Loving the Clouds

Chapter 2

I saw him the next day. At my high school.

It was second period, and I was waiting for my math class to begin. The bell was about to ring. I knew this because of the countless times I sat waiting with nothing else to do but watch the clock, counting the hands as they travelled clockwise. This was not my favourite class, as math was not my strong suit, but I did not seem to mind it today. Maybe it was because the memory of the stranger in the rain still haunted my thoughts.

As if my thoughts had beckoned him, he walked into the room. I was shocked, to say the least, when my eyes landed on him. It was like seeing a ghost, in a way. He rose no eyes but mine when he entered, nor greeted any friends. He sat down in a chair and took out his books, most likely flipping open to the homework that was due today. His desk sat across the aisle from mine. I could help but look over at the familiar stranger.

It was only when the bell rang that I tore my gaze away. The teacher, Mr. Latimer was his name, wasted no time in starting the lesson for today. It was lost on me, the boy across the aisle took up my thoughts.

It was almost funny, how I had not noticed him in my classes before. But in another way, it did not surprise me. He was not a person I would easily remember. A face that I could forget as easy as I forgot about what day I left my jacket at home. I noticed the way his hair was hidden under a green toque, yet a few tufts of brown still managed to stick out the sides and curl up. It was adorable. The colour reminded me of chocolate.

There was nothing special about his face. No long eyelashes, or flawless skin. Just a face. Two average eyes, didn't look bad but also didn't stand out. Small nose. Thin lips. A splash of freckles dotted his nose and his cheeks. The kind of face one would have trouble remembering if they were asked. I know I would.

Another thing I noticed was that he was smart. Really smart. But he never showed it.

Mr. Latimer would be picking on students in the room, pestering answers out of them, and he would just be sitting there. All of the questions lay answered on his page, yet his hand never moved from his desk. And when the teacher wrote out the correct answers on the blackboard at the front, there would not be a single mistake on his page. His matched the teacher's number for number. But he never showed it.

I was never good at math, but he put my hastily scribbled answers to shame. I saw a boy with a talent who refused to acknowledge it. The average human would have raised their hand time and time again, simply to feel successful when they were rewarded with praise. They would want to show it off. But he didn't, and I have no clue why. He showed no signs of pride when his answers were confirmed, simply checking them off as he went along.

I looked down at my page, riddled with incorrect numbers, and was baffled. He was smart. But he did not bother to show it.

He stays back to talk with the teacher when the bell rings. I pass by him on my way out the door, and notice something else. He smells like pine trees. Like the forest behind my street. I distantly recall the old running trail that snakes through the woods, and I wonder if he runs it. It would not be surprising, I find that many people jog through the woods, me included, but I still wonder.

I push thoughts of the stranger to the back of my mind for the rest of the day. Though I cannot push away the two clouds that hover at the edge of my thoughts, so blue they are almost grey.

I smile.