A Genuine Infatuation and A Theorem for Love

Chapter 14

I was drumming my pen softly, however much impatient, at the wooden desk. Where was Miranda? I wondered, sighing deeply at the class-room door. Zach entered in the wake of a mere count of seconds and I adjusted my gaze to linger else-where. I did not wish to deal with him until I had a decent confrontation of yesterday’s events with Miranda.

Yesterday... Hmm… I sighed again, like an aged, cranky old lady and I had been doing naught but that, tossing over my sleep with a much disturbed previous night.

 Intuitively my palm reached for my cheek and I blushed deep within. I could still sense his imprinted touch, almost burning into my inner-most layers like sweet infernos.

After Zach had reluctantly slumped away from the Porsche, Samuel’s expression mirrored a kid’s joyful awake at the dawn of Christmas. And that was the commencement. My nerves and senses became unexplainably drugged, alert and tingly: all at the same instant.

He did not speak to me afterwards; he was much deep in thought for doing so. The car was brought to a halt before a shadowy and secluded corner, prior to dropping me home. I recalled my state of nerves there-forth and my face that masked partial confusion. I also recalled drawing further behind in the seat once Samuel turned to me. His eyes had taken a turn for a darker hue, however impossible it was in that pitch black night.

I remembered him drawing close, then; his personal fragrance, that manly scent, veiling my senses when I did not heed to my mind that screamed: run.

“Every date ends with a kiss,” his voice was so low, almost a murmur and yet I had heard every term that left his mouth. Or his lips, that were parted and slowly leaning forward …

“Linda!” My body jerked suddenly, startled and I turned to watch Miranda at our table. She was chuckling at the effect of her abrupt call out.

A shy smile crept to my lips, much unnecessary evidence to the most recent of illicit thoughts. Miranda eyed me suspiciously up and down but could not voice out whichever fact that hastily formed from pure judgement. For Mister Lark, entered the classroom and we rose to our feet to greet him with the daily ‘Good morning, sir’.

“‘Morning, ‘morning, be seated. I have terrible news,” he said and waited till every student settled down. “My question sheets appear to be stolen.” He stated as a matter-of-fact with a ceaseless act of sweeping hark-eyes. Many gasps of shock ran throughout the student body and Mister Lark narrowed his eyes every now and then to judge individually.

“In fact, should I discover the person behind this treacherous deed, I shall ensure expulsion from this school immediately and without the slimmest hesitation.” He spoke each word with such stern fierceness that I experienced a swift, shivering tremor run though my torso.

Each head seemed to nod of its own accord, agreeing reflexively and unconsciously to his words. Mister Lark was declared dangerous waters but of the stealthiest kind. We dared not cross him and I shook my head at the thought of some-one to have been so audacious in riling him up.

“’I’ll be in the headmaster’s office to report of this detained theft and I require pin-drop silence in this class. Do I make myself clear?” Once again we nodded and he stepped outside with his fury trailing after him.

With knitted brows I faced Miranda, “Perhaps your battery died, yesterday?”

She rolled her eyes. “The very same, precisely at the ‘l’ matter,” she told me and looked around to ensure a score of nil eavesdroppers.

“Lesbian?” I offered in a hushed tone. She nodded and my mouth formed a circular enclosure with realization seeping through.

“What happened afterwards?” she continued in her whispering proposition.