by O. E. Boroni
"You don't have to. I just have to find a way to get it to you and make you know that I have." He stared again, and then returned to his book.
I let him be, and took the muffin out of the bag. Underneath it was a small chocolate bar that I guessed he’d added on a whim. To have it now would probably be a terrible idea because it would worsen my cramps, but the consideration was moving. I couldn’t control my smile, so I waited until it had worn off before I raised my head to speak to him.
"You’re actually a pretty decent person, but you seem like a total snob."
“Maybe I am a snob," he said, still not looking up from his book.
"Right, so what do you call the last few days?"
"Common courtesy." he said, and that pricked me.
"You call beating up four boys and repeatedly bringing me here courtesy?"
He frowned. "I didn't beat up four boys."
I rolled my eyes. "Still, if that's your courtesy, I wonder what your intent looks like." I said. I wanted him to agree with me so that I wouldn’t feel ashamed for trying to complement him.
Instead, he said, "Actually, you're a bit of a bother." And it made me frown.
Did he just politely call me a nuisance? I thought, affronted, and started to think of what I could say in retort. I eventually decided to just drop it, and he looked up then to see why I had gone quiet. Just then it occurred to me that I still didn’t know what his name was. So I asked him, but instead of answering, he just held my gaze and flat-out stared- again.
It was so uncomfortable that I had to move my eyes to the window beside his head, and then back to my muffin, like it had become the most fascinating thing in the world.
Why did he do that? I wondered. His face however, remained in my mind’s eye, so I started to search through my memory because he reminded me of someone. There was a certain familiarity in the olive-toned skin, dark hair and defined jaw that I couldn’t quite shake off.
I returned my gaze to him, expecting to find him still watching me because of the heat that still burned on my face, but I was disappointed. He had his face back down to his book, and had quite possibly forgotten about my existence. Sighing, I turned to my muffin and gazed at it with all the love I could muster. At least, you’ll always be here for me, I serenaded, and then started to slowly peel off a side of the wrapper.
You’ll be sweet and ever-present when I need you to be, I sniffed under my breath.
You’ll never leave me, I wailed in my head, just before I raised it to my lips and took a bite. At the taste of the blackberries in it, I almost spat it out. I hated blackberries.
“Is there something wrong?” he asked, and my eyes shot up to meet his. The distaste on my face immediately disappeared, and I shook my head before managing a small smile.
“Nope,” I lied. “Everything’s fine.”
He returned to his book while I returned the muffin to the brown bag, shaking my head. Even a muffin couldn’t come through for me; life was seriously screwed up. But on the other hand, I reasoned, I did have a gorgeous boy right here and up close, that I’d probably never get the opportunity to ogle at again. So I took the chance to stare and to completely memorize his features, just in case I needed to use my imagination for whatever benefit it would warrant in the future.
He had all the works, but what I decided fascinated me the most were his eyelashes. Softening the slight hardness of his face, they made mine seem like the thinning hairs among the patch on the head of an aging man. But I was probably exaggerating because I did consider mine acceptable by any standard.
His eyes had a radiance to them, and coupled with the striking blue colour, they almost seemed liquid. Mine on the other hand, were just a plain, light grey.
“What’s your name?” I found myself asking again, now seriously needing to know.
"Why do you want to know?" he asked, and that should have been more than enough to make me not care anymore, but I pressed on.
"Because you know mine."
“No, I don’t.”
That surprised me, so I pointed out. “You called me Nora earlier,”
He revised his statement. “I don’t know your full name.”
“It’s Lenora Baker. People call me Lennie, sometimes.”
“Any middle names?” he asked.
“Grace.”
Then to my utmost discomfort, he again watched me for a few seconds before returning the favour. My temper had begun to rise as I waited, and I couldn’t believe how much it would have upset me if he hadn’t told me.
"My name’s Alex," he finally said, before I could read anymore into his silence. "Full name: Alexandre Nathan Roque."
"Alex," I repeated testing the sound of it in my mouth, and to my ears. "Can I call you Nathan?"
"No."
"But earlier you called me Nora."
He seemed amused at my upset. "And?"
"Well no one calls me Nora, apart from my mom. So for that I should be able to call you Nathan."
I expected him to argue but he just remained silent, watching me again like there was something on my face that he was trying to decipher. It unsettled me, so to throw the unnerving feeling off, I went on to cement my stance.
"I'll call you Nathan," I stated firmly, and when he didn't respond I chose to ignore his silent stare and took the opportunity to ask more questions.
"Are you Italian?" I asked. He shook his head.
"I'm Portuguese," he said. "And you're American I suppose."
"I am. That obvious huh?"
He answered plainly, "It is."
I chose not to read too much into the probable basis for that conclusion.
The bell signifying the end of lunchtime rang then, and instantly, he rose to his feet. I was disappointed. I wanted him to stay a little bit longer.
"Are you okay to attend class now?" he asked, and I nodded, rising up too. He left to go talk to the nurse, and in no time, we were out and on our way. He escorted me across the block to my floor, and as the few people still remaining in the corridors took the trouble to stare at us, I started to feel uncomfortable.
We stopped at my locker so that I could drop the lunch bag, and when he stretched his lips into a soft smile as a farewell gesture, my breath caught at the back of my throat. Shyly, I returned it and he left, leaving me to wonder when I was going to see him again.
« CHAPTER 5 »
I didn't see him for the rest of the week, and it bothered me. On Monday in class, I absent mindedly stared out the window and wondered why my not seeing an almost stranger for a few days had managed to take over the entirety of my thoughts. Up until the previous weekend I’d been unaware of his existence, but now, it seemed as if I couldn't get him out of my head.
A cold breeze that somehow found its way through the edge of the closed window interrupted my reverie. Looking away from the courtyard scenery below, I took a brief glance around to re-orientate myself with the dull class, and then my eyes fell on the initials I had written out on the top corner of the opened page in my notebook.
N.A.R, it read. Picking up my pen, I wrote out his name in full, and in the very best cursive I could work up. The results were pitiful but as I stared down at the name, I found myself feeling as distressed as the letters appeared. Each time I thought of him, something warm would heat up the pit of my stomach and excitement would flutter in my chest. I didn’t yet know what to make of any of it but one thing was for sure; I didn’t like it.
Brushing my hair away from my face, I focused my attention on the chemistry element symbols scribbled across the board, and the flat tone of Mrs. Zimmerman’s voice. None of her scribbles made much sense to me, so after a few more moments of trying to understand what she was talking about, my mind slinked back to a certain pair of blue eyes.
This was a healthy diversion I finally decided, and gave up trying to fight the thoughts off. On other days, my mind would have wandered away to times with my mom, and all the ways I'd need her in the future but would never be ab
le to have her with me. Then I'd think about my dad, and how I hardly ever heard from him. And no, I didn’t think he was a terrible person, rather, I thought he was just very self-absorbed.
His selfishness hurt our relationship, and so did my inability to look past the fact that because of how miserable he made my mom, she had literally driven herself to her death. Of course there was more than enough within the story to vindicate him, but so far, I found that resentment worked well for me. It kept me angry, and an angry me when it came to my father, kept me un-emotional, and that was the state I needed to be in to be able to function.
I didn’t have any grandparents. My mom had mentioned to me that it was one of the things she’d expected would connect her so strongly to my father; the fact that they were both orphans and could lean solely on each other. It didn’t quite play out as well as she’d hoped.
Generally, my default thoughts were sooty and unpleasant so having this, a little excitement at the thought of someone who I still wasn’t sure what to make of, was a welcome distraction. So I allowed my thoughts to run wild, and by lunch time, had incited myself so much that I wanted nothing more than to get another glimpse of him.
My safest bet was the cafeteria, so I headed towards it. It was crowded, as usual, so I didn't take my time at all. After a quick scan, I decided that there was no sign of him and left. I felt foolish as I wandered through the hallways, my eyes alert in case I ran into him, but there was of course no such luck. So I decided to go up to the seniors’ floor. It was meant for the seventeen and eighteen-year-olds, whom were only a few months away from University and the real world. I envied them and also avoided them, but this was dire.
I reached the floor but stopped at the top of the staircase to have a quick look around. It took only a few curious glares at me for me to snap back to my senses, and turn away. I was scared that one of them would call me back to ask what I wanted, so it was only when I walked into my class and exhaled in relief at a safe arrival, did I allow myself to relax.
However, my shoulders drooped in disappointment; where was he and why was he so hard to find?
*
With my backpack slung over my shoulder, the end of the school day found me heading to the library. As usual, it was almost empty when I walked in, so I eagerly headed over to my corner and settled down on the carpeted floor to continue my read. It was a historical novel set in the 1800s which told the love story of a barbaric highlander, and a prim English aristocrat. It usually helped me escape for a few hours, but after about an hour, I had to literally stop reading or have my heart explode from want.
I was so jealous of the protagonist. She was in love and careless, consumed by the thrill of romance and favored by the throes of adventure. It sounded cheesy enough to choke me, but I wasn’t even joking. Nothing in my own life came close to being interesting and as far back as I could remember, my budding feelings for Nathan were the closest I'd ever come to a crush.
One time though when I was in the fourth grade, I did pay especial attention to a really skinny guy just because he told me he liked my hair. But when he also told me how much he disliked novels because “they weren’t grounded in reality enough and therefore, a complete waste of time”, my attention to him had immediately translated to disdain.
Rising to my feet, I decided to head into other sections so I could browse for books on more sensible things that would help take my mind off all the silliness I was surrendering to. I still had my looming biology assignment, so I decided to finally do something about it and go in search of a book that I could use; the deadline was sometime this week.
I found what I wanted in minutes, but as I headed back to my table with the book and the intention to begin the assignment, I suddenly felt exhausted. So I gathered my things, and headed to the receptionist’s desk. She greeted me with a smile, and accepted the book so that she could check it out.
The sight of a picture in the corner of her desk, showing two small boys – whom I supposed were hers – hugging a dog between them, occupied me while she worked. The absolute delight on their sunburned faces pulling a smile from me.
Just then, I felt someone come up beside me, so I turned and saw a tall boy with ginger colored curly hair, placing an impossibly high stack of books on the desk. When his polite smile met my widened gaze, I just had to ask.
“Are you going to read all that?”
"No,” he replied, his smile widening in amusement. “It's a list our physics teacher requested ... I'm just helping him retrieve them."
"Oh, okay," I said with a nod. He had a clear sharp voice that anyone would have expected to belong to a bold person, but he seemed to be very self-conscious. His right arm kept going up to touch his left elbow as if he couldn’t quite figure out how to place them, and his eyes were shifty as he spoke, like he couldn't quite focus on me for more than two seconds at a time.
His smile was also shaky, I realized, when he stole a glimpse and caught me watching him. I found it amusing, but in a good way, endearing almost, and it instantly drew me to him. He seemed like an interesting person.
"So, are you a senior then?" I asked, as I collected my book from the librarian. He nodded before handing the signed note for the order over to her.
"Yup," he answered. "I've seen you around – you're in fourth year I suppose."
I smiled, "I’m in the third actually."
"Well, you could easily have passed for fifth," he said, and I beamed at his ill attempt at flattery.
“Style” was what more or less distinguished the years, and I knew that I would have passed for someone in the second year (in fact, I was almost certain that I did). My navy blue pinafore still hung loosely from my body, my hair was constantly a wild mess and my face, ever devoid of even a hint of makeup, would have easily led anyone to believe and conclude that I had an aversion to it. My disregard for refinement was glaring, there was no argument there.
"Do you need help with that?" I asked, not genuinely with the intention to assist, but with the hopes that I could be acquainted with him enough to ask if he knew Nathan. It was petty and selfish, I knew, but I had run out of options.
At first he looked indecisive, but I wasn’t sure I would accept no for an answer so I saved him the trouble, and took a few of the volumes off the stack before he could make up his mind. He of course nodded his agreement then, and we walked away together.
"So how come you're the one on library duty?" I asked.
"Because I'm the library prefect," he said. “And the geek of the class. Actually the second geek; my cousin’s the first.”
"Your cousin's in your class? That sounds nice."
"Yeah, it is. Well, only sometimes, and I guess the duty just fits me more than anyone else."
"You don't really seem like the book type," I teased, and he laughed, a hearty and genuine sound.
"You definitely missed the curly hair memo."
“There’re no glasses," I pointed out as he used his back to push, and hold the door to his class open, so that I could walk in.
"I’m just lucky on that count,” he said. “My cousin couldn’t escape it though.”
Walking over to the teacher’s desk, I placed the books on top of it while he came over and did the same. We turned to each other.
"So …" I started. "It was nice meeting you."
"It was nice meeting you too," he said with his hand held out for a handshake. I took it awkwardly; his eyes were still shifty. It was adorable.
"I'm Lenora by the way," I said.
"I'm James – James DuPont."
Just then, the door to the classroom opened and as I turned to see who had walked in, the smile was completely wiped off my face. Immediately, I turned away.
"Alex," he called, "did you meet Mr.Maine?”
"No," I heard his curt reply, but I still couldn't turn around to face him.
"That's my cousin," James said, still chirpy from our chat. I was just surprised that I was even able to control my mouth from hanging
open. My heart was pounding furiously and suddenly, I needed desperately to be out of there.
James called him again, probably to introduce us, and that was all the warning I needed. Like a flash, I was out and rushing towards the staircase. I didn't slow down until I was well on my way back to my house.
*
You're such a coward, I thought to myself as I arrived at my house. I almost felt like laughing. Almost.
After so long in wishing I'd see him again, I finally did, and instead of standing my ground I’d scurried away like a rat. I couldn't even remember the excuse I’d given as I hurried off. I wondered what they'd think of me now. What he’d think. I hoped he wouldn’t read too much into my rush, and figure out that it was probably because I was attracted to him. That would be too embarrassing for me, and he already seemed too cocky a person.
“Hey!” someone suddenly called, startling me. Frowning, I turned to my right to see a blonde girl with light brown eyes, standing at the door to the common room.
“What is wrong with you?” she asked, irritated when she saw my frown. It was rhetorical anyway because she went on to say what she wanted. Through the door I could see that a crowd of seniors had gathered by the huge bay window seat at the extreme end of the room. It seemed like a meeting was going on.
“Run up to my room,” she said. “It’s B27. Just knock, my roommate is in. Tell her I sent you and that she should let you have the notebook you’ll find under my pillow.”
“Beverly!” someone yelled from the room, and she turned to respond. It was then that it hit me; this was Olivia’s sister! Right then I felt like walking out, but for my safety I remained. She turned to me and frowned.
“What’re you still doing here?”
I was sure she expected me to scamper off to do her bidding, but when I just calmly walked away, I heard her snort before she retreated back into the room. I considered going to get the notebook for her before I returned to my room but when I reached my floor, my backpack suddenly felt too heavy. So I allowed myself to go in so that I could drop it. The room was empty when I arrived, which I was more than grateful for. Hanging my bag on the end of my chair, I walked over to my bed and sat down to take my shoes off.
