“Where are you off to?” Chris asks, coming to step beside me on the stone walkway.
“Spanish.”
“And after?” he asks, accompanying me as I walk back toward the entrance.
“Advanced U.S History.”
“No way. Ellis?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?” I ask, giving him a curious stare as the clouds above our heads collect in an angry bundle.
“I’m his aide. That’s my elective.”
Well, at least I’ll know someone in the class. Maybe if I bat my eyes and smile enough, he’ll help me pass.
He guides me through an isolated stairwell. It leads us straight to the third floor without bumping into any other students.
“Rios is just a couple of doors down. I’ll meet you here after,” he says just before stepping into a room with the nameplate reading,Mrs. Domingo.
A student tells me Mr. Rios isn’t here today as I wait by the door. She points to the vacant seat at the back table before skidding away to join her friends in the far right corner.
After taking the seat closest to the edge, I greet the substitute, perfectly content with her indifference.
This period passes with ease as each student is instructed to work on assignments from other classes. I sit in my seat with nothing to do but wait until it's over.
Just like he said, Chris meets me in the middle of the hall, smiling from ear to ear while we walk back toward the stairs.
As we chat about my day so far, we stop at the last door, and I watch in confusion at the scene in front of me.
What the hell?
Kids squeeze side by side into the doorway. Some girls push and shove to enter first, physically fighting to be in the room. Chris and I hold back, not wanting to be in the middle of that circus. Some are hanging back with us, but not to avoid the crowd. Instead, they fuss with the collars of their shirts, pulling them as low as they’ll go to make their cleavage fuller. Others primp their faces and fluff their hair. It’s all so… entertaining.
“What’s with the chaos?” I whisper when I twist my head to the side, hoping the curtain of my hair masks the amusement scrunching my lips.
Chris shares my enjoyment, but unlike me, he doesn’t hide his blatant laughing.
“It’s like this every day.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see,” he says, extending his hand toward the clearing path.
And I do.
The second I walk through the door and see him bent behind a large wooden desk, tongue trapped between his perfectly straight teeth as he types something in on the computer, I realize what the mess outside was for.
My heart comes to a stop as his eyes lift over the monitor and connect with mine. They don’t falter, and as I approach his desk, with Chris leading the way, I even see them deepen, darken, like the ocean is swallowing us whole.
“Hey, Mr. Ellis. This is Scarlett. She’s new.”
Gaze on me, Mr. Ellis extends his hand. I watch his thick fingers come toward me, and sense my heart begin to beat again. Blood rushes to my face as I take his palm in mine, but I feel the burning heat somewhere else.
That scene in the movies, when the girl meets the guy, and suddenly the world stops, everything turns blank and all you can see, hear,feelis him… I laughed at those scenes. They always seemed ridiculous, unrealistic, a foolish vision for hopeless romantics.That never happens, I would say. But as he takes my hand and I feel the weight of his palm, the strength in his grip, and the delicate way his thumb rolls across my flesh, I know that moment in the movies is entirely accurate.
Not only that, but it’s downright euphoric.
Dropping my hand, he pierces my soul with a dazzling smile. “Hey, Scarlett. Welcome to my class. I’ve requested that we have a desk brought up for you, but it hasn’t arrived yet.”
