I Think This is Love

8: Alphabetical Order

GABBY

It's been two days since I've had skin-to-skin contact with Francis, but my nerves are still tingly. I had to wash my hands that night because, well, I wasn't going to risk getting sick. It's unfortunate that God, in those seven days, decided to create bacteria, too.

Things are looking up for me. I'm now in his radar, so it wouldn't be creepy if I ever tried to speak to him or even smile his way. I might be able to get his number, too! My after-graduation problems will be solved just like that.

But, of course, I've jinxed my good luck again. Our homeroom advisor strolls in with the most soul-crushing suggestion: "There's a new seating chart."

The room erupts in groans of defiance, including mine. I don't want to be separated from Kaye and Janine. I like my spot in front, where I can hear my teachers clearly.

I'm terrified. My hands are clammy, knees shaking uncontrollably under my desk.

"Gabby, hey," Kaye mumbles, her eyebrows arched in apparent concern.

I muster a smile, my breathing shallow and rapid. I might pass out if I don't get a grip, and wouldn't that be the cherry on top? My epitaph would have the words "died due to humiliation" engraved in it.

Taking slow, deep breaths, I talk myself down. It's fine. I'm a big girl now. I've been in the same class as these guys for years, and no one's ever attacked me or hit me. No one's going to hurt me. No one.

The teachers call the names one by one. Kaye gets to stay near the board because her last name starts with 'A', while Janine, with a 'C', isn't far behind. Lucky them!

This is the worst. The advisor calls me near the end, and I grumpily drag myself to the far left corner. It's still next to the window, so I only have to deal with one neighbor. But there's a caveat.

"Hello," Kevin says, flashing a grin.

Why does this new seating chart have to be in alphabetical order?! It's unimaginative, and it's an absolute nightmare for me!

Eyes are on me–or rather, on Kevin–so I'm forced to stay still and pretend that this is all perfectly normal.

Surprisingly, my anxiety starts to fade. Because at the very least, I'll be next to someone I know. Kind of. I mean, I can speak to Kevin without reservations when I need to pass the exam paper or copy notes.

It could've been worse.

Kevin leans against his chair, resting his head on his interlocked fingers. "Are you good?"

"What do you mean?" I rebut, pulling out my textbooks and pencil case.

"You looked like you were about to cry," he says.

I freeze, my gaze falling on my new desk, which is covered in graffiti. Lots of them are swear words and NSFW drawings. They're not enough to divert my emotions, though.

"What're you talking about?" I whisper.

"I actually don't know what I'm talking about," he replies. "Never mind."

Kevin's lying. He had seen through me. He noticed me blanching before, too, but now, I'm sure he can tell that I'm a coward. This sucks. I hate being me. Why can't I be a little more normal? No matter how much I convince myself that I've moved on, I'm always transported to the same spot, stuck in my own hellish loop.

I struggle to focus on the lecture. Kevin seems uninterested too, just twirling his pen between his fingers.

By the end of the Physics class, our teacher drops a bombshell about an upcoming final project that's part of our end-of-year requirements.