"It is approximated that over a million people were killed over the four-year period that the war took place, with about eighty-thousand of those being slaves." Professor Jones clicks a button on the tiny remote that is clutched in her wrinkled hand, the slide projected at the front of the class transitioning to one that shows numerous images of mass casualty—bodies in large piles, graveyards decorated with empty headstones, men in the throes of battle.
I glance up at the screen for a brief moment, twirling my pen in my fingers. I'm not paying the slightest bit of attention to the lecture or the professor giving it. I haven't taken any notes, haven't even opened my textbook—all I've done is scribble random shapes in my notebook and do my best to not look across the room to where Halston is sitting.
It's taking everything in me not to stare at his handsome face, to trace every sharp line of his body with my eyes, to get out of my seat and run to him and attach my lips to his. It's both a blessing and a curse, really, that this class has assigned seats and we're forced to remain on opposite sides of the lecture hall.
I haven't seen much of him since Friday, the six days since were filled with work—at all three jobs—projects to complete, essays to write, cheer practice to attend, and away games to travel to.
I missed him, which is strange for me to admit. I got used to never missing anyone. But every moment we've been apart my thoughts have been occupied with him, the urge to be near him growing with every day that passes.
My phone vibrates on the table, startling me, and I unlock the screen with a swipe of finger and open up my messages.
Halston: Quit fidgeting.
My cheeks turn rosy, and I gnaw on my bottom lip.
Me: Quit watching me fidget.
Don't quit watching is really what I wanted to say. I like knowing that he's been watching me. It means that he, too, is thinking about me, and hopefully has been missing me the same.
I sneak a glance at him from my periphery—he's smiling down at his phone, this thumbs pressing against the screen hurriedly as he types a reply.
Halston: Please tell me you don't have plans tonight...
Me: Cheer practice. But after that I'm pretty much free
Halston: Thank fuck. I need to see you.
Me: You can see me right now.
I allow my head to turn and fully take him in. He reads my reply and looks over at me. I wink and he shakes his head.
Halston: Smart ass.
Me: What'd you have in mind?
"Who can tell me the name of the man who was coined the bloodiest general of The Civil War? Anyone?" I vaguely hear her question and I know she is awaiting an answer, but surely one of the other hundred students in the class can give that to her. My mind is on nothing but continuing this conversation with my...Halston.
Halston: Well, maybe some Chinese from the place next door. Then we can go back to my place and...oh, what is it the kids call it these days?
With an arched brow I stare at the screen and await a follow up message, watching the three bubbles dance as he types.
Halston: Netflix and Chill?!
"Pft." I hiss out a laugh, slapping my hand over my mouth once I realize that the sound was audible.
"Ms. Ryan." I look up to see Professor Jones staring right at me. "Is there something you would like to share with the class?"
"Uh, no, sorry," I mutter out in response.
"Well, maybe you'd like to answer my question then? I'm sure the class would be grateful to hear your insight."
Fuck. What was the question?
My neck starts to heat, all eyes are on me, and I can't even remember what it is that she had asked.
"Uhh," I start, hoping to buy myself some time. It had something to do with a general. Right?
"Robert E. Lee." I whip my head to the right after hearing Halston's voice, my eyes finding him sitting up in his desk, his elbows resting on the chipped wood top, a smirk on his beautiful face.
"Actually, Mr Brooks, that is incorrect," Jones replies with a shake of her finger. "General Ulysses S. Grant holds the title of the bloodiest general.
"With all due respect ma'am," Halston begins. "That's incorrect. That's just a myth." My eyes widen, a few snickers are heard from around the room. I almost want to holler at him and ask him what the fuck he is doing, but the attention is finally off of me, and that's how it should remain.
"Excuse me?" Her eyebrows are pinched, her lips pressed into a thin line, and if you look close enough you can almost see steam spewing from her ears.
"Grant lost twice as many soldiers as Lee during the Overland Campaign in the spring of 1864. That's when Mary Lincoln nicknamed him 'the butcher'. But when you look at the war as a whole, Lee's casualties far exceed those of Grant. Lee relished the attacks—it helped him win battles, but he lost a lot of soldiers because of it."
The room is so quiet you could hear a pen drop, and we do when a student in the first row knocks hers to the floor. Halston and Professor Jones are staring at each other, her face turning redder by the second, Halston's cocky grin remaining.
I was trying so hard not to stare earlier, but I'm certainly staring now, a whole slew of feelings seeping under my skin. His confidence, his intellect, the way he's holding his shoulders high, not afraid to challenge someone who is giving false information, and also protecting me by turning the attention to him—complete and total turn on.
With an inaudible mutter Professor Jones backs away and continues on with her lecture as if nothing ever happened. A few guys pat Halston on the back and there are whispers buzzing in certain sections of the room, but eventually everything calms down and class goes on as normal.
Another text comes through.
Halston: So....tonight? My place? Also- Sorry I almost got you in trouble. I'll make it up to you.
I loll my head to the size and catch his gaze. This time he's the one that winks and I can feel my cheeks flush.
Me: Sounds great. I'll be there.
