past tense.

new faces.

Schools, no matter how different they look, all feel  like schools. They all have that dreary sense of hopelessness for some and false hope for others.
    Rounding the corner of the dull brick building, I tugged at my faded denim sleeves in the hope of warming up my arms. Typically, it's way too hot at the beginning of the school year, but today it was abnormally chilly.
    The inside of the school's lobby was an unrelieved, monotonous color painted over brick - an off-white that was probably white to start with but grew dirty over time. Ridiculously tacky motivational posters and ads for upcoming school events plastered the wall. It was so empty that I could almost see the tumbleweed flying across the grimy tile floor.
    Standing there in the middle of the room, I managed to awkwardly open my backpack and pull out my schedule. I wouldn't know my locker or my combination until homeroom. I stared at the clock and it stared back at me, ticking at its regular leisurely pace. 8:06. Too early.
    I headed to the bathroom: not necessarily because I needed to pee, but more because I was looking for something to do. As I neared the bathroom, I heard a shuffle. I turned around and saw a boy standing against the wall of a hallway. After reaching the conclusion that I really just didn't have to use the bathroom, I sat down next to him.
    In truth, it was a LOT more awkward than that.
    At first I wasn't sure if I should just sit down next to someone who was pretty much a virtual stranger, and so I was in between really slowly walking away to the bathroom and randomly pivoting around towards him. We were super far apart, because I hate standing close to somebody I don't know, and then I realized I probably looked really stupid with my backpack straps on both arms, so I held my backpack on only one arm. Then when that got way too uncomfortable my bag just kind of fell to the floor, but it was all of my new school supplies, so it made this really loud slap/thud kind of noise. Eventually I was too tired of standing, so after what felt like an hour but was probably only forty seconds, I sat down. Well, slid down. The wall.
    Well, don't I just have the grace of a swan.
    Oddly enough, the boy didn't even turn to look at my gangly, awkward mess. He just focused on his book.
    I couldn't tell which book it was, because it was missing its cover. His fingers were kind of like the "elder wand" in the Harry Potter series - knobby knuckles that were prominent in the middle. They grasped the canvas-like texture of the novel, turning white at the fingertips. His eyes were piercing holes through the pages. It seemed as if he was assiduous in finishing each word, each sentence, each line, each page...   
    Suddenly he glanced back at me, and my eyes darted to the floor, without knowledge that I had been staring. At his hand. (Quite obviously I was making a great first impression.)
    In those few milliseconds that he looked up at me, I caught a glimpse of his face. He had provocative, cantankerous brown eyes - wide and soft and burnt, cinnamon toned and mysterious. Strong cheekbones and jawline, with ivory skin and a smattering of subdued freckles. Wild, short but not too long chestnut hair. There was something different about his face - something unusual, but a nice kind of unusual. There was something poetic about the way he looked.
    Is this too much observation for somebody I had just met? In those few seconds he looked at me? Possibly.
    In absence of any idea of what to do, I scrolled through my phone. Unamused by what it had to offer, I put it back in my bag. I looked back at the  outdated-looking clock from its high perch on the wall. 8:12.
    So I decided to speak.
    "Hey."
    Silence. His concentration was ferociously focused on his reading.
    "Hi," I stammered, a bit louder, since apparently I was inaudible before.
    He looked at me with a blank expression, his warm, burnt umber irises eroding the whites of his eyes. "Hi," a soft and low voice spoke.
    And then he went back down to reading his book.
    It was clear by then that he did not want to be bothered. I knew that, but I still somehow made the stupid decision to keep talking.
    "I'm Autumn," I announced.
    He turned to face me once again, and with an interest that seemed genuine but probably wasn't, he said, "Ok. Good to know." That sort of thing should've sounded snarky or sarcastic coming from anyone else, but from him it didn't.
    The air between us was uncomfortable, and I knew I should just let the poor boy read his book, but some incredibly obnoxious part of me gave me the notion to keep talking.
    "And you are...?"
    He slowly turned his head towards me, not showing signs of annoyance, and said, "Thatcher."
    I nodded, and with that, I silently begged the clock to move faster as I scrolled through my phone once again.