Flicker Pain

[7] laughter

A week later, we were assigned to do a project. Conrad, being the only one in my general vicinity, ended up being my partner. He didn't look happy about it. But then again – I doubted I looked ecstatic either.

On Thursday, we went down to the media center to do some preliminary research. We were told to sit by our partners. Conrad chose the farthest part of the room, out of the teacher's immediate reach. I followed silently, not asking why he chose that spot, but rather hoping that he would be a reliable partner who would pull his own weight.

He seemed like he would reliable, but I'd already learned my lesson about assuming things about him. He was a blank slate. Not that I could do anything about it even if he wasn't reliable. It was too late now.

We reached the far right of the media center, where a pair of desktops sat – untouched. Conrad – back still turned – drew out his chair, almost angrily, and plopped down. I did the same, albeit with care. I reached out and touched the power button on mine, and logged on. I wanted to talk to him, to ask him something even simple like who would research what, but there was an invisible wall preventing me from doing so. Conrad seemed similarly disinclined to start the conversation between us, for he pulled out his phone and looked everywhere but at me.

I eyed his tense form. He had nice arms. Tan in color, with light, sinewy muscle that was neither too much or too little. Muscles that looked like they'd been built from crew or swimming, or something along those lines. They flexed slightly as he used the keyboard. There was one intruding feature, however – a small set of white scars – which danced on his bicep as his arms moved.

I had barely any time to wonder before he cleared his throat.

My eyes darted back to my own screen, and stayed even as his roamed my face. I didn't say anything. He didn't say anything. But we both knew.

My cheeks flushed. If looks could kill...

I ignored him for as long as possible, as I opened the browser, the classroom page, and the requirements for the assignment. It soon became clear – however – that talking to him was inevitable, so I swallowed hard before I opened my mouth:

"Do you...have a preference for what you want to research?"

"Not really." His reply was hard.

"Um, okay," I didn't know how to diffuse the tension that had set upon us. I looked back to the screen, "I guess...I guess I could do the top half and you could do the bottom...if you want."

"Sure. Sounds good to me."

We set off to work. We didn't talk much. When we did – it was only related to our assignment. But by some twist of fate – I made him laugh. I didn't remember what it was I had said, but I do remember the small smile that formed on his face as he attempted to contain himself.

He had a nice smile.

I would've liked to see it more.

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