The Fault in Our Infinities

Chapter 3: Larger Infinities

Classes begin the next day. Kaitlyn doesn't help me find my way; she pops on to her own art lessons. People bustle about, folders in hand, gossiping about the Christmas break.

"And my mum totally flipped! I mean, they've only known each other like 2 months and they're getting engaged?" I hear as I walk down the corridor to my lecture room. I sigh.

I find my lecture room door. I knock and enter, a queasy feeling in my stomach.

"And you'll find that Anna represents the imperfections in our society-" The lecturer, who looks a lot like Rita Skeeter from Harry Potter, stops, seeing me. "Oh, Hazel, is it?" She has a kind voice, thankfully, and she quickly bustles around her desk to give me the handouts the rest of the class currently have on their desks. I try not to look at them too much – my stomach plummets further.

"Here you go, sweetheart. We've only just started today's session." She hands me the relevant pieces of paper. "If you'd like to take your seat – we're just going over the Christmas assignment of An Imperial Affliction by Peter Van Houten, which I believe you're familiar with. We're discussing the idealistic view of Anna's mother's life compared to her daughter. You'll find the summary on the second handout."

I nod. Waving vaguely at the seats – again, without looking at the other students – I say, "shall I sit anywhere?"

"Of course, darling. Wherever's easiest."

Gnawing on my lip, I kick back my oxygen tank and drag it down the aisles between the desks. I sit in the second from last row, parking my tank up beside me as I set my papers down. I can feel the weight of everyone's eyes on me, and I keep my eyes firmly on the table as I sit.

I notice a small symbol engraved into the wooden desk. It has two loops, joined together. With a jolt, I recognise the infinity symbol: ∞. Why would anyone draw that on a desk?

Someone slides into the desk behind me and I look up to the teacher, trying to concentrate. I can't afford to get distracted in my first class.

I listen and take notes, understanding all of it. This lesson is relatively easy – I've read An Imperial Affliction so many times that I can easily remember every major and minor sub-plots and all the quotes.

About twenty minutes in, I feel something poke my back.

I turn and gape.

Augustus Waters is sitting at the desk behind me, flicking a pen around his finger. He grins, crookedly, a shining light in his blue eyes. He doesn't appear to have paid attention to the teacher – there are no notes on his handout.

"What?" I ask, amicably.

"I believe you're sitting at my desk."

I flush and stutter. "I am not!" I protest. "This isn't your desk." I'm aware of how pathetic it sounds and my cheeks redden further.

He points to the desk with his pen, the lid now between his lips. "That symbol. What is it?"

"The infinity symbol." I say, unable to stop myself from tracing it with my finger.

"Some infinities are bigger than other infinities." He quotes, the lid now clamped between his white teeth.

"Where's that quote from?" I ask, hearing the note of admiration in my voice. It's an apt quote – ambiguous.

He chuckles, leaning back in his chair easily. "Me."

I scowl. "Aren't you truly philosophical." I turn before he can answer.

I hear his low laughter and feel it caressing over my skin. I grit my teeth, trying hard to listen to the lecturer's thoughts on the Dutch Tulip Man. It was probably the singularly most difficult thing I've ever had to do, especially as Augustus kept on poking me.