Light tilts the room. It's behind, the dark ahead. Edward motions to the board with his hands, taps across the front, unfettered, as he explains the lesson projected from the overhead. Fingers curling. Mouth moving. We're still dragging through the last remnants of atomic theory and all its connectivities. It means little. Edward could recite the alphabet, speak in tongues, dance in mute languages. I would still build castles in the air with moats around our hearts.
Although he's looking around the room, I know he longs to see me. He dares not. He places his palms on his desk. Forming a peek while everyone scribbles. I bite my lower lip. I grin a little when he turns away to continue with his lesson. When class is over I wish for nothing more than to linger. I long to hear my name on his lips, asking to see me after class. He doesn't. He's talking to Lauren, his fingers holding him over his desk calendar, captured in her question. My stomach sexes jealousy, giving birth to a knife squeezing through my innards. I no longer wish to look after him and the beautiful blond he's speaking to. Next to Lauren I'm nothing. If Mr. Cullen could like me, then he could like her even better.
I tackle the crowd to find my locker. I stare at the plethora of books stacked inside. I shake my head. I'm ridiculous if I believe Lauren could steal Edward from under me. She's on the dance team, sure, but that's it. She's beautiful, but so am I. Switching books, I resolve myself. I'm steel and flesh. Nothing can take that from me. There's always lunch.