The Art of Unopulence

22 | sorbet

I stare at my watch, diligently breathing in and out with every tick of the second hand, hoping to somehow will time to run faster. My eyelids feel like they're being weighed down by heavy lead dumbbells and my yawns most certainly aren't as discreet as I want them to be.

I'm sitting close to my desk, my chin propped on my left hand and a pencil in my right just in case I accidentally scribble some nonsense in the margins of my English literature textbook. My eyes close again and I let them be like that for a few moments. When it feels like I've fallen into the arms of deep sleep, I sit up with a start and steal a glance at my modestly weathered white strapped watch for the millionth time in the past forty minutes.

We've been given a free period to complete our reading work since our class happens to be ahead of the course plan compared to the other classes.

I inhale deeply, mindlessly reading a couple of sentences on the page that's open, and hold my breath for a few seconds before blowing out the warm air forcefully. It helps a little but enough to push the sleep out of my eyes.

Sighing, I sit back and resort to scouring the classroom for some sort of entertainment.

The class consists of students that range anywhere between two stark polars. A couple of them in the front row are practically devouring their textbooks with more zeal than a hangry pregnant woman at a buffet while a few have resorted to playing footsie with their respective boyfriends and girlfriends to while away time.

One of the boys sitting in the back looks up to find me observing him with keen interest as he discreetly slips his hand into the back pocket of his girlfriend's skinny jeans. He gives her bottom a squeeze, making her yelp in surprise and sends her into a giggling fit as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and shifts closer to him. She cranes her neck up to whisper something into his ear but the boy shamelessly tries to win a staring contest with me. More like a how-long-can-I-shamelessly-ogle-another-hot-girl-before-I-have-to-get-back-to-tending-to-my-girlfriend contest against time.

I give him a plastic smile that morphs into an acidic glare, making him avert his eyes swiftly- I mentally note his face in case I found myself lacking a spar partner to practice my right upper hook on in the near future, as well as the girl's so that I can have a friendly talk with her in the girls' restroom if the need ever arose.

Sleazy fucker!

Devin, Madison Wu's brooding boyfriend, is sitting by the window that overlooks the currently empty football field and seems to be sketching some kind of motor engine on the last page of his notebook. He's so absorbed in his work that he doesn't care about the lone bee circling the crown of his head. My lips curl up their own accord because the sight reminds me of Izzy when she used to doodle sketches of her favourite Korean pop stars in the margins of her notebooks.

Lastly, I turn to Nathaniel. Sitting two tables in front of me, he is conversing in French about French poetry with the language studies teacher who has been assigned to monitor the free period. She's smiling brightly, clearly enjoying their discussion.