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Eileen drums her fingers against her desk, tapping out a new beat she's been trying to incorporate into one of her current unfinished songs. It's fast-paced but steady, and as she listens to the notes inside her head, she debates whether to alter the beat when it came to the rift just after the song's second chorus. She decides against it though, remembering one of the notes probably won't agree with the kind of sounds she's making on the wood of this desk.
Her desk.
It's as if this unsuspecting school desk was her second home; she'd spent detention after detention sitting here after school, paying the consequence of not getting her school work done. Her teachers were constantly on her case, practically begging her to put more effort into her studies or at least attempt to.
Eileen knew she wasn't doing badly in her classes, as she always did enough of the work assigned to ensure she wouldn't fail any of her courses. But if given an extra credit project or a huge culminating task, she wouldn't bother putting in the amount of effort and time that she would if she was working on a new melody or new verses. And her teachers knew it. Especially her French teacher, whose classroom Eileen was sitting in right now.
Her teacher was reprimanding her from five feet away, seated at her large, wooden desk. Each corner had a pile of books on it, and there was a stapler and a container of pencils at the front of the desk, probably too far for Madame to reach. Eileen suspects it was all for show - for aesthetic purposes - and stops focusing on music just to think about how much better this pretty picture would look if there was a shiny red apple in the middle of all the school clutter.
She smiles to herself and holds back a chuckle, very aware that Madame is still rambling on and on about how Eileen decided to skip her class that day to eavesdrop on the music classes' practice in the auditorium. It wasn't her fault the band was playing the Sherlock theme, or that the vocalists were singing their own rendition of her favourite Melanie Martinez song, or that all her own music classes were last semester.
She just craved music all the time. She'd rather spend an afternoon playing her own pieces on a piano than working on a project that made up almost twenty five percent of her term mark. She was aware that it was a bad habit - especially in a society that put so much faith and importance in the education system - and she didn't care. She exhales, the beats and songs inside her head so loud that she misjudges the volume of her sigh.
Madame snaps her head in Eileen's direction, casting a questioning glance at the impolite sound that just came from her delinquent student. She frowns, her lips pursing in such a way that it makes her look like a duck. Before she can scold Eileen's rudeness, a knock at the door interrupts the tense moment.
Eileen gulps, realizing whoever's at the door probably just saved her from an extended detention. She turns around expecting to see another one of her persistent teachers or maybe even the lucky student who gets to join her for detention as well. Instead, she's surprised to see Hayden of all people, standing in the doorway and holding a few pieces of crumpled paper on his hands. He's dressed in sweatpants and a loose T-shirt, sweat droplets dotting his face and his dirty blond hair matted and sticking to his forehead. Eileen assumes he's just come from one of his practices (probably hockey) and finds herself marveling at how he looks flawless despite probably smelling very... boyish.
She meets his eyes as he walks pass her, and she offers him a tiny smile. This is the third unexpected encounter they've had today, and it's been too much for her, yet she still has the nerve to raise her hand in a little wave as well.
Hayden nods at her, being polite enough to acknowledge her presence but not caring to greet her warmly. Instead, he proceeds to hand the papers he's carrying over to Madame. He informs her that they're the research notes he started writing after picking up his book from the library, and that he'd forgotten to give them to her at the end of class. She nods primly in response, taking the papers and straightening them out before tucking them away in one of the file folders on her desk, then proceeds to start talking to Hayden about some extra credit and volunteer work she might have for him. While she does so, Hayden casts a sidelong glance at Eileen.
She's got her hands clasped together on the desk, as if she's praying. She's pointedly looking down at the desk, like she's trying hard not to focus on their conversation, and her hair covers almost half of her face. It's unsuspicious enough, but Hayden still has the urge to chuckle since she's so obviously eavesdropping. A childish thought pops into his head and it's so stupid, and he's in such a playful mood after a fairly good hockey practice, that he decides to entertain it.
Thanking his French teacher for her suggestions, he hurriedly says goodbye and turns to Eileen. He hesitates again but then figures out he's got nothing to lose. He reaches out a hand to tug at a lock of her hair, just to get her attention; it's a flirty thing to do too, but he's not worried about that right now.
He doesn't manage to pull it off, as Eileen catches his wrist (so she was watching them after all!), and shoves it away from her head. "You missed me," she states, and there's a tone of annoyance in her voice, but confusion and shock across her face.
Hayden raises his eyebrows at her, surprised at her agility and amused by her lost state once again. He doesn't let it faze him for that long though, as he reaches out to tug at her hair again; this time, he succeeds and she lets out a frustrated yelp.
"Hmm, don't think I did," he points out, before quickly walking out of the classroom with a laugh.
Eileen rolls her eyes, a little more ticked off than giddy, as she starts drumming her fingers again the desk again. The rhythm she plays is faster than the one from before, just like the beating of her heart after realizing that Hayden basically flirted with her.
