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“What?” I ask innocently.
“If you’re sitting in the front row, you’ll be sitting alone,” She answers.
“No, I’ll be sitting with all of the other scholars who take their first college class seriously,” I snark back at her.
“And you’ll be getting spit on by the professor because you’re basically sitting underneath him,” She gives me a pointed look. “Let’s go to the back!”
I smirk at her playfully. “Compromise?” I say while gesturing to the middle rows.
Ana groans half-jokingly but allows me to lead her to seats in the middle of the classroom.
“Take notes for me,” Ana whispers as she pulls out her phone. I laugh and shake my head while getting supplies out of my bag.
Most of the class is just an overview of what we will be covering this semester. I spend the class taking notes on my laptop and Ana switches back and forth between drawing flowers on her notebook and playing games on her phone.
We part ways after English Literature since I have a break before my next class, so I go to the library to start reading the books that were mentioned on our syllabus. I tried to memorize the campus map yesterday, but I have to stop and ask a couple of upperclassmen for directions to the library. I am practically bounding as I walk toward the sprawling brick building with anticipation. It is only day one, but the energy and excitement of ‘college life’ is inevitable and impossible to ignore.
That excitement is impeded upon an hour and a half later when I leave the library and make my way to my next class. I find the building easily enough, but when I swing open the door too hard I lose my balance and stumble backwards into the person behind me. I drop the book I am holding and as I am about to hit the ground, I feel hands go around my arms to keep me standing.
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!” I cry as I turn to apologize and thank my rescuer. But when I see who it is, my heart stops and my face gets hot. Of course. Of. Course. “Oh, Decker.” I shake his arms off and straighten up. He bends down gracefully and plucks my book off of the floor. “I’m uh…sorry. Thank you…I’m sorry again, here I’ll take that.” He hands me my book and his hands drop back to his side. He slowly opens and closes his hands several times, almost like he is trying to shake off the abhorrence of touching me.
I think my face is on fire. He glares at me and doesn’t say a word, but he turns his intense eyes to look behind me and walks into the classroom I was going into.
Of. Course.
I collect myself with a few deep breaths and a positive inner pep talk, and walk into the auditorium style classroom. There are only a few open seats, and they are towards the back of the room. I quickly sit down in one of them and start to pull my stuff out. Someone sits down next to me and I feel his presence before I look up at him. My shoulders stiffen and I side-glance to the tall and dark figure sitting right next to me.
I glare at him. “There are other open seats.” Okay, that was petty and immature. But I can’t help it. I’m still nursing some embarrassment from my almost fall. I still feel where his hands had touched me.
I don’t expect him to respond, he rarely does. So I am a little surprised when he turns to look at me and says tightly, “I’m fine here.”
I’d be lying if I said my heart doesn’t race a little at the sound of his voice. Damn traitorous heart. “Cool,” I mutter and scoot as far away from him as I can without falling out of my chair.
The next hour feels like it lasts for days.
It is hard to concentrate knowing that he is so close. My neck starts to hurt because I keep my head tilted away from him. I’m well aware of the fact my behavior is borderline ridiculous and immature. I know that. But all my logic and composure disappears when I’m within a few feet of this guy. That may be one of the many reasons I have so much animosity towards him. He was the first person I met that didn’t instantly like me. Is that stupid? Yes. Do I have issues? Also, yes. I’m still working through my people-pleasing tendencies with my therapist. But even more so than just him not instantly liking me, he has always harbored an undeserved amount of disgust towards me. No matter what I did or didn’t do, he has never looked at me with anything but disdain.
As I try to listen to the professors’ words, I think about the time in high school when I was heading up a fundraiser for the junior class. We set up a bake sale at our school’s baseball game. Cliché, I know. But always a success. No one can walk away from a good bake sale.
The game just ended, and we had won. Our team and community were celebrating the exciting victory. Our bake sale tables were set up right towards the end of the path leading people back towards the parking lot so we were able to catch everyone on their way out.
We were just about finished as the last of the crowd faded out. I was helping the others pack up the leftovers when I sensed another person walk up to the table. I turned ready with a smile, which faltered quickly. Elliot Decker stood there, in his baseball uniform, slightly covered in dirt and looking a bit disheveled. He stood in that unnatural stillness he seemed to master at the ripe age of 17. A few of his baseball buddies stood behind him.
I clenched my jaw before smiling tightly.
“Would you like to buy something, Decker?” I asked politely. He didn’t respond right away. His mouth moved like he was grinding his teeth together.
Poor guy. He just wanted to buy some cookies and has to endure the agonizing pain that goes along with talking to me. He gave me a curt nod, then looked down at the table and grabbed a baggie of cookies before looking back up at me.
“Chocolate chip? Excellent choice. I made those ones myself,” I said brightly and flashed him a smile, only partly fake now.
He froze, not saying anything or moving for several seconds before he glared at me and gritted out, “Nevermind.” He placed the cookie bag down harshly on the table and turned to walk away. I gaped as I watched his retreating figure. His friends snickered, one of them looking at me with pity before following him. My blood boiled and I slammed the cash box closed. I hated feeling embarrassed.
I come back to the present, quietly seething. I just don’t understand. What is it that makes him hate me so much? Would it kill him to be kind, just once?
When the professor finally dismisses us, I gather my things and shove them into my backpack. Decker is already walking away when I get out of my seat. When I get to the door, I find him holding it open for me.
My eyes flicker to his in surprise, but his face reveals nothing beyond the hard exterior he always wears so well. “Oh, thank you, Decker,” I say quietly. I’m not sure how to respond to this unexpected act of kindness. I can’t help but give him a small smile—a real one—and his eyes drop to my mouth.
