-Ellie-
This felt wrong. I didn’t belong here in my cheap flip-flops held together by Scotch tape and carrying the same backpack that I had in high school.
I stood in the parking lot arguing with myself. One minute I was convinced that this was stupid and I should go home. The next minute I was channeling my inner cheerleader, chanting you can do it over and over again inside my head.
I looked at my watch. I only had five minutes to find my class. It would be so easy to let those five minutes tick by and forget all about my crazy, delusional fantasies of becoming Super Ellie, College Student.
“You look lost.”
I startled and gripped the strap of my book bag tightly against my shoulder.
“Excuse me?” I said shortly.
A girl with fly away brown hair and the worst sunburn I had ever seen pointed toward campus.
“You goin’ that way?” she asked, pulling out a cellphone and tapping at the keys.
“Yeah, I guess I am,” I admitted.
“First day?” she asked.
Was it that obvious that I had no clue what I was doing? I drew myself upright; straightening my spine as I always did when going into a situation I was unsure of. Be it a raging house party where a police bust seemed imminent. Or walking into the break yard my first day at Spadardo’s Juvenile Center, just knowing I’d get my ass jumped before the day was out.
So walking onto the too-pretty-to-be-in-Wellsburg college campus should be a piece of cake. Only I wasn’t feeling so sure of that. And I knew it was better to put out a confidence that I didn’t feel. It established a precedent. It showed people you couldn’t be messed with. That you were strong.
Even if you were being deafened by the voice in your head screaming in terror.
But I had a lot of practice at ignoring that voice. And I struggled to do that now as I faced an experience that left me quaking in my tattered flip-flops.
“I can find my way,” I responded, not wanting or needing her help. I had to face this alone, or not at all.
Sunburn cocked her head and leveled her own steely gaze in my direction.
“I’m sure you can,” she mused before tucking her phone back into her pocket.
“But just so you know, classes aren’t usually held in the parking lot. You’ll need to go to an actual building,” she mused.
I should smack the shit out of her. If I weren’t feeling so off balance, I would have. Who the hell did she think she was?
So I ignored her and walked toward the campus quad. I pulled out the slip of paper with the name and location of the class I was supposed to be taking.
It was a basic 101 English Lit class. I had always loved to read. When I was in juvie, it had been my only escape. I practically lived in their tiny, cramped library.
I had never been a very good student when I was in school, but that hadn’t been an indication of my intelligence. It was because I had never bothered to try. School had been a place to pass the time. Somewhere I could count on at least one warm meal and didn’t have to worry about avoiding my foster dad’s overly feely hands.
School had been safety. Security. It had offered me a way out.
And I had hated it. Every single moment of my time there, I had fought against it. I had focused on the wrong things. The wrong people. And I had paid the price for it.
Maybe this time could be different.
Maybe this time I could be different.
I walked with my teeth clenched and my hands curled into fists at my side. Like a soldier heading to the battlefield, I was ready for anything. I headed straight for the Dunlop building where my class was held. I didn’t pay any attention to the groups of students congregated outside. I wasn’t there to chitchat and make friends.
Though the truth was, I wasn’t sure what I was there for.
Inside the classroom, I found a desk towards the back, and I headed straight for it. I hoped to blend in with the wallpaper and avoid attention. The class was mostly comprised of kids just out of high school. They were noisy and annoying and I felt my jaw tick already.
Had I mentioned I wasn’t a people person with some major anger issues?
The professor breezed in a few minutes later and dropped a pile of papers on his desk. He was nondescript as far as people go. Bland facial features beneath boring brown hair. Perfectly groomed beard and blah wire rimmed glasses.
He was appropriately named Professor Smith. An uninteresting name for an uninteresting man.
We were given the syllabus and I looked it over, not recognizing any of the books on the list. I wanted to kick myself for not paying more attention in high school. But the books I tended to read were of the non-fiction variety. I loved reading biographies and true account stories. I enjoyed immersing myself in other people’s lives. Because they were usually a hell of a lot better than mine.
“Hello everyone! I’m Professor Smith. I’ve been teaching here at Black River Community College for ten years. I graduated with a Masters degree in English Literature from the University of Virginia…”
I tuned him out around that point. I could care less about his life history or what brought him to little ole Wellsburg. And looking around the room, I wasn’t alone in my complete and utter disinterest.
I stared out the window, already zoning out. Classrooms and teachers had an almost Pavlovian affect on me. Sitting in a desk had me mentally checking out in less than thirty seconds. So much for trying to change.
I only snapped out of when someone patted my arm. I wrenched backwards, startling the person who was trying to get my attention.
“Sorry, but we’re supposed to be getting into small groups to talk about what we’ve already read on the syllabus. Then we have to choose one and discuss the plot and themes,” a young girl with pretty red hair and an overly large mouth said nervously.
Okay, time to play contentious college student.
“Sure,” I muttered, picking up my book bag and moving my desk over to join the three other students who had already started talking amongst themselves.
“Hi, I’m Casey,” redheaded, big mouth said. Everyone nodded as though we cared what her name was.
“I’m Davis.” A skinny kid with big ears spoke up after Casey was finished introducing herself. What was it with this group and big body parts? Because the next guy, who said his name was Andrew had a nose as long as my arm. Well, not really, but you get the picture.
Now that the three of them had shared their names, they looked at me expectantly. I supposed this was my cue to play nice.
“Um, yeah. I’m Ellie,” I said, plastering my fakest smile on my face. I think my efforts were perhaps a bit over the top and my smile more closely resembled a psychotic grin, as I watched the slight recoil from my fellow students.
“Hi, Ellie!” Casey chirped, clearing her throat. Obviously she had deigned herself our unofficial group leader.
“Let’s have a look at the syllabus and then we can decide which one to focus on.” Casey cleared her throat again, which was really annoying.
I looked down at the list again, knowing I had nothing to contribute.
“Well, I’ve read the Margaret Atwood short story and the Milton stuff,” Davis piped up.
“Cool! I’ve read those as well in my high school AP class!” Casey enthused.
“I’ve read the Milton and the Keats poem,” Andrew offered.
And then they were looking at me.
“Uh…” I started, making a show of looking at the syllabus.
I must have taken too long because Casey started pointing to the different reading selections.
“Have you read the Atwood story?”
“No.”
“What about Milton? Have you ever read Paradise Lost?”
“No.”
You get the picture. Casey kept asking and I continued giving her my monosyllabic response. My face began to flush red the more it became apparent that I hadn’t read a thing on the list.
When Casey had gone through the entire syllabus, she gave me a puzzled look. “Haven’t you read anything?”
I understand that she most likely didn’t mean for this to sound as condescending as it did. She seemed like a nice, corn fed country girl with her pretty red hair and mouth the size of a football. But she had just royally peeved me off.
I crumpled the syllabus in my hand and leaned toward her. “No, Casey. I haven’t read anything,” I grit out.
Casey blinked a few times, clearly not understanding my aggression.
“Well, you have to have read something in high school. What about the Robert Frost poem? Everyone reads Robert Frost. It’s like sophomore stuff,” Casey said, again putting just enough arrogance in her voice to trigger my anger reflex. Andrew and Davis were keeping quiet. Too bad Miss Too Big Smile didn’t have their common sense.
I brought my fist down on my desk with a loud bang. The classroom went instantly silent. I was used to being the center of unwanted attention, so I didn’t even bat an eye about causing a scene.
“No, I haven’t read any of these stupid f*cking stories on this stupid f*cking list! While you were sitting in your nice little AP classes, my ass was in juvie, trying not to get raped by a gang of dykes with a thing for blonde girls!” I yelled. I grabbed my book bag and wrenched upwards out of my seat.
“Miss. Wait a minute! Miss!” Professor Smith called out as I slammed out his classroom.
I was breathing heavily by the time I walked back out onto the quad.
I knew there was more than anger bubbling up like acid in the pit of my stomach. I was embarrassed. Ashamed that in a room full of eighteen and nineteen year olds, I was the most ignorant person in the room. Sure I had my fair share of street smarts, but I could never compete in this setting.
This wasn’t a place where knowing how to hotwire a car and evade the police would get you far.
My skillset was limited and most times illegal.
But I wouldn’t feel sorry for myself.
I would just leave. Head home. Get something to eat before going to work and carrying on with the life that had been there this morning. And the day before. And the week before that.
This was a lesson learned. It had been an unrealistic hope. And the sooner it was dashed in the dirt the better.
I raised a hand I hadn’t realized was shaking and swept my hair off my face. My skin was flushed and hot to the touch. My mortification still blazing bright.
I took a deep breath and hoisted my book bag up on my shoulder.
And there he was.
Flynn walked down the sidewalk, his head down. Always down.
And then I was following him. I walked into the manicured grass, stepping over landscaped flowers as I pursued him.
I don’t know why I bothered. What did I hope to gain by stalking him across campus? But I kept going.
Perhaps I was looking for someone to focus my frustrations on and Flynn was a comfortable target.
Or maybe it was something else entirely.
My anger simmered. Just like it always did. It was my constant companion. I was a bitch with one hell of a chip on her shoulder. It’s what flavored my experiences and shadowed my thoughts. It’s what made me follow the man shuffling his feet ahead of me.
But the anger wasn’t the only thing I was feeling. There was something else. Something I had forgotten how to identify. It was a bubbling in my stomach. A fluttering of my heart behind my ribcage. A strange sort of anticipation.
And I had felt it before.
With Flynn.
He slipped into the side door of a building on the far side of campus. I entered the door behind him, staying far enough back that he wouldn’t notice me. Though I shouldn’t have worried. Flynn rarely noticed anything. He lived his life oblivious to everyone and everything around him. He had always been a person of single-minded focus.
Flynn entered the door at the end of the hallway and I hurried after him. A long window looked into a crowded art studio.
I could see a pottery kiln and several wheels. Easels lined the wall and tables were covered in a variety of art tools. I hung back and watched Flynn make his way to one of the tables containing a slab of dark grey clay.
He dropped down onto a stool and immediately picked up a long wooden stick with a metal tip. He bent down over the clay and started pulling it apart and remolding it. His hair fell down on either side of his face, his shoulders hunched as he worked.
I couldn’t see exactly what he was doing, but watching him like this was very familiar.
I could easily picture the way his hands stretched and shaped the clay in careful, precise movements even if I couldn’t clearly see it with my eyes. My mind took me back to a time when I had liked nothing better than to spend time with him while he worked. I was hit with déjà vu so powerful it shook me to my core.
Your face is pretty.
I want to draw it.
I like looking at you.
I shook my head. The space behind my eyes started to pound. I should leave. Go home. Forget about this horrible mistake of a day.
But I couldn’t move.
Flynn’s concentration was absolute. His hands swift and sure. The lump of clay forming into something else under his adept fingers.
Then he looked up. As if sensing I was there.
His eyes met mine.
Dark green. Deep and endless. Sucking me under.
I expected him to look away. He always looked away.
This time he didn’t.
The flutter in my chest progressed to violent spasms the longer we looked at each other. I had never stared into Flynn’s eyes for so long before.
I waited for him to start rubbing his hands. It was his tell. How I knew he was upset or angry or ready to detonate.
But he didn’t. And his eyes continued to hold mine.
I was finding it hard to breathe.
And then he lifted his hand in a tiny, little wave, acknowledging me.
I turned on my heel and hurried down the hallway, slamming through the door I had entered through and into the oppressive afternoon heat.
My feet never slowed as I headed back to my car. My fingernails digging into my palms as I fled.
My heart exploded in my chest in a million tiny fragments. All because of a glimpse of dark green eyes that I hadn’t realized I missed.
Not until now in the span of a moment I remembered the people we had once been.
In that flash of seconds I missed those people.
I missed him.
I missed me.
What was I going to do?