The next day, when I saw Cam, neither of us mentioned our encounter last night.

I looked at him. He looked at me. We both said hi, grabbed our books, and headed for English class. We didn't talk on the way there. Too awkward.

Once we got in the classroom, of course it was different. He and I both sit at the back of the class, exchange what we're working on, etc. Once the bell rang, we were ordered to spend the next half-hour freewriting.

I couldn't get my pencil and notebook out fast enough. Not just any notebook, though. Lately I've been writing things down. Just randomly. I never look at what I write. I want to fill up my notebook, then look at it in five years.

I think I had what I like to call a writing fit. I wrote nothing but poetry on the next blank space available. Until I felt the eraser end of Cam's pencil, that is.

"What are you writing?" he whispered.

I remember jolting, and inhaling so fast that some air went down the wrong way, which made it hard for me to breath without choking to death and disrupting the class.

"Um, just some poetry." I managed when I had calmed down a little.

"Oh."  was all he said. A few minutes later, however, he began whispering again.

"Listen, about the thing last night with Felicia." he whispered.

I turned around in my seat. "It's cool. I'm over it."

"No, listen. It was just a one-time thing, a study date, sort of. We're in science together, and she wanted to take a break from studying. That's it."

"Oh, really?" I whispered, trying not to raise my voice. "Maybe if you had been paying attention, you would've seen that she was making it sound like you two were, and have been for a while, a steady couple."

"Well, that's not my fault, Besides, you never told me about Mr. Pop-it-lock-it-jock."

"Oh, that is so immature, you have no idea! He's-"

"Like I care. I only want to know whether he's really right for you, Becca. I know his type."

"Yeah, back from what, seventh grade? You're worse for the ware, Cam, admit it." I turned around in my seat and went back to my writing.

Funny, I couldn't concentrate.

"Alright, class, everybody bring out what you've written." Oops.Oh well. I'll get my notebook back.

The End

8 comments about this story Feed