I've sent my thoughts silently through the air. Other girls caught them. I can hear them speaking at lunch, things like he's hot and too bad he's married. I roll my eyes at their bravado. He's within earshot as he paces through the columns. He hears them, but ignores. I can barely eat my grease slice without feeling sick. He thinks we're all the same. All us stupid barely legal girls. We can't keep our hormones in control.
Angela asks me what's wrong. I tell her I'm feeling sick.
Jessica tells me to go to the nurse.
But I just need to get away from the crowd. I'm not part of them. I'm not like them.
I dump my pizza and Pepsi, walking through the open halls to the ice cream machine to snag a cold Snickers. I sit against the wall. I can't hear their words and I'm better for it. I'm not like them because I keep it secret, cherished. Our interactions belong to us. Us alone.
I pull out my iPod, shuffling a finger to Lotus Flower. Jessica and Angela question me with body language. They don't remove themselves from the herd, but simply eat gruel and wash it down with milk. Like him, I watch. My eyes stay on him longer than I should allow.
We look at each other the same time. He stops. Hands in pockets. Hair trying to be a mess. Not succeeding. It's too tame now. A foot swings in my direction. My heart swings with it.
I deposit my ear buds into my lap, ready for his opening line. He kneels several feet away. He's baring arms so close. I lavish the muscle he hides underneath. Not much of it exists and its slight definition is all he needs. All I need. "Is that an iPod?"
"Maybe."
"Don't let anyone catch you with that. They'll take it away until graduation."
"They haven't caught me yet."
"So you were at the field the other day. Do you like baseball?"
"Sometimes. Do you?"
He laughs small and low. "To be the coach, it's required."
"You don't seem the type."
His eyes. Blooming Oscars and Washington green. "What type do I seem like then?"
"The non-baseball type." I finish off my Snickers.
"Is it because I'm a chemistry teacher?"
"Pretty much."
He glances back at the grazing herd. Voices are slight. They are looking at us. It's cussed. They're whispering words cut with mordancy. When he looks back his jaw flexes under his stubble. I forget his short cascade and latch to the even shorter shadow which grows on his face. I want to feel it on my skin. I shutter when I think of it.
"See you tomorrow, Miss Swan." He rises.
"But tomorrow is Saturday."
"Come to the baseball field at two."
"You didn't even ask if I was free."
He turns for only a second and smiles.