Maya gave a general greeting as she walked into the History classroom, quickly settling into her seat. It was odd, she thought, as she started to arrange her books and pens. The other students there were gathered around in groups, talking avidly. She was the odd one out, a unique position for her to be in. She idly wondered if this was how Lucas had felt when he had first arrived, walking into a class full of students who had known each other for years, and wondering if and how he could fit in. She knew the situation wasn't as dire in her case, but still, she was isolated.
Her freshman year was comprised of students from at least five different middle schools, and while, some friend groups, like hers, had been directly imported into the high school intact, other groups had formed, and she knew that the window of time in which she could have seamlessly integrated into a new group of people was gone.
She hadn't been aware of the different friend groups that existed in her year until now. They had all just been random people to her, nameless faces who spoke in her classes. To see some of them like this, talking and laughing, put them in a new light for her, and she was forced to assess them as actual people. The quiet redhead who had a squeaky voice was laughing loudly with two other girls. Sinus Issues Samuel was actually not sniffing for once as he listened avidly to whatever it was his companion was saying. She wasn't a mean person, but she honestly had thought that he spent all his non-class time somewhere trying to clear his nose.
Glancing at the other students in the room, she realised that she didn't even know the majority of their names, something that struck her as oddly wrong. How had she allowed herself to become so lost in her friend group that she had relegated her year-mates into mere bodies who happened to occupy the same space as her for forty minutes at a time? She didn't like that fact at all; she knew people, if not by name but by their nature or characteristics. It was why she could identify people at the subway station simply by how they walked, how she knew if old Mr. Henderson, who loved sitting on the steps of his apartment building, had seen the middle aged woman with the mutt who insisted on licking his face every time they passed that day. She wasn't the one who had to sit there straining to recall the name of the girl in the purple dress who had now walked in.
She didn't like it one bit, but truthfully, she wasn't quite sure how, at this point, she could go about fixing it. And so, she settled for opening her notebook to go over some of the jottings she had made the previous week, just in case, Mr. Matthews decided to call upon her in class; she didn't have Riley or Farkle to deflect attention away from her anymore.
She was just about done with her review when the chair beside her scraped against the floor. She looked up automatically, and felt a bit of the peace she had been feeling fade as Shane sat, his eyes trained on her. She hadn't given him much thought lately, but now, watching the mildly contemplative expression he sported, memories of the previous Thursday came to the forefront of her mind, and she was certain that her cheeks were swiftly growing pink. Embarrassed, she looked away, fiddling with the edge of her page.
"Morning Maya," he greeted her, his tone warm and inviting.
"Good morning," she mumbled.
He chuckled, a rich sound, that had her inadvertently looking toward him to confirm that yes, he was gaining amusement from her discomfort. She glared at him, or rather tried to, but it seemed to have no effect as his lips curled upward in a smile, revealing a hint of dimples.
"How was your weekend?" she asked, determined to take control of the conversation and steer it away from herself.
"Pretty good," he responded, his hazel eyes brightening with remembrance. "My brother came home for the weekend, so we hung out a lot. Movies, karaoke and some time at the arcade. It was great!"
"Brother?" she inquired, "You don't mean Dylan?"
"No," he confirmed, resting his elbow on the desk and propping his face in his hand. "I have two brothers, Brian and Dylan, and a sister, Katelyn."
Maya's eyebrows rose at that. "Just how spoiled is your sister?" she couldn't help but ask.
"Very," he answered, jovially. "She's the youngest and we've all but ruined mom's hopes for a little princess. She's the rough and tumble type."
Maya's lips quirked at that as she could imagine his mother's distress. She didn't particularly care for gender norms herself (a topic Riley had forced her to get more invested in after Mr. Norton's science experiment) but she could sympathise with the woman who after three boys finally got a girl who refused all the things it seemed most mothers dreamt about doing with their girl child.
"Maybe she'll grow out of it," she offered, uncertain.
"I think that's the only thing that keeps my mom going sometimes," he joked. "Anyway, how are you? I didn't really get a chance to talk to you on Friday."
She pouted the slightest at his question; she had been hoping to avoid that conversation entirely. But he was looking at her expectantly, and somehow, she knew that he was not one to easily drop a subject. "That was deliberate," she admitted.
"Why?" he asked, frowning. "Did I do something?"
She shook her head, twisting her mouth briefly before saying honestly, if not a bit defensively, "I was embarrassed. I blubbered all over you."
"Don't be embarrassed," he responded, his voice lowering a bit. "You were upset. I wouldn't be much of a gentleman if I didn't help you."
She nodded, only mildly reassured by what he had said. She still hadn't quite figured him out as a person – not that she had really had the time to do so – but, she couldn't detect any insincerity in his words, or truly in his actions the previous week. He hadn't had to help her there in the corridor. Neither did he have to make the excuse he had once they had gotten to the practice room to explain their lateness, nor did he have to turn her audition into an impromptu duet, giving her a much needed reprieve from looking at the group members staring at her, and, perhaps, more importantly, a worried looking Emily who seemed to have seen through his excuse if the way she had wrapped her arm around her shoulders after she had sat next to her was anything to go by. She couldn't feasibly see him using the incident against her, not unless he had a ridiculously long term plan in the works, and so, she felt her guard lower just the slightest bit.
"Thank you," she said, meeting his eyes with a bit more confidence now. "For everything. You didn't have to do what you did. I'm grateful for it."
He smiled then, a full blown one that was infectious enough that she smiled as well. "I'm glad everything's better for you now, Maya."
"Me too," she responded. "I made back up with my friends."
"That doesn't mean that you're going to disappear from here right? I like having you in this class with me."
That was definitely flirtatious she decided, however, she wasn't exactly sure how to respond to it. Beside, was it truly flirting or was this just his personality? "I'm not moving," she confirmed. "You're stuck with me."
"You say that like it's a bad thing," he returned.
"Oh yeah? Wait till practice this afternoon. You're going to regret agreeing to be my partner, buddy. Them toes of yours aint't gonna be safe."
He laughed at that, shoulders shaking. "I think I'll survive."
"Awww," she cooed, "you're an optimist."
"And you're not?"
"Nope," she declared, popping the 'p'. "Tried that for a little while. Don't recommend it."
"That's no good."
"You know what else is no good?" a new voice interrupted before she could respond, startling them both. "Guns. Guns are not good, and I don't know about you, but I really want to know how their invention changed the history of war."
Maya's eyes widened at Mr. Matthews' words. He was standing right beside her, perhaps had been for a while if the way everyone else was looking at them was anything to go by. He didn't seem annoyed though, indeed, she could see amusement in his eyes as Shane mumbled an apology.
"Sorry Matthews," she told him.
He rolled his eyes slightly before lightly rapping her on the top of the head with the paper he was holding before turning away, addressing the class. She glanced at Shane who gave her a sheepish look, one that she returned with a shrug and half smile before she turned to the front and concentrated on the day's lesson. Afterwards, when the class had ended, she gathered her belongings slowly.
"What class do you have now Maya?" Shane asked, standing as well.
"Geography with Mrs. Richards," she answered after a moment's thought.
His face reflected a smidgen of disappointment. "Oh, I would have walked you to class, but mine is in the other direction. I have Bio now."
"That's fine Shane," she told him. "I appreciate the offer though. I'll see you after school?"
"Definitely," he agreed, cheering up. "We should compare schedules," he added as he walked off.
"We should compare schedules," Mr. Matthews repeated, voice a bit mocking as he reached her. It was only now that she realised that the two of them had been the last students left in the classroom.
She laughed at him, hugging her books to her chest. "Sorry about earlier," she repeated. "I didn't see you come in."
"How could you with Mr. Googly Eyes staring at you like that?"
She chuckled, a bit heartened to see a bit of the man's initial antagonism toward Lucas back in the seventh grade surface again, this time directed towards her. "I made up with Riley and Lucas," she informed him, "but I'm sure you already knew that."
He nodded, leaning his hip against the edge of the desk. "I also know that it couldn't have been a complete discussion." She frowned, wondering how he had deduced that. "If things were a hundred percent fine on both your ends," he continued, "it would have been a three-night sleepover."
Maya's lips twitched at that. Their epic reunion had consisted solely of Friday evening's talk with Riley, and their collective group's afternoon at Topanga's. She hadn't been in the mood to deal with any of them in any real capacity beyond that, especially a Riley who was bound to have spent the entire time relating her progress with Lucas now that she thought that all was well among the three of them.
"Am I being petty?" she asked, looking up at him.
The man shook his head. "I think that you know best what you need right now," he told her seriously, before adding, "not starting with Mr. Googly Eyes."
She snorted at that, and walked past him, bumping into him affectionately as she did so. "Don't even try to send him to Mexico," she warned, turning so that she was walking backwards.
"Didn't work before," he returned, feigning (she hoped) a frown. "I'll try for somewhere further next time. Like other side of the equator further."
"Whatever keeps you happy Matthews," she sing-songed as she walked out the classroom, shaking her head in amusement, briefly wondering if she could expect similar behaviour from Shawn.
At least now, she realised as she quickened her pace to not be late, the History teacher had indirectly given her some information that she had lacked before. Shane was definitely flirting with her, and now she had to figure out if he was her very own Charlie Gardner, or if he was, were she to allow it, someone who had the potential to be a bit more.
"Accept my sympathies Mr. Jackson," Emily said without preamble as she stuck her head around the classroom door. The teacher raised his head from the papers on his desk, looking at her inquiringly. "Liam's in a bad mood," she explained, before adding, way too cheerfully, "Good luck with that! I'm off to the music room now."
The man sighed as she gave him a broad grin before pulling her head back. For someone who liked to complain about her cousin's antics, the junior was pretty blind to the fact that she shared many of the same traits. Taking her warning to heart though, he gathered the essays he had been grading back into a pile, before standing and giving the room a quick scan. As was the norm for a Monday, the classroom was largely in order, something that was not particularly useful for the sophomore's state today if Emily was to be believed. Moving to the cabinet where he kept paint stained towels, cloths and aprons, he bent and quickly emptied an entire shelf on the floor, quickly shaking them out into a haphazard pile.
Only seconds after he had finished that, did Liam walk in, a scowl on his face. The man didn't speak immediately, simply stepping aside as the teenager looked around him. Sighting the pile, Liam walked over, and without a word, dropped to the floor, sitting cross-ledged before he pulled an apron out of the pile. Silently cheering himself on his quick thinking, the art teacher sat as well, and took one up, working considerably slower than the teen.
It took a few minutes for Liam to speak, but then, finally, he said, "She's not coming back."
"Who?" he asked, a bit surprised. Of all the things he had expected him to say, that had not been it. But then again, he realised, Emily had not been seemed at all upset when she had first warned him about her cousin's state. That meant that, at least to her, it wasn't that serious of an issue.
"Blondie," he responded shortly. "She's not coming back here."
The man furrowed his brows at that, trying to make sense of the teenager's words even as he reached for a next towel. Why on earth would Ms. Hart's presence, or lack of it, bother him like this? "Why do you think that?"
"Saw her earlier, during break," he explained, disjointedly. "Was with a group of people. The ones she was mad at? Didn't look mad today. She's not going to come back."
And that was the problem right there, the man realised as he strove to keep any sort of pity off his face in case Liam looked up. He had long since learned his lesson on that front from the previous year. The boy before him would shut down on him the second he sensed that, and it would be days before he would trust him enough again to open up in any real capacity. He supposed that the teenager had assumed that the freshman would be a permanent addition to their little group of misfits; he had probably spent his time crafting jokes and insults to rile up the girl for his own amusement. All of that would have come crashing down the moment he had seen her out and about with her friends.
"She's still in the art club," he replied, striving to keep his tone neutral.
"Not the same," Liam grumbled, tossing a folded towel down with a bit more force than was needed. He looked up then, and Mr. Jackson noted that his scowl had faded considerably; he just seemed melancholy now, and he wasn't at all certain if that was a better place for him to be in. "She was here all week," he said, rocking back onto his hands a bit. "And she doesn't know, you know? I could tell. She doesn't know anything. I'm just any ole regular Joe to her. I thought I had a chance, man, but now she's gone and made up with them and that's it until the next time they have a falling out. And I'm not that evil that I want that to happen."
"You're not evil at all," Mr. Jackson reminded him, causing the teen to huff slightly and roll his eyes.
"Figure of speech dude," he pointed out, and the man raised an accepting hand at that.
"I think you're being a bit quick to give up on Ms. Hart," the teacher said. "She doesn't strike me as someone who just forgets people, and I'm pretty certain she was having fun with the two of you last week. So even if she's made up with her friends, I don't think anything is over. You have art club, and it's going to be pretty hard for her to ignore her mentor."
The teenager grinned at that, a genuine sign of good humour that had the man relaxing. "I am her mentor huh," he said, his chest puffing out a bit with pride. "I'm going to have to help her find her way in the club. She's missed a lot so she'll need me to help her keep up."
The teacher suppressed a snort at that, leaving the teenager to his beliefs. He was about to say something, something that would potentially cement the bit of hope he had instilled in the teen when he caught a movement by the doorway. He looked up, before smiling slightly at the teenager standing there. "You can start mentoring right now if you want," he said, as he got up, resisting a groan as his knee protested at the moment. Liam followed his gaze, obviously confused, before his expression changed to disbelief.
"What?" Ms. Hart asked defensively, as she walked into the room, crossing her arms over her chest. "Am I interrupting your lady chat or something?"
"Not at all, Ms. Hart," Mr. Jackson said smoothly. "Back with us again, I see."
"Yeah," she responded, frowning slightly. "It's still okay right?" she added, looking toward the sophomore.
"You're always welcomed here," he reiterated, as he walked back to his desk. "You're welcomed to help Liam finish folding if you want."
"Only if he stops staring at me like a loon," she groused, glaring at him.
That finally seemed to snap the teenager out of his thoughts. "I'm not the crazy one blondie," he shot back, although, to the man's ear, his voice was just the slightest bit shaky as he tried to fall into character despite the thoughts he knew must be racing through his head. "You're late," he added, picking up a towel and tossing it at her.
She caught it and sent it back with more ferocity. "Didn't realise I had a time to be here," she said, as she sat after carefully adjusting her skirt. "Where's Emily? Finally found a way to be rid of you?"
"She has club activities," he explained, before asking, a bit more hesitantly, "Where were you?"
"I don't think my friends would have forgiven me if I didn't have lunch with them today," she responded, pulling a towel onto her lap.
"Oh," he said simply.
Mr. Jackson paused as the girl looked at Liam, a slight frown on her face as if she was detecting something off in his behaviour. "What other days does Emily have lunch things?" she asked after a moment.
"Mondays and the occasional Wednesday."
She was silent for a moment. "You want to have lunch with me those days?" she offered, something that the man internally cheered at. "My friends won't mind."
"You think I don't have friends of my own?" he retorted sharply, not an ounce of jovialness in her tone.
The man moved to speak then, to intervene, but Ms. Hart beat him to the punch. "Chill dude," she snapped back. "If you don't want to be seen hanging out with a bunch of freshmen, it's fine."
"Once you know," he responded, deflating a bit. "I have a reputation to maintain."
"I'm sure you do," she answered dubiously, before dealing with the now crumpled towel she held.
Liam stared at her bent head for a moment, before glancing at him. Mr. Jackson gave him an encouraging nod, before returning to his pile of essays, forcing himself not to dwell on the untruth the boy had just told. Jackson had no doubt that the freshman would eventually find out the truth, if not from the boy or his cousin, then from her own perceptiveness. He could only hope that she would not abandon the teenager when she found out the true circumstances, and the cause of it.
Liam, after just a few days, cared for the girl, wanted her as a friend. It was the first time in a long while that the teacher could recall him ever openly expressing a desire for something. He didn't know if the boy could handle it if Ms. Hart decided indeed to alienate herself from him. He could only hope that it would not come to that.
