There is always something humiliating about getting back test marks.
On the one hand, I don't want to come across as dumb when I get a low grade. On the other hand, getting a high grade results into me being a nerd. There is a middle ground called "good enough", yet after years of education, I still haven't found out what it is.
From the corner of my eyes, I spot Simon eyeing his test with amazement. I never feel like looking at someone's test to see how they did, but for Simon I'd love to make an exception. Only, that would probably result in him talking to me. I don't think I'd be able to respond.
The amazement turns into an annoyed frown. I quickly cast my eyes away from him, scared that it is me who placed that frown there.
'Hey.'
When I feel a tap on my shoulder, my heart just about stops beating.
I turn sideways so that I can face him. I am preparing myself for him asking me to stop looking at him when he hands me a piece of paper and says, 'Looks like this is yours.'
Caught completely off guard, I stare at him. Then stare at the paper. Then stare back at him.
Realizing that I am making a scene, I quickly reach out to take the test paper from him. 'Oh. Thanks,' is all I manage to get out. As I grab the paper, I can't help but notice my fingers. They are so long compared to his. He has cute hands.
When I look back up at him, I blush slightly. He's looking at me intently, and it's making me a bit squeamish. Obviously, he's seen the grade. What is he thinking right now? Maybe he thinks I'm a big nerd, and I've just lost all my chances I had with him.
Not that I had a chance with someone like Simon to begin with.
'No problem. I mean, I'd keep the grade if I could.'
I smile a bit, but can't really think of anything else to say, so I turn back to my desk.
Can't you at least try to not make a complete fool of yourself, Bram?
What do you think Simon thinks of you now, huh? I bet he thinks you're a complete weirdo. Good job, Bram. Good job.
This is why I only talk to Jacques about things. When writing, I don't have to look at somebody's face. When writing, he doesn't have to look at mine either. When writing, he won't realize who I am. He won't realize that I can barely talk sensibly when cute boys are around.
If only Jacques knew who I really was.
