in the blink of a crinkling eye (tayvis)

you know how to ball i know aristotle

Taylor observed from a distance as the girl opened the purple envelope and read word for word. She saw when a small smile appeared on the girl's face, and she looked around, searching for the person who had placed the note there.

"She's smiling; that's a good sign, right?" Travis asked, nervously biting his nails.

"Take your finger out of your mouth, Kelce. And yes, why would it be a bad sign?" She rolled her eyes and closed her locker, walking toward her classroom with the dark-haired boy shadowing her. "Stop following me, dude"

"Did you just call me 'dude'?" he asked, laughing slightly.

"Yes, I did."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to. Do you want to dictate what I say now?" She regarded him with boredom.

"No. Hey, did you know we have class together today?" He smiled awkwardly.

"No," she replied curtly.

"Today there's a philosophy project; can I work with you?" He looked at her with a pout on his lips. Taylor was already irritated by this.

"No."

"Please, Swifty. I've never asked you for anything." She looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Alrighty, alrighty. I've never asked you to work with me," he winked and smiled.

"Damn. Where did I get myself into?" She entered the classroom, and he followed her with a victorious smile on his face. "Sit down already, Kelce."

The truth was that Taylor did not hate Travis, but there was a resentment in her heart. Something from years ago that still haunted her. But now things were different, so perhaps it was alright to stop being so rude to the boy. However, it was impossible; he made her nervous. Patience was no longer one of her virtues.

The teacher explained the project; each student was to choose a philosopher, and Taylor chose Aristotle.

"So, what can I do?" Travis asked.

"Listen, Travis, you know how to ball, and I know philosophy. Let me handle Aristotle; when I need help with football, I'll ask you." She rolled her eyes as she opened her books and computer.

"Come on, Swifty. I want to help," he poked her sides.

"Damn it, Travis! You know I hate that," she huffed, and he raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, you can research the influence that extends to modernity," she said.

"Yes, Sergeant." Then he opened his computer and began to research.

(...)

Taylor began typing rapidly, words about Aristotle flowing from her mind like water from a river. However, her attention often drifted to the side, where Travis was trying to focus but seemed more interested in making jokes than genuinely collaborating. He made faces and murmured comments about the more complex parts of philosophy, which irritated and amused her at the same time.

"Do you think Aristotle would play football?" he suddenly asked, breaking the silence.

"Of course, he would be the best defender in history," Taylor replied without thinking, an involuntary smile appearing on her face. "But he would probably spend all his time analyzing the plays instead of actually playing."

"What if he wrote a treatise on the ethics of football?" Travis continued, catching on to the jest. "Imagine, 'The Ethics of Passing' or 'How to Be a Good Captain Without Being a Jerk.'"

Taylor couldn't help but laugh. "Perhaps he would title the chapter on fair play 'The Virtue of Justice.'"

"Look at you, you must be a true expert on Aristotle and bad jokes," he teased, winking.