Chapter 3
The Actor and the Spectator

As a matter of fact, the welt was still shining on my face the day after. My mother almost had a coronary when I walked down to breakfast. My father just laughed and told me I looked very attractive. I laughed along with him, posing while my mother brought out the heavy duty ice for one final attempt to make it disappear. Like everyday, I ended up being late for the bus and having to practice the hundred meter sprint to catch up to the rickety dying vehicle.

I wasn't lying when I told my mother I didn't mind the red welt. I wasn't lying when I laughed with Angie at possible excuses for the red mark, the most colorful having something to do with a raging unleashed tiger.

But deep inside all I could think of was Jared. Jared. The fading bruise might give me that golden opportunity to open a conversation. To actually ask him his name as if I didn't know it and whisper it in my sleep. Okay, so maybe an injury isn't the best of conversation starters. What am I supposed to say: Hey there, handsome! You know that ball your pal threw at my face yesterday? Yeah, you know the one! Well, it left this nasty bruise on the side of my face. Do you want to apologize some more and perhaps grovel a bit? Oh, and, by the way, my name is Kim.

Yup. We all know how well that would go.

But I hadn't pinned after Jared for the better part of a year for nothing. If anything at all could establish a connection between us, I would take it. Even if it was welt on the side of my face.

It was with this positive attitude that I took my seat in art. Go Kim, it's your birthday; we're going to party like it's your birthday. That last part came from Angie's brilliant encouragements. She was all for the pity talk and even suggested I pretend to have a concussion to milk it for all its worth.

Needless to say, I didn't quite agree with her to that extent. I am after all Kim, just the shy girl who happens to sit beside a mortal god in art.

The bell rang.

I sat up a little straighter, very discreetly peering through the side of my eyes towards the door.

Mrs. Gatsby, most likely due to an anonymous complaint to the principal, was actually teaching class today. Her manner was frustrated, her wide blue eyes fixed on her carving at the back of the room. She obviously would have preferred to have been carving than talking about how to position an object of a painting in order to get the best lighting contrast.

The sunlight teemed through the windows and I could tell my classmates were falling, one by one, into the stupor of noon. I was wide awake, panicked. The time: 11:28 am.

Jared was late.

I could barely concentrate on the stocky woman breathing heavily at the front of the class. What if something had happened to him? Was he sick? Oh no. My mind swam with millions of horrible scenarios of what could have kept the future father of my children from coming to art.

Really, I feel embarrassed at my psychopathic obsession over Jared. It is odd, you know. What I feel for Jared is not like those small crushes where your typical high school girl simpers over a random guy. Though it might have all the appearance of being that…well, how should I say this…lame, I can assure you it is not. I do not have a crush on Jared. What I feel for him is so much more. Yes, coming from a girl whom he doesn't even know exists, it may seem strange and creepy. It is hard to explain. Like gravity. You can't explain gravity, but its there.

At exactly 11:30, six minutes after the class had begun, and two minutes after I had started giving serious consideration to asking Mrs. Gatsby to let me go see if Jared was okay, the door opened slowly.

He walked gracefully into the room, without a noise. No one seemed to notice he had stepped into the room. In the stupor that had fallen quite a few people had begun to whisper amongst themselves, the teacher and what was becoming her angry tirade, forgotten. In his large hand was a crumpled piece of yellow paper: a pass, which he left on the very edge of Mrs. Gatsby's untouched desk before making his way towards me.

What happened next I can recite down to the very last detail.

Jared sat down awkwardly on the blue chair that was way too small for his enormous frame. His black hair, always in the same state of beautiful disarray, fell into his eyes and he impatiently brushed it away with the back of his hand. The pencil he pulled out was worn, and the sketchbook looked untouched. He leaned back, making himself comfortable, a relaxed smile on his features. It was like everyday; he would listen, smirk and laugh, occasionally turning to Embry and whispering a funny sentence. But Embry wasn't here today.

11:32 am.

Jared frowned suddenly, his perfect brow wrinkling. It seemed as though there was something slightly off about the world, and he couldn't figure out was it was. He tapped his sneakers, barely visible under his long dark blue jeans, impatiently on the beige linoleum floor.

11:33 am.

His movement was so sudden I almost fell out of my chair with surprise. Jared Thail has turned in his chair. And from underneath his long shaggy black bangs, he is staring straight at me. His eyes. Those impossibly dark eyes. A brown so deep it is almost black. I feel a lurch in my stomach and my breath is caught in my throat. I can't breathe, but I don't want to. Jared, my Jared is looking right into my dark eyes, his own widening with surprise, or another emotion I cannot name.

Then, just as suddenly as he turned to me, he turns away. His movement is almost too fast for my eyes to follow as I blink in confusion, choking on my own breath. He has pushed his chair to the very corner of his side, as far away from me as possible, his strong arms gripping the table until his knuckles turn white under the stress.

Instantly aware that I had been staring, I quickly turn my face to stare at the desk under my small hands. My breath is coming in ragged gulps, and my head still feels light. Blood is rushing to my face as I blush royally, completely and utterly embarrassed. I clench my fists, berating myself for being so stupid – I was staring like a complete idiot!

Then, before I can take my bag and flee to the bathroom, he talks to me.

"What's you name?" he asks softly.

My head turn instantly to face him, and I realize how close he is. The outside of my skin is burning, his warmth and heat only increasing my growing temperature. My stomach contracts with dozens of butterflies. My throat is parched, and I know my eyes are once more lost in the depths of his soft and gentle expression. I cannot control the blush as it sets me ablaze.

I immediately turn back to look desperately at my desk. My answer is so quiet I am surprised he heard it at all.

"K-Kim."

He tries my name out, whispering it to the air, "Kim."

That second I decide that no one should be allowed to say my name but Jared. The way it rolls off his tongue makes me want to die right then and there.

"I'm Jared. Jared Thail."

I was going to just quickly glance at him, but I ended up getting sucked into his stare once more. My voice sounds ridiculous and hoarse, as if I had just walked through a desert, "I know."

He smiles and my heart falls as I suddenly wish I could take back my words and eat them. I desperately try to redeem myself by launching into an explanation, holding out my hands to him in an effort to make him understand.

"N-No, wait, I don't know. No. That's a lie: I k-know. But everyone knows your name. Not just m-me, me particularly. I-I know. Everyone knows. And I-I," I wince as I realize how stupid he must think me.

He chuckles, cutting me off by whispering my name again. Goodness that would never get old.

"Kim."

My mouth closes instantaneously and I return to openly staring at him, waiting to hear his beautiful voice again. But he seems content to scrutinize my face, a worried crinkle around his mouth as searches for something. Do I have something on my face? My heart is racing and I feel panic rising inside me.

"Roue," I blurt out on impulse.

He frowns and I hastily press myself to explain.

"Roue. That's my name. My last name," I finish rather lamely.

Oh god. I'm messing this up so bad. My one chance to impress the guy of my dreams and everything is crumbling to pieces under my clumsy words. I feel the urge to cry, my throat constricting.

"Kim…is that short for Kimberly?"

I smile slightly at the question, my fears subsiding for a moment, "No. It's just Kim. Not Kimberly. Just Kim."

I have yet to move, my eyes fixed on his. He is so beautiful. His eyes, his aristocratic nose, his strong jaw line, his soft-looking lips, the messiness of his hair. Jared. Jared Thail.

Jared who frowns, his eyes fighting within themselves. He moves away from me and sighs in frustration, running a hand through his black locks. Before I can ask what is wrong his eyes meet mine again.

"I have to go."

And just like that he's gone. His pencil and his sketchbook forgotten on his desk as he runs out of the class, oblivious to the sudden cry of surprise from Mrs. Gatsby.

I collapse in my chair, my muscles lacking the strength to support me. Numbness overtakes me. Jared is gone. Jared who calls me Kim. His chair is empty, thrown to the side in his quick retreat. My Jared. I would pinch myself to see if it was all a dream but for the worn pencil that has rolled over to my side of the desk, resting gently against the tattered edges of my sketchbook.

11: 42 am.

Ladies and Gentlemen, the imprinting has occurred. So…what do you think? The imprinting is the critical point in any, well, imprint story, so tell me what you think! Hate it? Love it? You tell me! I will respond to your comments and incorporate anything you want! Kisses!

AneleTiger.