Let's Be Awkward Together

Partners (continued)

I feel a light tap on my shoulder that interrupts my deep thought. I turn my head.

"Hi," She greets me, then looks at the ground. She looked awfully nervous. "Do you . . . wanna partner up, by any chance?"

I think about it.

"No."

"Ah. You're blunt. Well - you have to. There's no one else."

Oh.

"Then I'm fine by myself."

Irked, she pouts. "Hmph. Whatever, you don't have to do work - just act like we're working together." She sets down her things on my desk, treads across the room for a chair, and comes back, setting it down next to me. She opens up her book to - I don't know the page, actually. Trying not to have to ask, I look at the number upside-down. I turn to page 236, and I don't see the same text and pictures as her page. "Page 336," she informs me, not even having to look up. I turn to the page. "Did you listen to anything in class?" She asks.

I hesitate to say anything, but I eventually answer. "Yeah, I heard everything, except for these last ten minutes."

"Good," she chuckles softly. "Because I didn't. Okay, so we're just gonna read this chapter, use our background knowledge, and sum it up in five paragraphs on a paper . . . Uh, do you want me to write, or no?" She asks, now looking up at me. Actually, directly into my eyes. Not that I'm creeped out, I'm just taken back. I take this question into consideration. I want to write, but I don't want to say I want to.

She won't find out with just that.

". . . Sure." I say, opening my backpack for paper. I grab out my pilot ball point gel pen and start to write.

Elijah Pavlov,

I stop and realize that I haven't asked her name. "Uh - sorry, I didn't even ask your name."

"Oh, it's Adrian Deroy." She said humorlessly.

That's french.

"Are you french, by any chance?"

"Yeah. How could you tell?" She asks me.

"Your name, Deroy."

Elijah Pavlov, Adrian Deroy June 1

I need another paper. My fourth.

"Eli, I'm not even done reading and you've done a whole essay?!"

Eli?

Who's Eli?

"And your handwriting isn't bad at all. It's really, really good!" She grabs my paper and reads it, bug eyed. "And this vocabulary is outstanding. Mrs. Ingird will be pleased." She says, smiling.

After a while, we both are silent, and I realize this, and suddenly feel awkward. I think of something to talk about - though I hate small talk.

"Ah, so . . ."

"No, it's fine," she pauses. "I hate small talk." She keeps reading and writing notes. "Hey - could you write these down."

"Yes." I click my pen and write. She stops for a second and lowers her head, her hair covering. She sniffles and wipes her eyes, inhales deeply, then went back to work.

Then it struck me. This was the girl Vivian was talking about.

"He used to be dating this fugly girl named Adrian. What kind of name is that?"

I look over to Adrian. She wasn't at all "fugly".

oh.

She just can't compete with her.

"Ah, you're her." I ask curiously.

"Who?"

"The girl everyone was crowding around earlier. Are you okay?"

She looked surprised at my fowardness at first, but then quickly responded, "N-No, I'm not . . . I'm just kind of confused, is all. . . "

. . .

"The thing is, well - even though I wasn't as attached to him, and I wanted to end it, or at least not date exclusively - I still cried, and I was still hurt. I kind of want to get him back." She sniffled. "Sorry, I'm telling this to a stranger."

"No, it's okay. And I think that's normal," I told her. "And healthy. I think that makes you more human. He was someone you trusted, so, yeah, you cried. It was unexpected, so I think it's fine." I told her. "You know what, I have an idea."

"Hm?"

"Let's date."