But me? I’m stuck right here, wondering what the hell just happened.
2
Cadence
“Okay, class. We have a new student here with us. His name is…” the teacher squints her eyes at the paper in front of her. “Zach-uh-ree-uh.” Her lips twist as she pronounces the new kid’s name in syllables, turning to write the spelling of it on the white board behind her.
A few students laugh, I’m not quite sure why. But as I watch the teacher write out his name, I already know she butchered the way it should be said. Regardless, the new student doesn’t correct her. He just stands still in front of the whole class, and I wonder if he’s purposefully tuning her out. That’s what it looks like by the way he’s just staring out into nothing.
Miss Gracen turns back around to face us. “I expect you all to show him kindness and encouragement as he finds his footing in a new school.”
I focus on the new kid, noticing that he seems kind of sad. Maybe not really sad but there's something off in his expression. Maybe he’s exhausted. Nervous, even. I can’t quite place my finger on it, but he’s standing absolutely still as the teacher talks next to him. His eyes don’t move around the room, curiosity not seeming to find him, as the whole class stares to the front of the classroom at him.
The teacher turns to face him, placing her hand on his shoulder and this causes him to flinch ever so slightly. Not enough to cause alarm or to capture anyone else’s attention, but I notice it. I notice something else too. Seeing him stand next to Miss Gracen, who is probably the shortest teacher in our school, I can tell that he seems to be the tallest kid in class. Maybe even a little bit older than the rest of us fourth graders as well. But if he is older, then why is he in this class?
“Why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself?” the teacher says. “Favorite food, color, or maybe even your favorite place to visit.”
Everyone focuses their attention up front. Waiting and waiting. Only to be met with silence. He doesn’t move or speak. His answer never comes.
The teacher calls his name gently, shaking his shoulder just the slightest. But he simply shrugs it off and continues to stare off into space. Some of the students start to get a little rowdy, whispering amongst themselves as we wait for the new kid to answer the teacher. Or to do literally anything else.
I keep my eyes focused on him, ignoring those who are starting to laugh at him for whatever reason. I find myself fascinated with how he just stares ahead, unblinking and seemingly not bothered despite the noise that starts to pick up.Despite everyone’s attention layered thick on him. How can he stay so calm? What is his reason for staying silent? Though, I can kind of sense a small pool of frustration swimming in his brown eyes. I can tell by the way his fist is starting to form in his right hand at his side. In the slightly heavy rise and fall of his chest, and the way he seems to stiffen as the teacher places her hand back on his shoulder. I know she’s trying to comfort him, not noticing that maybe he’s overstimulated. I would be too if someone mispronounced my name in front of twenty-plus kids while the whole room stares at me, forced to answer questions I don’t want to while everyone giggles for unknown reasons. Maybe the attention is overwhelming for him. Maybe he doesn’t want to be here.
But why is he not talking? Is he shy? Can he even speak? Those are all thoughts that form in my head, but in all honesty, it doesn’t really matter to me. If he doesn’t want to talk, he shouldn’t have to. I wonder if that’s why some of the kids are laughing at him, because he’s deciding to be silent. Or maybe they think he’s incompetent. All I know is that their laughter isn’t very kind or encouraging.
“Okay, no worries then. Why don’t you go take your seat next to Brayden. He’s in the last row on the left.” Miss Gracen points in the direction of my brother, a table behind me.
The new kid doesn’t hesitate to listen, walking forward, causing Miss Gracen’s hand to fall from his shoulder. He walks down the pathway between the tables of students. Some continue tosnicker as he goes and others watch silently with wide eyes. Me included. But I’m not trying to stare in a rude way. I’m just curious about him, so I watch him carefully, my head turning to follow him as he finds his seat next to my brother. Brayden doesn’t say anything as he sits, seemingly as uninterested as the new kid. Then again, Bray is also kind of the quiet one in school. Maybe that means they’ll get along.
Everyone starts to turn back to mind their own business as the teacher begins class, starting to write the lesson on the board. But I can’t help it, I have to turn back around to look at him one more time. It’s like something is pulling me in that direction.
His head is down, staring at his hands in his lap and I feel kind of bad for him. I want to make him feel like he belongs here even if everyone else handled his welcome with insincerity and laughter.
“Hey,” I whisper but his head isn’t the one that pops up. I see Bray out of the corner of my eye looking up at me, but I ignore him. “Your name isZachariah, isn’t it?” I ask, making sure to enunciate it the way it’s spelled; like Mariah but with Zach replacing the M.
Without lifting his head, his eyes find mine and I feel a slight tinge of pride swell in my chest. He has really pretty eyes. They’re brown, but the kind of deep brown that reminds me of the melted brown sugar Mom puts in our hot chocolate. And he’s looking right at me. But more importantly, I watch him as he gives me a slight nod, telling me that I’m right about his name.
I smile at him, but he lowers his head before it can truly form on my face. Though I don’t let that discourage me. He’s obviously got something to be reserved about and I don’t want to add to that so I simply lean in gently and lower my voice.
“Welcome to Harper Valley, Zachariah,” I whisper before turning back around to face the teacher.
The memory of the first day I met Zach fades from my head as I rest my head on top of my pillow. Seeing him today has me feeling all kinds of conflicting emotions. Mainly because, again, just like a few weekends before, he seemed to have noticed me. And every time Zach looks at me in my eyes like that, I’m reminded of that very first day he ever looked up at me.
I take in a few deep breaths, trying not to overthink the situation or get my hopes up, really. I know I’ve struggled with possibly overanalyzing his movements and reactions before, thinking they were more than what he intended, but thisfeltdifferent. He was closer. Way closer. He looked at me with some kind of aggression, but it lingered with softness in its wake—his eyes staying on me even after he walked away. But everything felt more intentional than normal. The hands on the shoulders, his strong, demanding eye contact, and the way he pointed out my book; made sure to let me know that he’s paid attention to how many times I’ve actually read it.
It took my breath away if I’m being honest.
If I know one thing about Zach, which I know way more, it's that he doesn’t do anything he doesn’t mean to do or want to do. But it’s hard to tell what his intentions were from our interaction today. Especially knowing that he brought Ashley along for whatever reason. I’m not too sure if they’re still dating or not, but I swear Bray said that they broke up right after school ended before summer. I know they didn’t date long but I do recall thefeeling in my gut that twisted with a potent level of dread the moment I found out that they were dating. I was honestly kind of crushed but I couldn’t really show that because no one really knew I was secretly in love with him. Ashley’s not even his type so it really threw me for a loop. The rumor of their breakup was really one of the main reasons why I decided that I should probably make a move. Or actually, it’s why Ryen suggested that I go for it.
But how can he still be with her when he looks at me likethat.
My phone vibrates in my hand, seeing that Ryen sent a response to me telling her about the incident from today.
girl, I can NOT believe that you didn’t smack the shit out of her.
I’m not all confrontational like you, Ry. You know that. And physical violence is a little excessive.
i was literally in the kitchen, you could have called me over to do it for you.
