Feathers

Chapter 4

After dinner, we sat on the couch, an awkward 12 inches between us. I sat there holding my hands in my lap  while he crossed his legs. We had been talking back and forth for a while over the buzz of the television, but we never moved closer.

Around 8:30, Castael got up to use the restroom even though we both knew he wasn't going to pee. I glanced around nervously and patted my hair and my dress. I cross my legs toward where he was sitting. When he came out, I was ready. I was ready to sit closer to him. To see if it was confortable to sit next to him. He knew I was ready, and he was ready, too.

He walked around the couch and sat down, right next to me. I felt my face warm up at his touch. He nonchalantly picked up his arm and rested it on the back of the couch behind me. I shivered slightly.

"Are you cold?" he asked me.

I opened my mouth to tell him no. He put his hand on my shoulder. "Only a little," I lied.

He pulled me closer to him and I rested my head on his shoulder. He rubbed my arm with his hand keeping me warm even though only his touch warmed me from head to toe. That was when the awkward air between us vanished and a pleasant, confortable air rose.

We began to really watch the television, laughing at jokes the characters said.

Hours later, Castael got up to leave even though neither of us wanted him to. I stood up and followed him to the door. When he opened it, a breeze blew in and ruffled my skirt. There was a slight chill in the air when he stepped out.

"I'm glad I came," he said.

"I'm glad you enjoyed my cooking!" I replied. He laughed at my enthusiasm.

"I'm glad I came," he repeated.

"You just said that," I told him. He nodded.

"I am, and something that makes me this happy is worth repeating." He leaned forward and kissed me on my cheek. "I hope we can do this again."

He smiled one last time before taking the handle and closing the door for me. I heard his heavy foot steps walking away. I couldn't help the smile that crawled onto my lips.

When I sat on the couch, the door opened. 

"So?" Mo asked. I looked over the back of the couch. My smile said everything and she beamed with pride. It's the truth! I'm pretty sure she actually glowed. 

A few days after that, classes began. I stepped into my first class and saw an auditorium style room. I saw a seating chart in the front and sat in my seat. I had always loved English in highschool. I used to want to be an author.

I pulled out the desk that hung on the side of the chair and put my book sack on the ground next to my feet. When it seemed everyone was in the room, I glanced at my watch. Class was supposed to start 20 minutes ago. 

The door opened and a man in a suit walked in. Every wagging foot, even the guys, stopped. Girls grasped their hair and twirled it watching the man. He set his brief case on the desk and looked up directly at me. 

I couldn't say that his stare didn't do anything to me because that would be a lie. I crossed my legs fidgeting under his stare. 

"Hello class," he seemed to only speak to me. "I'm Dr. Jeremiah, but you can call me Dr. Jeremiah."

The people in the room scoffed.

"We will be learning how to write. Now, I know what you're thinking: 'Learning how to write? Dude, are you serious?' Yes, I am serious." He finally looked away from me and began to write his name on the board. A little late for that don't you think. "I'm going to teach you how to really write. Not those boring, wordy essays that you've been writing for the past four years of your life. The bigger ones, the better ones, stories. That is what you signed up for right?"