Chapter 2

With each passing minute, Mr. Blake's nerves escalated. And each time he looked at the plain clock above the doorway, his heart seemed to fall lower onto his chest, sliding down his ribs along the way. Everything on the inside of him was amalgamate, including his mind, but fight as he might, the only way to know that things were sorting themselves out was by suffering from something similar to a heart palpitation when he remembered that lunch was in twenty minutes and that this time, he was going to spend it with Miss Griffin instead of by himself.

He had pushed himself through his two morning class periods, though stumbling and stuttering and losing focus. Clarke was all he could think about. What a cutie. He grinned to himself and checked that boring clock again. Only a minute had ticked by, but the slow passing hour couldn't loosen the corners of his mouth into anything less than pleasantry.

10 minutes left. He ran his hands through his hair. He liked it messy. It felt leisurely which was something he wasn't familiar with. He was always bound by something or another and had taken on more roles than what most young men of 23 would be able to handle or even be willing to for that matter. This made him wonder how old Miss Griffin was. In this town, they would hire anyone with even the most minimum of qualifications. He knew from his own experience that despite his lack of education, he was still hired full time with full pay. Because of this, he took his job seriously. He loved these kids, most of all, his sister. He cared about their future. But Bellamy Blake knew from living a life full of misfortune to watch out when something fortunate arises.

This thought seemed to eat up the rest of class. He was surprised by the sudden interruption of the awful school bell and kids shoving each other out the door to pile into their cars for the hour of carefree they had.

Mr. Blake stood, envying every one of them. He smiled to himself. If only they knew that the angst doesn't end after high school. If only they knew what throwing adult responsibility into a sea of feelings was like.

John Murphy was the last to shuffle out of the room in his dark, baggy clothes, and worn out combat boots. He lingered in the doorway.

"Hey, Blake, don't forget that the school got new cameras this year."

Bellamy leaned on his desk and folded his arms across his broad chest.

"Hey, Murphy, are you gonna do the homework I assigned you this time?"

He gave that boy a stern stare, unmoved and demanding of respect. His patients was always well worn with John Murphy and John was lucky that this time, teenage arrogance wasn't the only thing on Mr. Blake's mind. Still, he stared back.

"Yes, sir." With that, he put headphones in and left the room.

If Bellamy's emotions weren't stirred before, they were now. His stomach was churning and he had to tell himself several times in a row that it was because he was hungry and his lunch was sitting in a brown paper bag on his desk, calling to him. He heaved a heavy sigh, swiped the bag from its chill spot and turned toward the door in one motion. There was no other way to move his lead feet.

As he headed down the hall, he found himself zigzagging and convincing himself that Clarke was probably just as nervous for this interaction as he was. When he came to the doorway and knocked at the open door, the first thing he noticed was that the classroom was empty. This lulled him into a false state of confidence, because the second thing he noticed was how at ease Clarke Griffin looked sitting at her desk, feet on an extra chair, fork in one hand and twirling a pencil in the other. Suddenly his heart seemed to leap straight out of his mouth and take his breath with it, leaving his brain slower than the class period that had just ended and leaving him completely useless.

Clarke smiled at him. "Hey," she chimed. "Sit by me?"

Bellamy tried not to think about the irrepressible stupid grin that was working the corners of his mouth upward and took the extra chair that her feet once occupied.

They sat in silence for a while, but it wasn't long before observant Clarke noticed Bellamy's paper bag.

"What's for lunch, Mr. Blake?" she asked as she rested her head on the wrist of her fork hand.

Bellamy smiled and set his meal on her desk.

"Well, Miss Griffin, what we have here is two genuine, homemade, peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches, a bag of nacho cheese Doritos and for dessert, a chocolate pudding cup."

He watched her watch him pull out each of the contents and set them neatly on her desk. With every word, the laugh lines that defined her mouth and nose became deeper.

"Oh, did I mention, the sandwiches are made with hamburger buns? I ran out of bread this morning."

She laughed a little and crinkled her nose.

"Classic," she set the fork down.

"What about you, Miss Griffin?" he needed only to look over, but then how would he keep the conversation going.

"Oh," she said picking up the fork again as if she remembered something that she had forgotten. "I just have a mild chicken curry with rice and I guess some veggies."

Bellamy looked from her colorful Tupperware to his frumpy little brown bag and back to her Tupperware, back to his brown bag. Clarke covered her mouth full of rice and chicken and laughed. She raised her eyebrows at such a childish quirk. Never the less it brightened her day and reminded her of home. With the thought, her mood changed and she stopped laughing. She poked her fork through rice grains and curry-coated perishables. Suddenly, the thought of lunch sounded less appetizing.

Bellamy Blake, less observant, but none the less intelligent sensed the change. He unwrapped a sandwich.

"It sure smells good. You made it yourself?"

Clarke nodded, her smile returning as something polite.

Bellamy rested both elbows on her desk, sandwich on the other ends, resting in his hands.

"Well, I'm impressed."

Clarke's smile turned up a little and she averted her eyes from his.

He sunk his teeth into the hamburger bun and a thick purple glob dropped out onto his chin and plopped onto the tabletop.

Clarke leaned back in her chair and chuckled. She didn't even bother to cover mouth this time. Here was a person she was supposed to know, but she found that in the last fifteen minutes they had just spent, she was learning more about him then she had in the past two months of them working together.

"Here," she reached under her desk to reveal several plain white paper napkins.

Bellamy took them and used three to clean up his mess. Clarke watched him. Quickly he looked for something to divert the attention from him. He pointed at the easel and the rendition of the thick mop currently atop his head.

"I never saw the results of your object lesson today. How did that work out?"

His diversion was successful.

Clarke remembered the shapes of him on the paper easel in gray graphite pencil lead. Something about it warmed her.

" I think they got the concept," she said. Her eyes found his again. "What about your lesson? Were you prepared?"

Bellamy thought back to his sloppy lesson and sighed.

"Not nearly enough," he grinned. "Which is a shame. I was trying to make it clear that ancient people were just as imaginative and innovative. I was going to use the Trojan horse from Homer's Iliad as an example. But I ran out of time. I just didn't have the mental game today." He took another, more carefully planned bite of his sandwich.

Clarke's eyebrows furrowed. "What's so innovative about it? It seemed like a pretty simple plan to me."

Bellamy chewed. "Well, you gotta think about it in terms of the time period. That's what history is all about; the steady progression of man, line upon line."

Clarke watched as he started to speak with his hands. One expressing what he was saying, the other there holding a half eaten sandwich, moving for moral support.

"Here, try to think about it this way."

Bellamy did his best to explain the material of his lesson with the clarity and passion that he needed in class today.

Clarke watched for a while, but Bellamy's passion seemed to drive hers. She took up a napkin and the pencil in her right hand.

It wasn't until Bellamy noticed how tactful his wording was, that he realized he had almost shared his whole lesson. He stopped and rubbed his right temple with the tips of this right hand.

"Oh, no, listen to me. I probably just bored you to death by rattling off practically the entirety of my lesson material."

Clarke smiled down in front of her.

"Not at all," she said. "I was listening."

She held up the napkin. Bellamy took his head out of his hand. She had sketched out a wooden horse and an animated version of both of them, smiling out a window she had made of the horse's eyes.

She out stretched her hand and gave it to him. He took it without a word and smiled wide and flattered.

"There is definitely something different about you, Miss Griffin," he thought.

He held his breath for while. The bell rang. He stood.

"Miss Griffin? Will you have dinner with me tonight?"

Clarke was surprised by the invitation. Her stomach churned and she had to tell herself several times that it was just because she was full and her Tupperware was sitting on her desk, nearly empty. She swallowed.

"I would love to."

Bellamy smiled and turned to leave. Before he reached the door, he turned to face her.

"Thank you, Miss Griffin."

She nodded. He left.

She stood and slowly walked toward the front of the room, not really knowing what to think. She looked at the empty face on that paper easel. It was the one that belonged to him, and he was the only thing that occupied her mind, so she decided to fill it.