2. Maxwell
Maxwell
Our Anatomy class feels different today. There is a thickness in the air that settles between my friends and I.
The lecture is background noise to the staring contest I’m having with the back of Clayton’s head.
He can sense me, turning over his shoulder every so often.
I can see from rows away how his body is tense, thinking something is off, but he doesn’t know how this is only the beginning.
My eyes won’t be off of him for a long while, but I have to play this smart.
Can’t let him know what I’m on about, my plans, or that my stare isn’t going to be off of him.
I have a plan. I just hope that it works.
“Alright,” Professor Adams claps his hands together.
“There is going to be a partner pop quiz. One of you will have the answer key and the other is going to do the quiz. I want to see if you guys can map out the Endocrine System,” he goes on explaining.
“I know this isn’t how I usually do things, but I’m in a chatty mood today. ”
He goes on pairing people up and it feels like some twisted sign of fate when I hear, “Maxwell and Clayton.”
Maverick shoves at my arm with his elbow, snickering and mumbling something that I can't hear.
This must be kismet.
Everyone in the room moves around to find their partners, chaos among students trying to introduce themselves.
Sliding into the seat next to Clayton, my legs spread wide and leaning back with nonchalance, I greeted him. “Hey, Clayton. How’s it going?”
His hair is blonde with a short fringe haircut, dark square glasses, and a sharp jaw that could cut like glass. His eyes are bright and blue and glisten under the light. They are kind of pretty, if I’m being honest.
And for a nerd, dare I say he is muscular. I’ve always seen him in class, but I’ve never actually seen him. Never really took the time to look at him.
He doesn't say anything, cowers into himself in a way that shows that he might be terrified of me.
We are in two different social brackets. Clayton is at the bottom, alone and quiet with not many people in his corner. I'm the adrenaline junkie, sir yaps a lot, and the kid who everyone is tripping over their feet to get to.
There ain't anything wrong with that. It's just the truth between us.
I know why Maverick chose him and dared me to do what he did. He wanted to see if this whole thing changes me and it might, but I don't think in the way he is hoping.
Clayton is the one to ask the questions and I fear that may have been on purpose.
He is smarter than me and it doesn’t take a genius to know it.
He has always been the one with his head in the books, an arm raised with an answer to whatever the question may be.
If I were different, maybe I would have strived to be as good as he is, but I don’t.
After he asks his last question and I write the answer, I slide the paper over to him for grading. He laughs.
Clayton laughs at my answer sheet.
“What?” I snap.
“You didn’t get a single one right.”
“We haven’t learned this yet.”
“You’re going to school to be a nurse and you don’t have the slightest clue where any of the endocrine placements are?” Clayton clips with impatience that confuses me more than annoys me.
“How do you know that I’m going to be a nurse?”
“At this rate, you might never be a nurse.” His tone doesn’t hold any humor in it to show he is joking. That scared-cat look he held before is gone and its place is some misguided anger.
My hand slams on the desk making Clayton jump.
“Enough,” I grind out. “I’m not fucking stupid. Just because I’m not a genius like you doesn’t mean I’m not smart. Sorry, I didn’t skip ahead of the class.”
Maybe making him fall in love with me is going to be harder than anticipated.
“This is going to be harder than I anticipated,” I reiterate the exact thoughts I had out loud to my friends. “ Nerd boy is not a push over. In fact, I think he might hate me.”
We’re back at our spot. My ass planted right on the couch, the same spot I always sit in. I’ve been here so much the cushion is faded and near has an imprint of my cheeks.
We all have homework we should be doing, but don’t.
Instead we are getting too high to care about the responsibilities we have in front of us.
Getting high is more fun, gives me a sense of freedom and release I can’t find somewhere else.
But now with the reminder of homework, Clayton’s voice rings around in my head, this agitating and grating noise against my psyche.
At this rate, you might never be a nurse.
It pisses me off enough to the point of huffing and puffing out breaths, shoving the joint back into Mav’s hand and standing to leave.
“Where you going?” Dax asks, cool as a cucumber.
Nothing like how I’m feeling.
“To do my homework,” I mumble, feeling like an idiot in front of my friends.
“What?” Maverick barks out a laugh. “You’re joking.”
“No. Bye.”
When I get back to my dorm room, I collapse into my bed with the urge to strangle Clayton.
Sure, maybe I don't do my homework when I should or skip ahead on lessons.
Maybe I have a silver platter handed to me because of my father.
These things do not make me an idiot, though.
When I do my work, pass in my papers, and everything in between, I pass with flying colors.
I'm not sure why one interaction with this kid has my boxers in a knot. I'm going to show him just how smart I am because when everything is all said and done, he will be the one who looks like a fucking idiot.