Leaving the university after a long day of wait for students to compile, I call for Patrick, my fingers trembling slightly as I press his numbers. The wait, which lasts only five minutes, feels eternal.
I glance around nervously, making brief eye contact with Millie and Sawyer walking arm-in-arm towards a black van. The guy holds the door open for the girl, then shoots me a fleeting, indifferent look before climbing into the driver's seat. The van speeds off, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
Patrick finally arrives. I climb into the backseat, gripping my briefcase as if it were a lifeline. The ride home is silent, punctuated only by the hum of the engine and my racing thoughts.
"Thank you," I mumble as I climb out, feeling a small wave of relief wash over me as the car drives away. I quicken my pace, desperate to reach the comfort of my house.
"Hey, you must be the new neighbor," a voice calls out, halting me in my tracks. I turn to see an elderly man standing by a white picket fence. "Welcome to New town."
"Thank you," I reply, hoping the encounter will end there. But the man persists.
"I'm Charlie. What's your name?"
"Jonathan..."
"Nice to meet you, Jonathan. Which school do you go to?"
"Uh..." I hesitate, the truth feeling too cumbersome to reveal. He thinks I am a student. "Edinburgh High School."
Charlie's brows furrow. "Edinburgh? You mean Boroughmuir High School?"
"Yes, that's it."
"Natasha!" Charlie calls, and the girl I saw yesterday emerges from the house, dressed in pink and purple, a headset around her neck.
"What's up, Grandpa?" she asks in annoyance.
"Meet Jonathan, our new neighbor. He goes to your school."
A wave of panic rises within me. Natasha's eyes light up with interest. "Really? Are you new there?"
"Uh..."
"Are you good with math?" Charlie interjects. "Natasha here could use some help."
"Grandpa, don't!" Natasha protests, slapping his arm playfully, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
"Uh, excuse me," I stammer, feeling my throat tighten. I quickly retreat to my house, closing the door behind me with a sigh of relief. Inside, I lean against the door, unfasten my tie, and toss my briefcase onto the sofa.
I head to the kitchenette, grab a bottle of water from the fridge, and drink it in one long gulp, hoping to drown my nerves. It has been a long day—too many encounters, too much stimulation. I check my phone, which buzzes with messages from my mom, Mr. Sage, and my therapist, all asking about my first day. I'm not in the mood to respond.
The doorbell rings, startling me. I wonder who it could be. I'm not ready for more social interaction. But curiosity gets the better of me, and I open the door to find Natasha standing there, a blue lunchbox in her hands.
"Hi," she says with a shy smile.
"Hey," I reply, my nerves on edge.
"I thought I could give you this as a welcome gift," she says, offering the lunchbox.
I take it hesitantly. "Thank you. I appreciate it."
"You're welcome," she beams. "It's cool that you go to my school. Maybe we could go together in the morning?"
"Uh...yeah," My mind races for an excuse.
She giggles.
"Jonathan?" she calls just as I'm about to close the door.
YOU ARE READING
Eighteen With A Chalkboard
أدب المراهقينKnown before as "The Unexpected Mathematician" ---- Since he was two years old, Jonathan Poland's world has revolved around numbers. He skipped grades at school, outpaced his teachers, and soon found himself home-schooled by the legendary mathemati...
