The sleeves of his black jumper are scrunched up his veiny forearms, exposing his milky pale skin and his face–he has the type of face that makes you halt in your steps and stare at him with his enticing smiling grey eyes, a slightly crooked nose that isn't noticeable at first glance and pink plump lips. His black hair is a mop of curls–different from the rest of the korean boys in this school but that's because his father is an American.

He hands me his notebook and I look down at it–Christian Reeve.

"I can't move my arms so, put it on top," I tell him, my voice barely a scratch of a sound.

He does what I say and I quickly turn around to leave without saying another word.

"Do you need help?" he asks, and I stop, hearing his footsteps come closer to where I'm standing.

"I'm fine," I say, without turning around and lifting my right leg to continue my way to the staffroom but he grabs my shoulders and turns me around, taking half of the books from my grasp.

"Let's go," he says, passing me–his strong cologne invading my nostrils.

I lower my head and follow after him, putting a considerable distance between him and I so that rumours won't travel around that I'm interested in someone's boyfriend. Yes. The boy is spoken for.

I can just pass him and speed walk to the staffroom but I don't want my hips to jiggle as if I had turned into Shakira with him behind me. So, I slow down my pace and hope that he doesn't notice.