“If I could have your attention.” Memphis’ voice rings through the room. I don’t want to look up from my computer, but I know I need to. Keeping my head lowered, I peer beyond my screen, noting only Memphis near the lectern.
Great, he must be teaching the entire class. Why the heck does he have to make boring light brown slacks and a white button-up so distracting? Even worse, what if he saw what Oswald did? I can’t meet his eyes. I doubt I’m going to be able to concentrate on what he’s saying.
Memphis starts the lecture, and I find myself watching his every move. While Hilbrand seems to favor standing at the podium, he’s much more animated. He uses the entire floor space to pace and gesture while speaking. I’m surprised how engaging he is with the class, allowing for more discussion and interaction among the students. Not only is it a different style than Hilbrand’s, it’s also surprising to see him being so open in this environment. He seemed much more standoffish the previous times he spoke, or maybe that was because he was being accosted.
I find myself taking notes as he speaks, fully engaged in what he’s saying and captivated by his passion for the subject, or at least the ability to make it seem that way.
Several times through the class, I feel like he looks directly at me. Once, I even see his chin lower as if he’s nodding in approval that I’m paying attention, but I could just be seeing something that’s not there.
When he walks past the lectern and closes the book he never really went to for information, I glance at the clock in the corner of my computer, shocked to see it’s nearly eleven-thirty.
Memphis reminds us what papers are due and what reading materials we’re responsible for. As soon as he’s done speaking, I see the slight change in his features, his eyes shrinking to a shrewder gaze. It seems like he’s shuttering up, and even his posture shifts, becoming more intimidating and unapproachable, yet it doesn’t stop someone from asking, “Will you be teaching the remainder of the classes?”
“Not all,” he replies, and I swear even his voice has changed. He’s no longer welcoming questions or dialogue. Thankfully, no one yells out anything inappropriate as the students start to leave. It would really diminish what just happened in this room and prove they didn’t respect him.
I feel Oswald’s gaze on the side of my face and remember I’m supposed to be packing up myself. When I close the top of my laptop a little too forcefully, it makes a loud snapping noise which draws more attention than I want, so I pretend not to notice as I start cramming things in my bag.
“Want some help?” Oswald offers. His bag is already looped over his chest, and he’s standing.
“I’ve got it, thanks,” I reply, although my fumbling hands would have me think otherwise.
“Lunch, you pick today,” he says as if it’s a foregone conclusion that we’re already going out together.
“Um…” I need to be resolute, but words are failing me. I don’t want to disappoint him.
“Okay, I’ll pick.” Oswald pulls the strap of my bag from my fingers the moment I try to hoist it over my shoulder.
“I don’t think I have time today. I have to study for math.” My excuse sounds lame, even to me.
“I’ll help you,” Memphis says over my shoulder. When I look up, he’s staring at his brother, but I know his words were meant for me.
“No, I don’t want to take up your time, you guys should go.”
“Meet me at the truck,” he instructs, still only looking at Oswald, but I get the feeling he’s talking to me.
“Let’s go before he hauls you over his shoulder and gets himself in trouble,” Oswald says quietly while urging me forward with his body. I scoot past Memphis, who steps to the side, and then he peers down at me as if to say,I’d do it too.
Once we’re out of the room, I open my mouth to tell Oswald I can’t go, but he drops his arm over my shoulders and hauls me close to his side, and I lose my train of thought. He smells good, not the same as Memphis, more like fresh soap, and I find myself inhaling to catch another whiff.
“Luckily for us, Memphis is a whiz at math, so he’ll have you straightened out in no time.”
“Oh no, that’s okay. I signed up for the study group. I just don’t want to get behind.”
“We won’t let you. You won’t even need the study group.” Oswald keeps shooting down all my denials.
“Really, it’s okay. I’m sure he has enough to do.” I try to sound steadfast.
He ignores my last statement and changes the subject. “What do you feel like eating?”
“I…” I think about working up another denial, but it seems pretty pointless at this rate. “Anything is fine.”
“Oh, no, no. That will not do at all, Wavy baby.”
I stop dead in my tracks, causing Oswald to look down at me when my movement dislodges his arm from around my shoulders. “Wavy baby?” I question.
Oswald has the nerve to look pleased with himself. “It rhymes,” he says like I somehow missed that fact, “and flows, Wavy baby.”
I’m still staring at him at a total loss for what to say. That has to be the silliest term of endearment ever.
