Someone Willing to Stay

Murphy's Law

     Everyday in the seventh period, I sit in the fifth row, the last seat on the left. The right seat next to mine remains empty day after day, and I'm grateful for it.

This class is History, the only one I pay attention in. The stories of triumph and adventure have always fascinated me. People solving their problems with nothing but their wit and a little extra time on their side, who somehow end up on the front page of my textbook.

We're ten minutes into the class period, barely finishing up attendance when there are two sharp knocks on the door.

Everyone's heads turn in sync, thirty pairs of curious eyes on the doorknob.

Mr. Moore puts down his piece of chalk on his desk. He wipes his hands and pushes up his dark rimmed glasses.

We all watch him approach the door, waiting to see what interrupted the lesson and if it could last long enough to get us through the bell.
The door creaks open slowly.

"Mr. Foster, I'm assuming." Mr. Moore's muffled voice echoes throughout the room as he speaks to the person in the hallway.

"Guilty as charged."

"And do you have a good excuse for your tardiness?"

"Got a little lost, Sir. it won't happen again," The other voice is smooth and smug. He's confident. For a second I think he almost sounds familiar.

"Go take a seat."

Mr. Moore steps aside to let the stranger enter the classroom.

He's obviously new, in a school this small it's impossible to miss a face. His bag hangs loosely from his shoulder, and his cell phone is clutched in his hand. My eyes trail up his body like most of the girls around me.

His skin is tanned and muscles are toned beneath a tight fitting T-shirt. His lips hold a smirk that I have no doubt never leaves his features. I can see the dimples in both of his cheeks, the mischievous twinkle in his moss green eyes, but the thing that my eyes are immediately drawn to is the small white scar underneath his left cheekbone.

I was with him when he got that scar.

He's back. After nine years. He's here. He's walking down the aisle and his footsteps are thundering towards me, almost as loud as my heartbeat.

I would give anything to not be here at this moment. I would rather be home at the wrath of Adam's fists than be suffocating in a classroom with Mason Foster.

I can't breathe.

He falls into the seat next to mine, I can feel his warmth as he moves to put his bag on the floor.

I try to make myself appear smaller, almost invisible, hunching over my desk.

"Alright guys," Mr. Moore begins but I'm not listening.

Nine years. I haven't seen him since we were eight years old and his front tooth was missing.

How could he just appear out of thin air? Why would he come home after all this time?

"Melanie?"

I direct my attention towards Mr. Moore who is now standing in front of me.

"This was originally a partner assignment that I was going to allow you to do by yourself, but since Mason is new, you're going to have to be his partner."

Murphy's law: if something, anything, can go wrong, it will.

"Mr. Moore, I can't."

I'm practically begging. I can feel Mason's eyes on me.