Life’s pretty good. Kinda exciting, kinda boaring, kinda getting my work done, kina having too much fun, kinda happy, kinda sad… Balanced; Pretty well balanced. I still have pages and pages of notes that were supposed to be comprehensive blogs. Perhaps over some break when I have a bit more time… But I uh wrote this thing for fiction writing. It’s not edited yet but I’m a fan so far. The assignment was to develop two characters and describe a brief interaction between them. Enjoy.
Goodnight guys. G-dspeed.
Red. “Why red?” He wondered watching her aggressively chip away at today’s fresh coat of finger nail polish. It seemed too explicitly feminine for the little grunge goddess that she was. Sitting in the front row, smooth legs crossed, faded flannel plaid unbuttoned conveniently at her chest. She was sexy. She knew it. He knew it. He saw no reason not to stare behind his dark Armani frames before the synthetic light faded the UV protected lenses back to clear. He watched her gaze pensively, you know; diagonally upward, lightly biting the eraser on her suspended number two pencil. He smirked. As he very much doubted she was thinking or writing anything at all. She’s an actress, he thought, living on a twenty-four hour stage using seduction as her only motivation. But maybe he just wanted to believe that. He also thought that it was entirely possible his escalading thirst for intrigue was responsible for the hidden intentions and calculated gestures he assigned to her. It was thrilling to believe someone in this crazy world knew what they were doing.
She drops her pencil absent mindedly and searches for its location with a piercing stair. She can feel his gaze narrow in excitement as she gathers her dirty blond hair and rests it on her right soldier. Subtle, she thinks. Be subtle. She lets the sleeve of her flannel blouse fall exposing her left soldiers and extends her arm to pick up the writing utensil she will never use. It’s no secret; they all know she has yet to take a single note in Professor Shevchenko’s Calculus class. But judging simply by the nature of men in general and the mastery she has honed over her allure- she’ll pass.; probably with a B minus. Looking up swiftly and dramatically, she catches his gaze no longer veiled by tinted lenses. Her eyes widen and she cocks her head innocently provoking him to severe the eye contact immediately and bashfully. Scratch that, B+, she reassess.
He didn’t know why, but he decided to look back at her and found her facial expression to be less than surprising. Naturally she looked quite pleased with herself, her little tricks, and her little games. Why do these spoiled college girls think they’re so damn clever? Your sexy, we get it, but we’re in math class. Can you please find a more appropriate time to reassure me that you are exceptionally competent at evoking sexual arousal? She stares at him again. What now you deviant? Back to reaffirm your suspicion that I would in fact like to see you naked? Ingenious, someone give this girl a Nobel Prize.
He was still staring but now his gaze said nothing at all. All of a sudden she feels exposed; the assurance of careful manipulation drowns in the elevating self-doubt of a vulnerable spectacle. Her confidence falls and the talent she only moments ago viewed as empowering feels like a glaring flaw. She glances at his left ring finger sure that it was decorated in a wedding band. Still there; sparkling and gold. So why was he acting as though he had nothing to lose; like she was free entertainment. “Alright, let’s get started” he says in his slight Slavic accent. He nods at her as if to ask her permission and she shrugs in response. He gets up from his black fabric desk chair and the sound of the spinning wheels echo across the yellow lecture room walls. Let the games begin.
Facing the chalk board, he hears the discourteous shuffling and knows that class has ended weather he likes it or not. Papers crumple, Zippers proclaim themselves shut in irritating crescendos, and latches sound as doors swing open. He knows she’s still there. She was always still there packing up slowly and silently in the front row. It was rather charming that she took her sweet time; it always made him believe it was magically possible to borrow some. But his skepticism and disenchantment always won out. O well, at least he could stare at her again as she walked away. The fact remains she was still nice to look at.
He finishes his white chicken scratches and announces to those who care “As x approaches negative one, Y approaches infinity.” Eh, she supposed it was at least slightly stimulating to learn today. She stuffed her spiral notebook into a stained and worn corduroy back pack and slipped her unused pencil behind her right ear. She swings nylon padded straps over her soldier and approaches Professor Shevchenko’s large wooden desk at the forefront of the room.
He looks up from tomorrow’s lesson plan to find hot girl walking steadily toward him. “Yes?” he makes no effort to suggest candor. She doesn’t quiver, she only speaks in her collective tone. “I never got my test back.” He motions to a beige-ish file folder on his desk and explains his clever structure for anonymous assignments. “Find it and prove to me it’s that it’s yours.” He watched her silver cross dangle above the vector that is her cleavage as she rummaged through his organized papers carelessly. He was so tempted to suggest she take her sweet time but whether her demeanor suggested or not, this was a respectable institution. He reminded himself that his salary in part depended on tolerating the antics of this youthful generation. The shift in her stature indicated she had found what she was looking for and he lifted his gaze just in time to meet hers.
“How exactly would you like me to prove that this is mine?”
“Just turn in a page from your notes.” She hears in a methodical disinterest.
***. O well, I guess I’ll play the truth card. “I don’t exactly take notes.”
She sees his eyes grace the red number indicated on her exam. “88%, that’s pretty impressive. I bet if you took notes you could get 100.”
How is one supposed to respond to that? “Thanks…”
Her strategy; when all else fails make him feel awkward. But clever Demetri is no stranger to manipulation. “Very well, just write your name at the top.”
“Julianne Levi.” She says coolly. He looks at her pensively and rests “Well, nice to finally meet you Julianne.” Intrigue slips into his generally composed tone. Wrong move. “Pleasure is all mine.” She insists and she slips away long before he has time to lose interest in her chest and speculate that she did not even take the test that she just handed in.