by A.E. Davis
The rest of school was a blur. English was my last class and when I walked in, Viktor’s chair was empty and even though I knew he wasn’t going to be here I was still kind of hoping to see him. Jason was once again sitting in Viola’s chair. His face brightened once he saw me.
“Hey, I saved you a seat,” he said, and pulled my chair back so it was closer to his.
I set my bag down and slid in. “Thanks.”
“Movie time,” Ms. Campbell screeched and scuttled over to the wall and flicked off the light. “Class, take notes, I may be giving a pop quiz at some point on this.”
A loud groan erupted and I could hear everyone pulling out their notebooks. I tried to pay attention but between Jason playing with my hair, and the darkness of the room my thoughts wandered back to Vincent and then to Viktor.
Jason jerked on my hair and passed me a note. I felt like jerking his hair so he would know how it felt.
I carefully unfolded the paper and looked at was written. “Want to go to the party with me?” He made a little stick figure down on his knee’s begging.
Quickly, I wrote back. “Is Kirk going to be with you?” I passed the note back.
I heard him exhale behind me and then he shoved the paper back.
“Not if you don’t want him to be.”
“Maybe. I’ll think about it.” I passed it back. I hated to admit the only reason I was even considering going was because Vincent was supposed to be there.
I knew when he opened it because I could hear his breath catch. Within seconds he passed the paper back.
“No pressure! CALL ME PLEASE! Only if you want to.” He made another stick figure this one doing a happy dance, snapping his stick fingers with his number written underneath.
I laughed out loud. I couldn’t help it.
“Ms. Davis, do you have something to share with the class?”
“Um, no… not really.” My face burned.
“Let’s try to keep our mouths shut then, shall we.” She gave me a stern turtlesque look. A barrage of snickers cascaded throughout the room.
“Sorry,” Jason whispered, placing his hand on my shoulder.
I batted his hand away.
“I think you broke my hand,” he complained theatrically, his voice low.
“I didn’t hit you that hard.” I glanced over my shoulder.
He pushed out his bottom lip, holding his hand, like he was in pain.
I turned back around and smiled.
