In Motion

Chapter 9: If It's Not With You by Phoenix (2004)

August midterms were clobbering everyone. Dazed students were dozing off on the wooden desks of the Third World Studies Library. Meanwhile I had been slaving away in front of my laptop since the weekend and lugging around references from three libraries. What merry hell did I say yes to by being partners with Martin?

hello? dying here. wru?

Sorry! Walking to Third World!

u got run over, didn't u?

Don't miss me when I'm gone.

,,l,,

I would but why did he have to be so cocky about it?

Heaving, he showed up to Third World looking like he forgot to swipe gel on his hair. It flopped and swayed as he walked toward me. I stared openly in appreciation. He smirked at me and pointed toward my eyes.

"I'll remove them as soon as I'm done," I whispered as he dragged a chair and sat next to me. I really did need my glasses for long screen time. (I was also trying to score cute points, whatever.)

"Hi!" he said, looking straight at me. I didn't know what was more distracting: the cheerful smiling or the intense staring. I just couldn't win.

"Hello," I said, returning the smile but keeping my voice down. "I'm almost done."

He reached out his finger and I felt it push my glasses up.

"Sorry," he breathed in a hush, shocked at his own impulse. I blinked at him.

This would be a long afternoon.

I leaned closer, working on the last part. Martin was hanging back and watching me type.

"That's good," he said. "I have the references for that."

"Yeah, it better be," I replied, keeping the spite in tow. "I was holed up in my room all weekend for this."

Hunching, I wracked my brain for more things to type. "Conditional cash transfer works best in the practice of an efficient government," I argued.

I heard Martin let out a sigh. Was he unimpressed? Irritated that I was rushing this? I continued poring over my references, trying to see if I could support my statements.

A post-it landed on the page of the book. It read: "I can see your..." And then a drawing of a pair of boxers.

I snuck a glance at him. He was looking away on purpose. I couldn't help the smirk and blush threatening to ruin my concentration.

I scribbled something on the post-it and passed it back. My reply? "you can look."

All of a sudden, I felt a strong pull at the hem of my shirt, forcing me to the backrest.

"Ow!" I yelped in surprise.

Everyone looked at us. The librarian craned her neck to check on the commotion. She gave us that stern librarian face.

I glared at Martin. Mouth set at a straight line, he was squinting at the laptop screen.

"Wear a belt," he hissed. His eyes were trained on the paragraphs, tracing sentences with his finger.

"I'm wearing my nice boxers today," I drawled, trying to sound coy.

Martin gave me a blank, unblinking expression. It probably meant "Ground rules."

"Fiiiiine," I breathed out, shifting my attention back to our paper.

His focus was unrelenting, all thought of my day's underwear forgotten. He also fell back on his nervous ticks, like fidgeting. The side of his knee was rubbing against mine. My eyes widened. We were both wearing shorts.