To touch or not to touch.
“….I love your handwriting.” I whispered to Jude. “It’s so composed and handsome, can handwriting be handsome?” I tapped my pen on his notepad and leaned in. He smelled so good, I finally relaxed against his chest.
“It’s not the handwriting, it’s the intention behind the note itself.” He whispered. “It means, I’m thinking of you so much I can’t help but put it into words that are forever. Once a compliment is given out loud all you have is the memory of the moment. When you give a compliment on a piece of paper, you can read it over and over again. The intention is forever. My intention is that you don’t forget the words I write.”
I opened the note and gasped. “You’re prettier with your hair up.” I smack him. “Remind me how that’s a compliment?”
“Prettier,” He says. “You’re always pretty. I just like to see your face. I hate when it’s hidden because then I can’t see your eyes very well and your eyes are…” He points to the rest of the note. “Your eyes are my downfall.”
“Thank you.” I whispered back.
I snatch the note from the table and open it quickly.
One line written in perfect black ink, structured, expensive looking.
Congrats, you made it through traffic. See? Frogger wasn’t so bad. You’re even smiling today--shame.
My blood turns to ice. Did his handwriting really need to be that nice still? And did he really need to draw a heart and a frog that looks like Kermit when he knows I like frogs? I’m still shaken up from the email and from him and just everything.
A chair scrapes loudly behind me, and I whip around so fast my sketchbook crashes to the floor.
Everyone stares while heat rushes to my face. I’m sure I have blotches on my skin and look guilty for no reason. “Sorry. I barely choke out the word and crouch to grab my things when I feel someone behind me.
A hand reaches out. It’s his. I would recognize that hand anywhere. He’s holding a pencil out to me. I quickly snatch it. He’s here, he’s been here watching me slowly lose my mind, but for how long?
I look up. “Thanks.”
He nods. “Anytime.”
He turns and leaves.
Wait was he just seeing if I’d read the note? Or was he following me? And why is he just walking out of the room? Did he have something to say?
He seems unfazed.
Uninterested.
“Class,” Someone says from the front. “Today I’ll be your adjunct professor while the new hire gets his things in order,” He checks his watch. “He was supposed to drop by, but until then, I’d like to deal with the elephant in the room. Campus wide email was hacked earlier this afternoon, if you’re being threatened by anyone or anything please go directly to campussecurity and the admissions office, we’re trying to deal with this silly threat of the Dean’s List as much as we can. We have suspicions that it’s a hack trying to gain sensitive information from students. Please know, if you are asked to do anything dangerous or hand over personal information, the school would never ask that of you. Keep vigilant and focus on your studies. Let the police do their job in getting to the bottom of these baseless threats.”
A hand shoots up. “But what about Professor Evans? He was on the list and?—”
“—Did you see the list?” Our new adjunct professor asks. The guy shakes his head. “Thought so, it’s all speculation and rumor. Focus on your studies, things like this tend to die down fast once we know what the person wants. Now, if you’d all pay attention I’m going to go over the notes left for your final sculptures…”
I try to pay attention, but after five minutes it’s useless, instead, I trace the frog that Jude drew with my pencil over and over again and when I’m asked what my sculpture will be I blurt out: “The Princess and the Frog.”
Like an idiot.
And like an even bigger idiot, for some stupid reason, the idea of that as my final sculpture makes me smile.
9
“Some men forgive. Some men forget. Others study the wound until it becomes a map.” –The Count of Monte Cristo
JUDE
Ifollow her to the apartment. She's looking over her shoulder.
Again.
