Page 34 of Don’t Forget Me

“Her name is Lysandra,” I corrected him sternly.

“I didn’t think you’d go for her,” he began. “After all that crap she told you at the cafeteria. Figured you’d give up on that little game.”

The game he’d mentioned was not what I had been excited about. Although guilt slipped into my heart, I simply enjoyed being treated as a normal person. Even if she was unfriendly, she definitely wasn’t attracted to me, or my money. Which meant she wouldn’t treat me according to the benefits I could offer her.

“Back off, I have to get started on a paper. That’s the only reason I’m meeting up with her.” I shoved Zack away, his hot breath causing my stomach to swirl.

“I’m going to pretend like I believe you and go to my dorm to sleep until tomorrow,” he slurred.

There was no remedy for Zack. I shook my head. I used to adore him; he used to be my role model, my idol. But then I realized just how idiotic his choices were. I hated the shame that would fill my chest whenever I copied his choices and lifestyle. The party animal. The player. That was not who I was. And sometimes I wish he’d understand that for once.

“I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch then,” I chuckled, masking the contempt I felt. Being around Zack caused a weight to settle on my shoulders. As if his mannerisms were rubbing off on me. I sighed, irritation bubbling within me as I headed to the library.

Lysandra was already seated at the corner table. There hadn’t been too many students in the grand archives. Dimply-lit lamps were scattered across the entirety of the library to cast away the shadows of the night. Lysandra’s face was painted in gold. I stood by the entrance, students in plaids trousers and vests pushing past me.

There she was. Writing on a dusty green journal. She dipped her pen into an inkpot before scribbling her thoughts onto the ivory page. There was something about watching her write down all of her thoughts onto a piece of paper that caused me to have a quiet smile bloom across my face. Who knew a fiery soul like hers could leave the imprints of her burdens onto a piece of paper in such a gentle manner.

Slowly, and tentatively, I walked toward her. I could not form words, all I could do was admire her. Once she realized I had been standing before her, she looked up. At first, her gaze had been filled with confusion, visible through the streak between her brows, but then it was replaced with sudden disdain.

I really wanted to know why she seemed to despise me so much. I hadn’t done anything horrible for her to glare at me in such a way. Perhaps if I took a different approach, she’d open up just a tad more.

“Oh, it’s just you,” she said with a sneer, squinting her eyes slightly.

“Just me,” I replied rather dryly, causing her to grimace. I thought this new strategy would work. Maybe I’d been too open, too direct, and that scared her.

“Okay, well, I began writing a few pages about the role of women. I used some of the information that the professor gave to us in the packet, but I took the liberty of checking out these books for us to do more research on.” She rested a hand on a stack of books beside her.

“Alright.” I leaned back on my chair and crossed my arms, making it to creak. She stared at me for a long second.

“Okay, then. Well, there isn’t much to say about women in most cities. Most of the research I could find is about the women in Sparta and Athens. Women’s roles in both cities varied and differed from one another entirely,” she explained.

“How so?” I asked.

I already knew the reason, but I wanted to hear her talk, speak her mind, and share her wisdom with me.

“First and foremost, the women in Sparta were able to have an education, unlike the women in Athens, and most of the other city-states of ancient Greece. They were required to train along with the men, they could own property, they could be seen around men without questions of their virtue and honor,” she said. “In other words, they had more freedom. Perhaps not as much as we have today, but they were more advanced than the other Greek cities.”

“Interesting,” I said.

“Will you stop that?” she hissed, hitting the table in the process, earning several shushes from librarians and the other students.

“I’m not doing anything,” I defended.

“You’re acting weird,” she exclaimed.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You’re acting… not your usual self,” she rephrased.

I scoffed. “Just because I’m not willing to talk like I always am?”

Her demeanor changed completely. She began to collect her papers and books, before I set my hand over hers. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I shouldn’t have assumed that you wanted to talk to me. I don’t even know you, for that matter⁠—”

“Lysandra, please sit down,” I asked.

Her brown eyes swept over me before looking down at her trembling fingers, and she sat down again.