With the premiere of his Netflix original series, newly verified Instagram account, and his return to college to endure sophomore year with his best friend, Griffin Alvarado should be on cloud nine. However, after learning that his online summer fli...
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"Mercedes?"
"Sorry, but I'm Anahid."
Cue sweating and extreme heart racing associated with second hand embarrassment. Every repressed feeling returned violently, clawing its way out of the locked chambers of his heart to his throat. Griffin's hand flies to his neck to calm that agonizing pain. When the girl's eyes follow the direction of his hand, he covers his previous reaction by tugging on his black turtleneck. The action does little to ease the pain pulsing throughout his body.
Griffin lowers himself into his seat, the hesitant smile he offers the girl barely shielding the wave of heartbreak crashing against his heart and racking his brain. He tries not to let his emotions betray him in front of her.
"Anahid," Griffin says, testing the way her name rolls off his tongue. "That's a really pretty name."
It's not Mercedes.
Anahid adjusts herself so that their shoulders align. "Thank you. You actually pronounced it perfectly, which was music to my ears."
It's not Mercedes.
Griffin's eyes flick everywhere but her face. He desperately craves a distraction, finds it vital to zero in on an alternative drug. He feels like a deer caught in a headlight, sweat trickling down his back. He can thank the overwhelming embarrassment that generates heat to emit from his body. Griffin tugs at his turtleneck again.
It's not Mercedes.
The room is far too quiet, practically incapable of providing a sufficient mask from the nerves leaping across the goosebumps lining his arms. He can feel electricity jolting the bumpy terrain under his clothes. He's a rock that can't withstand erosion. The other eight students are lax in their seated positions, peering away at their printed syllabus, oblivious to Griffin's emotional dilemma. He can't move, it's so quiet, he can hear her breathe-
Griffin finally registers that her wide, innocent eyes still had a curious gaze fixated toward him. He clears his throat loudly and huffs out a nervous laugh. "Sorry, what was that?"
Anahid smiles pleasantly, either kind enough to ignore his internal turmoil or oblivious to the effect her face has on the pattern to which his heart beats. "Your name. I was asking what's your name."
"Griffin. Sorry. Hi," He finally manages to say, berating himself for the awkward delivery.
The pleasantries of Griffin's introduction fail to be returned when the double doors swing open, rusted hinges squeaking against the friction. Professor Grimaldi strolls into the room with crazy eyes and her signature wardrobe of contrasting patterns. Her outfit today is the most simple ensemble Griffin has ever seen her in, surprising the set of students with a vertical stripe top and horizontal stripe pencil skirt. Taking into account the bright neon, they all raise a brow to the tamest outfit in her collection.
