Page 35 of This I Know
“Did I miss anything?” I whisper. I wasn’t late, but by the time I got here, the teacher had already begun talking.
Hannah shakes her head. “No.”
I’m not surprised. Mr. Miller isn’t exactly the most productive teacher at Westfield. Most of the time, he leaves it to us to do the teaching and learning on our own; that’s something I do okay with, but it does put extra pressure on me.
I glance over at what page number Hannah has her textbook opened to and I flip mine to the same. Then I open to a clean page of my notebook and try to pay attention. But it’s hard. He’s talking about something we already covered in our reading last week. It’s boring. I thought we were past this by now.
I rest my chin in my hand and doodle with my pen with the other as Mr. Miller’ repeated words fly over my head. Then, out of the corner of my eye, there’s movement from the upper left-hand of the room, close to where Ethan is sitting.
What was that?
I don’t want to look, but I’m curious, tempted. The movement was too close to him tonotlook. I resist, but a pull overcomes me. It’s drawing me more and more.
Finally, I give in.
I lift my eyes, looking.
Ethan has twisted his upper body around in his chair. He’s scanning the room with his eyes, as though looking for something, and then he lands on me. He’s looking at me.
And two seconds later, he’s still looking.
He’s actually looking right at me.
He holds that eye contact even longer, then he cocks an eyebrow and shoots me a crooked smile before turning back around. He picks up his pen and resumes his focus on our lecturing teacher.
I look around. I don’t think anyone noticed the silent, miniature intimacy that just went on between us. And why should they? It was tiny. It was practically invisible, between only us.
It was as intimate as I’ll ever get to the guy.
I don’t know what to make of that. That was ... random. It was sexy, coming from him, and a little strange all at once.
I touch my face, wondering if I have something stuck to me. Some leftover cereal, perhaps. Maybe that explains it, and joke’s on me. I swiftly wipe the skin around my mouth and feel nothing there. I don’t think that was it.
Then what was that smile?
And what was he looking for?
If I didn’t know better, I’d say that smile was a flirt. But could he really be interested in me, the cripple girl who’s been through hell? Because let’s face it … I’m sure he’s heard about the hell I’ve been through. Everyone else has. Just look at Hannah.
I lean over to Hannah and keep my voice low to avoid any trouble. “Hannah,” I say, “do you know that boy?”
“Who?” she whispers back.
Duh. Of course she doesn’t know who I’m talking about.
“Ethan Harrington. He just looked over here.”
She gives me a crazy look and laughs under her breath. “I wish I did. He’s part of the reason I’m glad to have this seat back here. You know, for the view. To be able to watch him from behind.” She smiles.
Fair enough.
“Does he have a girlfriend?” I ask.
Because if he has a girlfriend, there’s no way he should be shooting me a look of pure sex emanating from his pores.
“I think so.”
“Who?” I wasn’t expecting that answer, and it shows in the rising tone of my voice. I cringe, hoping no one’s heard me.
