She sits at the table. An array of cluttered stationary and notebooks sprawled across the writing surface. A textbook had been clumsily placed in front of her, its page randomly flipped across, watching. Waiting. She had no interest in the neat placid rows of numbers that evening. Her attention had been taken by the common activity of internet browsing, or to be more exact, the scrolling through of her Facebook page, the clamorous attempt of trying to find him. A boy that sits at the back of the classroom, the one with the disheveled hair and unnerving eyes. She had worked with him once on a project and he was so annoyingly disruptive. Couldn't even sit still for ten minutes. She knew he wasn't stupid, just chose to fool around instead of cracking down and getting to work like she always does. And no, she doesn't like him, shut up Thalia. And the Facebook searching was just out of curiosity, nothing else.
She was never very good at lying.
He sits on the bench, watching his teammates run around with the basketball. The squeaking of shoes, the cheering. A normal game. The whistle was blown, and he was called in to play. His eye catches the one of a girl in the stands. A girl in his class. He doesn't understand what she was doing here, she wasn't great at sports and showed no interest towards them. It might've been her friends that had dragged her along with them.
Yeah. Probably.
She was studious, everyone knew. Sometimes his friends would call her a prick, and he doesn't say anything, because sometimes they were right. But he's seen her at other times, when she could be as obnoxious and rude as everyone else. She was pretty, he supposed. His mind wanders for the rest of the game.
Needless to say, they didn't win.
She continues on at school, answering every question and doing all the homework. She doesn't let herself look in his direction, ever. She ignores her friends' snickering as they pass each other in the corridor. Stoppit Thalia they might hear you and then I'll very gladly tell them about- she earns a couple of punches in the arm as a result.
He almost gets killed by his friends afterwards. There were a few select words directed at him after their shattering defeat. They somehow manage to learn of his distraction, and they're anger quickly turns into teasing. He shoves them as they perform the beautiful art of childish chanting you've got a girlfriend, you've got a girlfriend. Those manipulative bastards.
They get paired up for an assignment. Oh the horror! The class erupts into a flood of giggles and chatter. They're both the color of blood red tomatoes. She takes the lead, and he dumbly follows. They settle into a routine, research only and very little talk. But they both ease up and return to their loud selves soon enough.
It was to no ones surprise that he asked her to lunch and she said yes.