Page 54 of Your Only Fan
Of course, the one time he notices me is when I’m not even paying attention.
“N-nothing,” I say, readjusting in my seat. “It was nothing.”
Rivera frowns for a few moments. He’s going to push it, isn’t he? Fuck!
But no, he turns back to his presentation, and I go back to berating myself and my luck.
The rest of the hour goes by painfully slow. It’s like time has frozen in place and every minute is a self-contained century.
And then…
“Right. I believe that’s all for this year, guys. Hope you have a great summer, and please pick up your papers on the way out,” Rivera says, and the class starts getting up.
A groan escapes me before I can stop it, but thankfully, this time, the commotion around me masks the sound.
I pack up and join the end of the line. It goes down so slowly I almost give up and leave. I can check my grades online. But damn it if my stupid heart doesn’t want to see more of Rivera and look at his eyes one last time before I leave for the cruise.
After what feels like another century, I get up to the desk and find one paper left on his desk. I pick it up and turn the page to find a big, fat, red A+ on the top.
It takes me by surprise. I don’t know why. It’s not like I don’t get many As and A+s, but it does.
“Good job on the paper, Mr. Anderson,” he says as if he notices my shock.
I look from the paper to him, and I realize he’s called me by my last name again. Whatever happened to “just call me Ezra?”
“Th-thanks,” I say.
He stands up from his desk and starts packing it.
I should just go, forget about him, forget about X, forget about all my obsessions in this town and just mentally prepare for my cruise.
But I can’t.
Instead, I stick around like an idiot.
“Any… any plans this summer?” I ask with an uncomfortable chuckle.
He turns and stares at me for a second as if he’s surprised by my ability to talk to him. Then he snaps out of it and shrugs.
“Not much. I’m directing a play for the New Harlow Arts Festival, so I can’t really go away,” he says.
I scratch an itch on the back of my head and try to smile again, but I probably come across like a goof.
“That’s a shame. If-if anyone deserves a break, it’s probably you,” I say.
Yeah, I’m doomed. He doesn’t even crack a smile. His face is like marble.
And I’m just embarrassing myself by even talking to him.
I turn around and start to leave. Before I get too far, there’s a sound behind me, and I turn to find the source.
Rivera’s bag is on the floor as are the entire contents.
He curses the skies and drops to the floor to collect everything. I get down, too, and give him a hand.
There’s loads of paperwork about a myth and research on carnival masks. There are a bunch of pens, and even his wallet.
I help him gather it all up, and he offers me half a smile. At least that’s something.
