"You just sit there, all quiet. But you know all the answers."
"No I don't, Fox."
"You do! You're super smart. I see you writing stuff down, but you never raise your hand."
"I can't."
"Just put your hand up, like this. When Miss Car calls on you, you say the answer! You've got it right every time! Why don't you just—"
"I can't, okay? I just... I c-can't—"
"Hey, hey, don't cry. I'm sorry, Jellybean. Wanna hug? Come here."
"..."
"..."
"I just... I get too scared. Everyone's looking at me, and my face gets all hot, and my heart starts beating really fast, and then I can't... breathe."
"No one's gonna make fun of you. I'll make sure they didn't."
"I w-want to talk, but my words get all jumbled in m-my head, and then I'm just... scared."
"Next time I'll sit with you. If you get scared, I'll be there. You're braver than you think."
"I don't feel brave."
"That's 'cause you're so brave you don't even know it yet."
"Maybe... maybe next time."
ᖴO᙭
Chris's hand is small and smooth in mine as I drag her into the sunlit classroom. We're the last ones in, trying to be low-key about it, but we definitely aren't. Dust motes float in the air, caught in the lingering summer heat, and Chris coughs in dust, laughing at herself as we get seated side by side in the back.
"What's this class?"
"Shh."
Thirty or so students fill the room, an eclectic mix—from an angry-looking girl with blue hair to a blonde guy who looks like he belongs in a bodybuilding competition, nervously tapping his pencil.
Chris fiddles with the hem of her skirt, pulling it down over and over. She whispers, "We don't belong here."
I grin. "Speak for yourself. I'm full of creative energy."
"You're full of yourself."
I smirk, leaning into her ear. "Did you want to be full of me? Is that what you're saying?"
Her eyes go wide, and she covers my mouth, glancing to the front where the professor didn't seem to hear. So damn dramatic. So damn sweet-smelling too. I still can't name the scent on her these days, but it's sweet amber and something gourmand.
I pull her hand away and bite her finger, just to mess with her. She jerks, breathing hard. Oh, she's too fun. "You can have me later. Right now, pay attention."
She faces the front, crossing her arms with a scowl that's too cute to—
"Wait, did you say creative energy? Is this a writing class?!"
"Shh," I laugh, pointing to the front. At least she's more excited than the calculus.
The instructor—a woman in her fifties wearing a floral dress over another floral dress—claps her hands together. "Welcome back! Last week's feedback was fantastic. Now, moving on, we have an upcoming exam—yes, yes, I know, you'll be fine." She adjusts her glasses and paces a bit, eyes twinkling with a kind of madness only lecturers possess. I would know. "Today, we're embracing our inner romance authors."
YOU ARE READING
Beside
Romansa''Tell me how it feels,'' he whispers. "Good," I gasp, my entire body trembling. Deeper. Harder. Perfect -- like we've been doing this for years. His hand finds my jaw, fingers firm as he tilts my head up, making me look at him. And that's it. Wav...
