The TA.

Absence

When I walk up to the classroom, I expect to see Nathan curled up in the corner as usual, working away. But the ageing chair is empty and Prof Smith sits alone at the desk, nodding his head to AC/DC. He pauses the music hastily as I step into the room and drop into my usual seat.
"No Nathan today?"
He sends me a look.
"He has classes too, you know."
"Right..."
"He wanted the day to study and write for his own class, I said sure."
I nod, biting back the urge to ask if he seemed off, to know whether he's still weird after our not-date date.
I take my phone out and hold it under the desk as the room starts to fill up. 
To Nathan: How come you're not in class today?
My phone buzzes across my thigh as the blank piece of paper goes around for us to sign in.
I glance down at the message.
Nathan: I have my own writing to work on. I needed the day to do my coursework.
I half-listen as Prof Smith starts to talk about sentence structures in the readings he set us this week. I keep as still as I can while I text Nathan back.
Me: That's what Prof Smith said.
Nathan: And that's what's happening.
"Lannie!"
I lift my head and meet Prof Smith's eyes.
"I asked what you noticed in the Hemingway story I asked you to read."
I nudge my phone off my thigh and trap it between my legs.
"He used short sentences, right? That's the thing you wanted us to notice?"
He nods.
"So you are paying attention. Could you stay with us?"
I nod.
And then bite back a gasp as my phone buzzes between my thighs.
I wait until Prof Smith is talking to someone on the other side of the room, then quickly check and reply to Nathan's message.
Nathan: I don't need you checking up on me.
Me: I just, we haven't spoken since the other night, about the other night. I just want to know that we're okay.
Nathan: We're still friends. Chill out please.
I nod to myself and push my phone into the back pocket of my jeans. I listen as Prof Smith details for us the things to include in the piece he wants us to write. I jot down the list, the setting, the number of characters, the word limit. 
I look across at Cal, who is already scribbling long, looping sentences across her notebook. 
I hold my pen over my page, nod to the quiet music that Prof Smith lets play and tell myself to come up with something. 
The blank page stays blank in front of me. 
When we walk out of class an hour and a half later, Nathan is leaning on the wall opposite the door.
His hair is especially messy. His hands are deep in the pockets of his skinny jeans. The sleeves of his sweater are pushed back to his elbows.
I stop in my tracks, looking at him. Someone bumps into my back, gently pushes me closer to Nathan, then steps around me.
"Hey," he says. "You seem freaked out. Don't be."
"You're alright?" I ask, then clarify, "Because I definitely hit a button the other night."
He pushes off the wall and takes his hands out of his pockets. He places a hand on my upper arm and leads me aside, into a quieter corridor.
"I'm British, okay," he says, his words clipped.
I shake my head.
"What does that mean?"
He smiles for a moment.
"It means I don't talk about feelings and I don't wallow."
"Well, next time, just don't bite my head off."
He squeezes my arm.
"Sorry."
I look up into his eyes and step closer to him. 
"So can we go out again?"
"You still thinking about boys and bones?"
I push at his shoulder and giggle.
"Maybe. But I'll take some beer, some dancing and some drinking games, if you know a place."
He nods, "I'll text you."
And then he lets go of my arm and wanders away, dragging one of his hands along the wall until he rounds the corner and disappears out of sight.