Course Of Action

CHAPTER 7: Cold Fingers

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C O L D    F I N G E R S

PoV: Wilma Morris...|

Monday the next week had been nothing out of the ordinary. The day went on like usual, the only difference being Leslie inviting me to his place afterwards, which was a tad nerve-wracking. Last week, when he sat us together in biology class, it landed us in a group project together for the coming month. Surprising me, Leslie was rather drifty when it came to working, and he was the first of us to initiate working outside of class. A nice surprise, so say the least.

"Mi casa es tu casa."

Leslie opened the door to his home, accompanying his cliché invite with a gesture for me to walk before him. Coming inside I took notice of the homely atmosphere and how someone in their family had a talent for interior design. Taking the lead inside, Leslie brought us to the dining hall where he put his bag on the table.

"I thought we could work here. Do you want anything?"

His tone and body-language was calm, and getting to experience his very casual and grounded demeanour had me at ease. Though, I had to admit it was weird as it contrasted quite a bit to the more erratic and boisterous self he was at school. I ended up simply asking for water to play it cool, getting my computer out.

"Sure thing!"

He quickly vanished into the kitchen to fetch some, and as soon as he came back we dove into the work immediately. I took notice of how smart he was, having never considered him to have the enthusiasm of someone that lives to study and thus assumed he was a slacker. Just like how he could be when it came to being on time to class.

He never seemed to listen much during our lectures either, at least the few times we had sat close to each other over the years, and he must have spent a lot of time on his own catching up to remain that confident on the subjects. That, or he had some freaky learning abilities where he simply listened with half an ear and remembered everything the teacher said. It was honestly embarrassing how I ended up having to ask him to explain a lot of the things he brought up. Especially knowing how I myself had spent a lot of time both in school and at home to keep up with the subject.

He seemed cool with my struggling though, not minding taking that extra time to help me and explain so that I followed along throughout our project. His supportive and kind gesture sure helped make me feel less ashamed. I was afraid of being ridiculed or thought of as a weight bringing our two-man-group down, but he made me feel as an equal as he happily talked me through things, having me understand more than the teachers at school had.

It made me see him in a different light. It was the first time we were alone together, allowing me to see what I could only assume to be the real Leslie—unaffected by the pressure of others' expectations—and he struck me as a completely different individual.

A deep soul with lots of room for sympathy and recognition. Someone who most would love to be friends with and have by their side, that they could count on at all times to ave their back. His friends sure were lucky to have him in their group, and the way Damian had been so considerate of him back at the party was no longer surprising knowing how Leslie himself probably cared for him equally. Despite his otherwise teasing, boisterous, and slightly play-boy-like character.

Speaking of their group...If only I didn't have trouble remaining focused on the assignment, Leslie probably would've been good with only half the explaining he did. A singular, lone question had been circling my mind since a few days ago, and the urge to ask him killed me. I knew he had some answers, and for some reason, I felt he was my only way of knowing. I had spent too much time pondering on my own. There was a risk he wouldn't tell me anything and only end up deeming me as another, nosy classmate seeking to unravel old gossip. But I would take that risk. To kill that itch in my head.