Poppies of several other genera are also cultivated in gardens.
~~~
~ in history block, living
I rest against the wall, breathing heavily, counting, breathing, counting. I touch up my makeup and I wash my hands, before leaving the single toilet.
He's outside, waiting, watching. "Hey."
Immediately my hands go to my hair, my face, my shoulders. "Hi."
"Did you fall down the toilet or something?"
"Shouldn't you be in class?" I retaliate, panicking, panicking, panicking. Why is he here? How long has he been there? Did he hear? Is it obvious?
"Went on a break."
"You just decided to go on a break from class?"
"Yeah."
I raise my eyebrows. Then I realise that he's looking at me in a strange way, like he's trying to reach me somehow, like he's trying to read my thoughts.
"Why are you here?"
"I went to the loo, isn't it obvious? Hey, you're in my class, you must have seen my leave the classroom." The words are flowing easily, which is strange. As soon as I realise this I look down at the ground, averting my gaze. I rub a hand up and down my shoulder and I check that the space between him and myself is more than three feet.
"We just had lunch."
I shrug. "I..." The words have gone. I sigh. "I have to go."
He gives a frustrated groan and rolls his eyes. "Really? Can't you see I'm trying my hardest here?"
"I'm sorry, I -"
"No... Don't be sorry. I'm sorry. Urgh! I'm such an idiot. I'm sorry. Hey -"
His words fade as I walk back to class.
~~~
