Page 38 of This I Know
She’s holding a single sheet of paper and pouring over it. That has to be the project information; Mr. Miller must have passed it out while everyone was getting situated. She sets it down, then slides it her left, to Ethan. He lets it sit on the table without so much as a glance.
The girl leans forward. “I think we should divide this up. We want to get it done as fast as possible, right? So I’ll take the first part. Who wants the second?” She looks at us, her eyes wide with excitement.
I sigh. I don’t realize the sigh was louder than I had intended until it was too late.
The boy and the bubbly girl both look at me, the girl with a disgusted look on her face and the boy with a contained smile, both surely thinking I’m some kind of weirdo who can’t keep her own inner dialogue in check.
Ethan ignores me.
I cross my arms and slump.
Seconds-long flirtatious eyes: our communication hasn’t gone any further than that.
After the sigh, I keep my vocalizations in check and I don’t make another sound. The only thing I do is write my name beside the part of the assignment I choose to complete after the paper is passed to me.
Ethan remains quiet, too. He brushed over my social faux pas, but he’s showing real interest in his phone, which has been receiving texts this whole time. It lights up again now and he reads the message.
I look to Mr. Miller, who’s scribbling at his desk. Ethan is brave. I tap the eraser of my pencil against the desk.
I glance at the clock. It’s almost time for class to end, and it’s not a moment too soon. I take a quick glance at my phone to confirm this, hoping that I can click the display on without being noticed. I’m right; there are four minutes left. At the same time I check mine, Ethan’s phone, which he’s boldly had sitting out beside him on the desk this whole time, lights up with yet another text. It catches my attention, and without meaning to, I’m close enough that I catch the name of the sender: Julia.
So Hannah was right.
He’s sliding the text message open with his thumb and I pull my gaze back to my own phone quickly, feeling like I’m invading his privacy.
“Avery,” says a voice above me.
I look up.
Mr. Miller holds out his hand. “We have a strict no-phone policy in this classroom.”
I have no other choice. I place my phone in his hand.
“Now, would you like me to read the message that was so important out loud to the class?”
“It wasn’t a mess–”
“Then I suggest you don’t let it happen again.” He flicks his wrist, handing my phone back to me.
I take it.
I guess Mr. Miller didn’t get the message my other teachers did: it’s take-it-easy-on-Avery week. Or month. Or year. However long it takes.
Ethan shoves his phone away.
At least I caught the condescending looks of only a few people; the others didn’t seem to care.
“Alright,” Mr. Miller calls to the class. “That’s it for today.”
Before the conclusion of these words, most students gather their things and stand, all too ready to leave. Everyone, it seems, except Ethan and me. We’re both still listening.
Mr. Miller raises his voice even more to reach above the bustle. “Be sure to work this out between your groups. This is a small assignment, so everything needs to be completed by next week. You guys should be able to do that. It might be a good idea to share numbers between yourself if you think you’ll need to talk to each other out of class.”
Almost everyone is now heading for the door. He really should have told us this earlier.
He turns away from us, to his desk. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
In one swift motion, I scoop up my things and rush back to my desk to get my purse.
