I sit with my knees pulled up to my chest, the desk pressing into the side of my right calf.
"So what do you all know about Russia?" Mr. C asks, and I stare blankly at the bored with some slide about Soviet Russia up.
"Not a ton," I mutter under my breath. It's not a lie.
The click my golden pen and drop toss it onto my paper as I finish copying the slide. I sigh as I stare at my fingers that are tinged with purple. I bend my index finger as fast as I can, and it bends slowly. It's like my hands are a hundred years old.
I shove my knees ever close, hoping to release some of the pressure from the desk, but I can't hold it for very long and quickly admit defeat and return to my original state. I press my cold, dead hand between my stomach and my legs to try to warm them, and I feel a frenzy of heat wash over my fingers.
I grew up in a freaking mild climate, and being the stick I am, my body's natural instinct is to cut off circulation to my fingers and toes first to keep my core warm as a survival technique. Which, this has always agitated me on levels that are almost inhuman because I can't touch anyone without a 'Jesus! You're hands are cold!' Oh really? I didn't notice!
Cold hands, warm heart, no soul cause I sold it to Satan months ago to pass all the freshman classes.... I now regret that as a junior.
"Wait no! I wasn't done with that slide!" Someone from the class calls, and suddenly a door opens. All eyes go to the sound of the door clicking open, and the soul who walks in.
The one and only, very handsome, Connor walks in, casually judging everyone in the room. A quickly glance around the room shows all the girls stirring up straight and playing with their hair. I roll my eyes subtly at them.
Connor quickly catches my eye, and I look down at my gold pen as I fiddle with it. I can feel everyone in the room staring at me, but when I look up everyone is still looking at Prince Charming.
He makes his way down the center of the rows of desks, and I stare at the teacher waiting for him to change the slide, instead he says, "Wassup, Connor?"
"Wassup, Mr. C?" Connor says flopping into a spinning desk chair the same time the sound of his backpack hitting the ground makes a clear thud.
I continue scribbling down the slides, but I can't help but the glance over my shoulder at Connor.
"Iris?" He asks, and he flashes an adorable smile. I chide myself for even thinking it's attractive.
I shake my head and with an eye roll, I pretend to look busy by doodling on my paper.
I hear Connor swear under his breath quickly as he realizes his fatal mistake, "Allison, right?"
Something within me dies a little. "Addison."
"Nah, you're just screwing with me. It's Allison," Connor smiles, trying to cover his tracks as he frantically backpedals. Maintaining a perfect reputation like that must be an art form.
"Addison is what I write on all my papers," I retort with a hint of a smile, and the whole class erupts into laughter, Connor included.
The bell rings, and I feel the corners of my mouth pull down into a frown slightly. I was only just getting warmed up...
As I practically do an arm curl with my ridiculously heavy fabric backpack, I listen to some of the conversations and commotion around me.
"Dude, you totally screwed yourself over. You're definitely not getting laid by either of them now."
"Yo, man. That wasn't even my fault. When we're on the ice at practice, all I hear you guys talk about is who's body count Iris is gonna be added to first! Or how big her boobs are! They're twins! How am I supposed to tell the difference!" Connor retorts as he laughs and slugs this teammate in the shoulder.
"Dude, Iris is way hotter than Addison. Come on, man," Connor's friend punches him right back and they both start laughing.
I suddenly feel so sick to my stomach, and I don't even bother to grab my lunch from my locker on the way to my table because I know I won't need it today.
