He used to be one of Sabrina’s admirers, but all his attempts to get her attention had crumbled to dust when she had sent him, figuratively, as far away as the confines of the English language would allow. Since then, he had given up that foolish endeavor and switched to less verbally abusive and more receptive targets.
“Great, Scott. And you?” Notice how I always try to be super friendly and polite.
“Alright.”
“Ready for class?” I asked, even though I couldn’t care less.
“Of course. How else? And you?” Scott inquired.
“Of course. No other way.”
Here it is, the reason Sabrina doesn’t like him. He’s just awfully boring! Always looks impeccable: perfectly shaved, well-dressed, well-mannered, and always ready for class…
Sabrina nestled herself in the corner at the very back of the classroom to my left.
Apparently, she wasn’t ready either. Remembering the last literature class when she had disrupted my brooding, I moved over to her table and sat down beside her.
“Well, well, look who showed up,” she remarked casually.
“Aren’t you glad to see me?” I asked, feigning sadness.
“Of course I am,” Sabi sang sweetly, slamming her textbook on the table.
I glanced at her sideways. Pretty… Crimson, slightly plump lips parted slightly, tousled hair falling in large curls on slender shoulders. Long, full lashes nearly casting shadows on her pale cheeks. High eyebrows, a neat little nose, sharp cheekbones… My eyes moved down involuntarily, resting on her chest that was rising and falling with each breath. The plunging neck top made the sight devilishly enticing. I swallowed audibly and tried to look away. It was difficult, but oddly enough, I managed.
“Nice sweater,” I blurted out and regretted it. Good Lord! What am I saying?
And out loud too!
Sabrina slowly turned to stare at me with her beautiful ultramarine eyes full of indignant surprise. And there it was, what I had feared. Her eyebrows knitted together ominously. She took a deep breath and was about to open her mouth to say everything she hadn’t had a chance to say in all her twenty-three years, when Professor Stone literally stormed into the classroom.
“Take your seats!” he barked. “Silence in the classroom!”
Oh, Mr. Stone! You just saved my life! Literally!
Trying to ignore Sabrina, I casually opened my notebook and began doing what all normal students usually do in lectures. Namely, doodling .
Sabrina snatched the notebook from under my hand before I could even finish my masterpiece. I turned and glared at her. The girl was writing something down feverishly crossing stuff out, then writing it again. She pushed the notebook back towards me. Couldn’t she use her own? There was a single sentence on the page.
“What did you just say?” it read.
I glanced at her. “Have you gone deaf?” crossed my mind, but now there was genuine surprise in her eyes.
“I said your sweater looks cool,” I wrote down.
Sabrina frowned, and snatched the notebook again.
“You don’t actually like the sweater, do you?” she quickly wrote. I stared at her again. Does she really think I’m going to write a heartfelt confession that I had spent a good chunk of time staring at her chest? Yes, they do say there’s a blonde in every woman…
“But I do, I also love Nine Inch Nails, ” I scribbled.
She snorted and kicked me under the table.
“Come on, you primitive creature!” Sabrina wrote. “Back off, please,” I think my response was quite concise. Then followed a written exchange that resembled more a fencing session than a civilized dialogue.
