Toris couldn't concentrate. Ms. Ordowitz's lecture went in one ear and out the other. He wasn't paying attention, wasn't even looking at the board. No. The thing Toris was staring at was across the room from him, doodling idly in a notebook.
Feliks Łukasiewicz. Blonde hair, smooth skin, brilliant green eyes... Toris couldn't stop thinking about him. The way he walked, the way he talked, the way he laughed. The way his hair fell past the end of his nose as he concentrated on his notebook. The curve of his fingers wrapped around the pencil, the way his lips pursed slightly. No way Toris could concentrate on Hester's moral wilderness, not when his attention was held so raptly by Feliks.
No! Toris screamed at himself inside his head. I have to ignore him. Completely shut him out. Don't talk to him. Don't look at him. Don't think about him. Concentrate, dammit!
Across the room, Feliks was concentrating on his drawing. Practiced fingers sketched first a rectangle, and then a blocky shape off to the side. The rectangle acquired a handle and a lock, and bands with a dull sheen. With a few lines and graceful curves, the blocky shape became a quiet little rosebush. The image of hard and unforgiving iron, juxtaposed with the somber beauty and innocence of the rosebush, was actually a little sobering. Feliks couldn't help but think that it was a good metaphor for the human mind.
He wasn't missing anything, of course. He'd read The Scarlet Letter over the summer, and spent weeks on the internet, versing himself in the symbolism and setting of the book. If the teacher chewed him out for drawing while she taught, well, he could make it up to her with his scores on the test.
Finished with the rosebush and door, he flipped the page and stuck the pencil tip between his teeth. Now to draw Hester herself... He lifted his head and swept his eyes around the classroom. It was always easier to draw faces with a reference. Now which one of the girls had the best face for Hester?
It wasn't a girl that he picked to draw. It was Toris, who wasn't paying attention either, rather choosing to frown at his desk. Wonder if he's sick, thought Feliks, or maybe he just hates Hawthorne. He watched as Toris shook his head slightly, turning his head in Feliks' direction. Feliks briefly glanced at the wall to his left, but aside from a few posters covered in writing tips, there wasn't anything interesting there. Toris must be really bored to be staring at that wall.
Either way, Toris was looking straight in Feliks's direction. So, keeping his eyes mostly downcast so as not to be caught staring, Feliks put pencil to paper and started to draw.
A long, sweeping line for the jaw, straight, sharp nose, dark, strong eyes. Being an artist, Feliks had learned to see and appreciate every contour of the human face, and he found himself falling in a sort of love with the strength he saw in Toris. Like, he doesn't show it, but I bet he totally kicks butt, Feliks thought to himself. He tried his best to impart that strength into his drawing.
As the teacher discussed internal moral conflict, Toris watched Feliks draw. He was obviously drawing someone or something on Toris's side of the room; his eyes kept flitting from the paper to somewhere next to Toris's head. God, I hope he doesn't notice that I'm staring at him... Toris inwardly cringed at the thought, and whipped around to face the teacher, for all appearances fascinated with Hester and her predicament.
Feliks cursed as Toris suddenly turned to the front. Damn. Guess he finally got interested. Wish he'd turn this way again. Feliks was almost done with the portrait, having feminized Toris's face and put him in a period Puritan dress. He drew a dark, bold letter A on the left breast of the dress, and surrounded it with beautiful scrollwork. God, I hope he never, ever see this... Feliks almost laughed out loud.
He'd seen Toris sitting at the table with Ludwig and Veniciano and the others, but the Lithuanian boy hadn't said a word, instead sitting for a few minutes, and then tossing what was left of his sandwich in the trash and heading out of the cafeteria. I still wonder why he did that. Feliks thought. Maybe he really is sick...
The bell rang, the teacher reminded students to read as they piled out of the door. And then she said something else. "Feliks, Toris, I'd like to speak with you two."
Toris stopped short. He turned around slowly and walked over to the teacher's desk.
Feliks watched with interest as Toris came to stand next to him. There was a slight blush high on the brown-haired boy's cheeks, and he was palpably tense.
"Boys," said the teacher.
Feliks turned to smile at her. "Yes, ma'm?" he asked.
"From now on, I'd like you two to turn your focus toward the class discussion. I understand that The Scarlet Letter may bore you; it did me when I was a ninth grader. That is no excuse not to pay attention.
"I'm only calling this to your attention because I know that you're both great students. I'd like you to get as much out of this class as you can. I'm sure you will find this book interesting and emotionally stimulating if you pay attention. Toris, you may go."
Toris muttered a "thank you," and strode swiftly out of the room. The teacher turned toward Feliks.
"The art teacher, Mrs. Feldham, has told me about you. If you don't mind, may I see your notebook?" she asked.
Damn, thought Feliks. I can't very well say no, can I? I'm totally gonna have to show her. Outwardly, he smiled tensely and handed the notebook over to Ms. Ordowitz. She flipped through the pages quickly but thoroughly, until she stopped and said, "You were paying attention." Feliks cringed inwardly. He was totally going to get in trouble for drawing Toris in a dress, which could be construed as sexual harassment. But Ms. Ordowitz gave a genuine smile and handed the notebook back to Feliks. "You have a lot of talent, Mr. Łukasiewicz," -Feliks hid his surprise at her correct pronounciation of his last name- "but in the future, please participate in class."
Feliks nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Ms. Ordowitz." He let out a sigh of relief as he exited the classroom.