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There was still some part of me that hoped that Noel might have gotten his classes confused and out of order, or maybe that Chanler had more than one AP English class after lunch period, but he was sitting behind one of the desks at the front of the classroom when I walked through the threshold after reapplying my lip gloss at my locker, wiped away from my pizza. My fingernails scratched at the strap of my backpack slung over my shoulder, realizing that this meant I would have to sit up front too, if I wanted to prove to him—and perhaps any begrudging English teacher—that I was just as serious about academics.
But I definitely wasn't going to sit next to him, and because no one else in their right mind would want to sit up front, the other three chairs were free, so I took the one on the opposite side of the room, the two empty chairs in between us.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed him glancing up from a composition notebook, probably reading over his notes from his earlier classes, but I kept my eyes down as I unzipped my backpack and pulled out my own notebook, like he wasn't even there, or at least that was what I was going for. Like I couldn't care the slightest bit that only two desks separated us from each other, I couldn't be bothered to tear my eyes away to meet his own, and to prove it, I let my gaze naturally roam up as I lifted my head and then slip right over him with a cold disinterest I hoped he felt biting against his skin.
But then I felt someone's hip bump against my desk, and I turned to see Bridgette sidestepping past my chair to get to the back of the classroom, her backpack brushing against my hair, and I found myself regretting that I had decided to sit at the front of the classroom just to match Noel Preston when I could've been sitting next to Bridgette, sharing glances at the antics of other students or writing notes to each other on our notebooks.
I slumped against my chair, then straightened my back in case Noel was still looking, and when Bridgette settled behind her desk, I offered her a wave that hopefully didn't look too excited, more like casual. She noticed my hand, leaning back, and waggled her fingers against her desk as the teacher cleared her throat.
Not real enthusiastic, but I was willing to take whatever I could get.
The first AP English class wasn't that interesting, and there weren't any further opportunities to outsmart or own Noel Preston in classroom debates over classic pieces of literature, with the teacher basically using the hour to go over the syllabus for the rest of the year and the dreaded class icebreaker. I resisted the urge to glare at Noel when the teacher called us on the first row, naturally, to introduce themselves, thankfully starting with Noel, his name, what he hoped to learn from this class, and what he liked to do to destress.
Despite his usual reluctance to engage in social interactions, his voice was clear as he spoke, "My name is Noel Preston. I would like to further expand my knowledge of literature and literary analysis. And I destress by getting eight hours of sleep a night."
I caught myself before I rolled my eyes, barely focusing on what the introduction the student in between us was giving, because, of course, he would say that he wanted to expand his knowledge instead of saying that he wanted to learn something he didn't already know. That list, in his own mind, must have been relatively short and narrowed to thinking of convincing replies during small talk.
