Evan
I think I almost died walking Scarlett home a few nights ago.
Okay, maybe not, but it felt like it. I was freezing right to the bone, my shirt was stuck to me in every possible place, but for some reason, when I put my hand across her face, flames erupted across my body. I really need to sort whatever the hell that is out, especially when we’re getting somewhere with the case.
I miscalculated time for my run again this morning, so I’m sprinting down the hallway, my shirt untucked, tie loose and my hair a mess as I try not to miss the meeting with Anderson and Scarlett about the project. If I’m more than ten minutes late he’ll probably lock me out of the room. He’s done it before, and he’ll do it again.
I somehow messed up my fitness watch and ended up sprinting half a marathon before realising I was late for school. Again. I can't blame anyone for this. I set the time for half an hour, but I set it at nine-thirty-seven, and it messed up my concept of the run. It needed to end at ten-forty or else it would irritate me that it’s not landed on an even number.
Still, Anderson wouldn’t care for my excuses, so I picked up the pace again, finally in the same building as his office. It’s the last one on the corridor, tucked between the business library and a lecture theatre. I get to the brown door a few seconds before I would have been ten minutes late, and I open it.
Scarlett’s back is to me at first, sitting in front of Mr Anderson’s desk. She looks a lot more put together than she did the other night. Which is a little insane considering the rain and the dim glow of the moonlight only made her features more striking. Now, she’s wearing a black dress, half her hair tied back with the ribbon into a bow, while the rest falls onto her shoulders and down her back. She turns around, her brown eyes taking survey of my messy outfit.
She snorts. “You look like shit.” I ignore her when she laughs at me and take the seat next to hers.
“Language, Scarlett,” Anderson warns, sounding fed up with her.
“Thank you,” I say to him sweetly as she gives me a stern side glance. I smile to myself, knowing that tiny comment got under her skin.
Anderson goes into his usual lecture, explaining how the project works and asking us if we’re abiding by the guidelines. His office is cool in the sense that the blinds for his windows can convert into a screen which he can project his PowerPoint on. As he turns around, droning on about the requirements, Scarlett scooches her chair closer to mine, her strong perfume hitting me.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asks, not looking at me as she pretends to watch Anderson’s presentation. She lowers her voice lightly, “Do you need some weed?”
I choke on air because the question hangs between us as we’re in a room with ateacher.He could easily get us expelled for that shit, but he doesn’t seem to care much about his job to even bother.
Still, as he changes slides he says, “You cannot talk about drugs in my office. I am a teacher.”
Scarlett rolls her eyes, seeming way too comfortable with the idea of us getting kicked out. “Yeah, but are youreally?”I swear this girl has a death wish. She leans into me again as Anderson groans. She whispers, “I’m being serious.”
“I can still hear you even if you whisper, Scarlett. We’re not even two feet away from each other,” Anderson says. She actually laughs at that and I’m too busy trying not to focus on her proximity to laugh with her. She waves a hand dismissively at his back and then turns to me, a question dancing in her eyes:Well?
“I definitely do not need any substances from you, Scarlett,” I say to her. She turns back to Anderson, slightly slouching in her chair as she crosses her arms across her chest, sulking.
“Okay, jeez. It was just a question. Quit acting like you’ve got a cork up your ass,” she mutters. I ignore her and turn back to Anderson.
“Can we please stay on topic,” I say.
* * *
The rest of the meeting goes smoothly.
We explain to Anderson how we’re planning on running the app and when we get in touch with software developers, how we'll turn it into a reality. He said our plan is good and that we could be coming out with a good grade if we stick to it. It’s kind of hard to do while we’re also solving a mystery alongside it.
After the meeting, we moved into the business library across from his office, finally getting back to work. After such a weird morning, it feels good to submerge myself into work that isn’t my brain. I can give myself time to focus on something that isn’t going to send me into a spiral or lead to a cold shower.
I thought it was working. Then I remembered that it’s Scarlett Voss I’m working alongside.
I notice too many things about her. All the time. I’ve been picking up on small things that she does, most of which drive me a little crazy. Like the way she taps her pencil on the page three times when she’s thinking and four times when she’s thinking extra hard. The way she crosses and uncrosses her legs when she’s listening to me talk. The way she never looks me in the eye for long enough, but how it also feels like it’s for too long. How after four seconds of uninterrupted eye contact, shealwaysdrops her head down to her work.
And today, even though I can tell it was probably perfect before she left the house this morning, the bow in her hair is slipping out. We’re both sitting next to each other at a desk facing the window, tucked into one side of the small library. My chair is a few inches further out than hers as she leans over the table and I lean back in my chair, giving me a fantastic view of her hair and the loose bow.
Usually, I wouldn’t care. Okay, I would, but I could suppress my compulsions. Today I’m already on edge with after the run this morning and being late to the meeting. Now seeing that bow, seconds away from falling out, it’s driving me up the wall.
Finally, I mutter, “Your ribbon is falling out.”
She pauses writing for a second. She’s right handed. I like that. It means we can sit on the same side of the table without our elbows rubbing together. It’s a stupid thing to pick up on, but it adds to the very long list of things I’m starting to notice about her.
“Gee. Thanks for pointing that out,” she mutters angrily.
