Sufficiently embarrassed and more than a little surprised, I slide Oliver’s book back over to him and focus on the lesson,trying to fight the urge to curl up into a ball and pretend I’m not here.
When Professor Solomon’s lesson ends, I’m surprised. Glancing at the clock, I see that it’s time to go, and I feel almost… disappointed, in a way. He’s a good professor, and he makes the material interesting. Even the details that I hadn’t thought of, such as going into the details of DSLR photography, are more interesting than they have a right to be when he talks about them.
Sitting back, I push up the sleeves of my light-weight hoodie until they’re at my elbows. I watch as Professor Solomon goes back to his desk, shoving his supplies into his fancy leather bag like he wants to be out of here just as much as the rest of the class.
I’m so focused on him that when Oliver nudges me, I jump, eyes flicking to his. “What?” I ask, unthinking, as I look at him, only to see a peculiar look fading from his face.
I don’t recognize it at all. Just that it’s not as friendly or enthusiastic as he normally is. But as I watch, it’s replaced with his usual, overly friendly grin and he gets to his feet to stretch, my nose at the line of his jeans as I silently beg for his shirt to ride up as it had on Monday.
It does. His skin is pale here as well, though still not at the level of my own Tb-ridden-child complexion. I look away before he can catch me, shoveling my notebook into my backpack and getting to my feet as well, so I can sling it onto my back. At least now I get to go home, check to see ifletsplayjayis streaming today, and maybe take a nap.
I do love my naps, after all.
“Blair.” Professor Solomon loudly sighs my name and I look up at him, perplexed and maybe a little bit terrified. As I watch, he crooks his fingers at me, dropping them a second later as his eyes go back to his phone that’s in his hand. The last fewstudents, the two girls who clearly want in his pants, go out the door, whispering something I don’t bother trying to catch.
Can I make it out the door too? Could I run and pretend I didn’t hear him say my name?
“Blair.” His voice is firm, stern and sends a chill down my spine as he looks up and sees I’m not at his desk. “Comehere.” God, I’m not a dog and I’d love to tell him that. But instead, I walk toward him slowly, dragging my feet like they’re connected to heavy chains.
Professor Solomon looks over my shoulder, eyes narrowing. “Last time I checked, your name isn’tBlair,” he tells Oliver lightly, though there’s not an ounce of friendliness in the words. “And this is a private conversation.”
“Is… it?” I ask, looking back at Oliver. “Did I do something wrong?” I’d prefer him here as well, just for moral support, but our professor just shakes his head.
“No.Out, Greer.” He points at the door and Oliver raises his hands in surrender, smiling apologetic as he makes his way to the open door. “And close it behind you,” Professor Solomon adds.
Oliver hesitates, and as I watch, he turns to look at our professor with something like disdain, and disappointment on his face. But when he just gets alookin return, Oliver rolls his eyes and closes the door hard, almost a slam, behind him.
In the silence, I can clearly hear Professor Solomon’s sigh. This close, I can also smell his cologne, that’s a mix of citrus, sandalwood, and maybe cedar. Though, the sandalwood is more of an undertone and I wouldn’t know if my mom hadn’t loved to use it in her incense burner.
“So…” It’s awkward to just stand here while he’s on his phone, but he sure seems intent on making me do it. “Is there—” He holds a finger up at my words, and I go quiet.
“One moment, Love,” he says, and for half a second, it’s almost as if he’s using my last name as a pet name, instead of just my surname.
God, it’s so easy to see why so many students are in love with him. If only his personality wasn’t as appealing as a trash can full of broken, dirty razors in the middle of an interstate.
“All right.” He shoves his phone in his pocket and straightens, meeting my gaze. “Is Oliver bothering you?” he asks, throwing me off guard.
“What?” I blink, unsure of what to say. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve seen how he acts. I know he can be a lot. Is hebotheringyou, or upsetting you in any way?” He watches me carefully while he speaks, and it only serves to make me even more nervous.
I shake my head, and he frowns. Had he wanted the answer to be something different?
“No, umm. I like him.” I shrug. “Well, from what I know of him, anyway? Oliver’s really nice. He’s a lot, and I’m not exactly used to that.” I’m not about to do a deep dive of my personality and past to this professor. “But he’s not being too intense, or whatever you’re asking me. He’s really, really nice. I’d tell him if I wanted him to leave me alone.”
“If you say so,” he says at last, looking away once more. “That’s all, Love. You can go now.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, not sure what I’m even grateful for as I head for the door.
“What did you say?” The demand of his voice draws me up short. “I didn’t hear you when you weremuttering.”
I look over my shoulder, surprised at his strict, firm tone. “Umm. I said… thanks?” I repeat, hating how apologetic I sound.
“You’re welcome,” he replies, dark eyes narrowed as he lifts his hand and shoos me out the door with two fingers. It’s finewith me, and I’m all too happy to get out of his room at breakneck speed.
I feel like I don’t stop rushing until I’m back home, facedown on my bed, and letting out a tired sound of irritation. My hair is tangled, I cansenseit, and I need to brush it before I nap or do homework or get food. It’ll bother me if I don’t, and at this point I’m probably going to put it back into a braid for the weekend so that I can just forget about it somewhat. At least for a little while.
Instead, however, I open my laptop, wondering if my favorite streamer, aka the only one I ever plan on watching, is live today. He hadn’t been on Monday, and I’d checked a few times during the week to see if I’d missed anything, but I hadn’t.