Love Is Not My Forte

CHAPTER 2

Ok, so here's another chapter. I've decided I'm going to keep them a bit shorter than most people do. That way, I can write more of them quicker and you readers won't have to wait as long as you normally would have to. But this one is a tad late because I've been dealing with life and whatnot. Please don't forget to leave some feedback or message me, I always appreciate it. But without further ado, enjoy this chapter. Cheers, Nicole :)

        Walking down the hallway, I notice our strides are in sync and that we’re strolling at a leisurely pace, despite the fact we were mostly already late for dinner. I reach into my pocket to grab my phone and do a time check.

            “What are you doing?” Callie notices my movements from her peripheral and slightly turns to look at me.

            “Just checking the time. It’s 6:05. We were supposed to be there five minutes ago.”

            “Oh come on. You know the group. It’ll be another half an hour before anyone else even shows up. Which means we don’t have to climb all those stairs to the dining hall. We have enough time to wait for the elevator.”

            “The elevator? Our entire campus is made of hills. You can’t take on a few flights of stairs?”

            “Not if those ‘few flights of stairs’ are the equivalent of climbing Everest,” she insists with a defiant look pointed at me.

            “Alright. Suit yourself. By the time you get on that elevator, I’ll already be upstairs. And maybe I’ll just leave you behind.”

            “Go ahead. I’ll try not to get lost.”

            With that, I turn on my feet and head up the stairs, two at a time. God, her stubborn resolve is impressive. Callie would never believe it, but it’s one of the most attractive things about her. She is never easily swayed by anything anyone says and could probably take on a politician in a debate and win because not only would she be set in her own beliefs, but she’d also be able to confidently support them with some fact or personal experience. That got me to thinking about what it would be like to watch her actually debate a politician. Of course such an event would be televised or be put on the internet. Callie has a face made for everyone to see. The lighting that comes with covered debates would just accentuate her natural beauty. Or would she wear makeup for such an important thing? Would I even have to sit at home and watch her? Or would Callie bring me along as one of the people to watch her do her thing in person? I’d hope so. Then I could bring her flowers and reassure her when she was feeling unsure of her performance.

            Before I can complete whatever insane thing I’m thinking about, I miss a step and put my arms out to prevent my face from hitting the concrete stairs. But my reflexes aren’t the greatest so I end up with a nasty cut on my left hand. I look around to make sure nobody saw. Then I worry about my hand. It would be best to try to catch up to the precautious Callie who was always prepared for anything—the tripping incident definitely put me behind the elevator’s time. I quickly yet carefully run up the rest of the stairs to reach the top of the staircase.

            I’m out of breath by the time I open the door to the main elevator area. The light above the elevator says it’s on the way up, so I lean against the wall for a few seconds while I wait. When the elevator doors open, a group of professors and other staff members exit, but there’s no sign of Callie. What? Where is she? I wonder where she disappeared as I take my phone out to call her. After a couple of rings, I get her standard voicemail—she’s too lazy to set her own—before shoving it back into my pocket and walking out toward the dining hall. I did warn her I would leave her.

            I get a strange look from some other people as I walk to the dining hall with my bleeding hand, so I duck into the bathroom outside the dining hall. In there I wash off the blood and do my best to make a temporary gauze out of the crappy paper towels from the dispenser. It took a few attempts, but I eventually got a system working where the paper towels would stay intact to cover the wound—as long as I held my arm at a certain angle and didn’t try to do much with my left hand.

            Leaving the bathroom and entering the dining hall, I have my ID card swiped and scan the crowded tables for the familiar faces of my friends. They’re not on the second floor. That must mean they couldn’t find a table up here and were forced to find one to sit at on the first floor. I go down the stairs and look around for the usual group. That’s when I feel my phone vibrate and I see I got a text from one of the people I’m looking for.

            Are you coming to dinner or what? We found a table near the salad bar station. It’s a text from Michael. He and I were the only guys in our group of friends, but then again there were only five of us, so the ratio wasn’t that bad. Knowing where they are now, I choose to go look around for some food before I go to join them.

            Turning on my heel is when I bump into someone and my response is automatic, “Oof! Sorry about that…”

            “That’s okay, you slowpoke,” her taunting and playful voice catches me off guard for a second before I realize who it is, “but since I got here first and you just spilled half of my soda, you have to go get me a refill.”

            “Callie, how in the world did you get here before me?”

            “Well, the elevator got there right after you left. You weren’t there when I got off, so I figured you must have left. But you were just slow,” she hands over her half-empty cup as she notices my left hand wrapped in paper towels, “Did I miss a fight?”

            “No. I just tripped on the stairs…”

            She gives me a brief look of concern before we both start cracking up.

            “Tried to pick a fight with some concrete, did we? Be careful next time, tough guy. I’m going to go back to the table. See you soon,” Callie strides off with her plate of food, leaving me there with her cup. That girl has got some charm. I shake my head and smile to myself before going to get my own dinner.