If I Fell

Gym Class

The rest of the class is silent but clearly entertained. They stare on audaciously, with only Ben and a few others wearing looks of pity on their faces.

I refocus on the woman talking to us. She's about my height, so there will be no avoiding her expectant gaze once she turns it on me. Her hair is scraped up into a tight bun, with dark wispy baby hairs hanging down from her temples. She has some acne scars marking her khaki complexion.

As she lays into Tyler about making it to class on time, I try to place her accent. The speed of her speech makes me think it may be from DR, but it could just as well be from somewhere in Latin America.

Tyler bows his head and mumbles something that I can only assume is smart.

"¿Qué? No puedo oírte, Señor Crowley," she quips, her tone impatient.

He lifts his head, and I can see him glance between her and the class. He blinks slow and rolls his tongue out, using it to draw his lower lip back in.

"Lo siento, yo no .... mirrar.... el hora."

That was ...not bad. Not good, but not bad. The teacher must have been thinking the same, because she gives him a terse smile before correcting his sentence.

"Veo que tendremos que revolver a artículos y verbos en el próximo examen. ¿Y tu Señorita? Tarde en el primer día," she tuts in a disapproving tone. I was right. When she faces me our eyes are level, and hers are already as disapproving as her tone.

"Mis disculpas Señora, todavía estoy aprendiendo el diseño de la escuela. Tyler y Angela me estaban ayudando a encontrar mi camino."

She's silent for a moment, and I'm distracted by her halo. It's blue, but its ...textured. Like it an impasto. I get the impression of sinking my hands into something powdery and soft, like...like confectioners sugar.

"Hablas bien, y con confianza. ¿Dónde aprendiste?"

I straighten up and dust the non-existent powder from my hands, wiping it onto my jeans. Hopefully, she doesn't think I'm being rude for staring at the side of her head.

"Un poco aquí y allá," I shrug, and it isn't quite a lie. She must sense it though because she stares at me a little bit longer than necessary before signing my attendance slip and gesturing for the three of us to sit down.

We make it to our seats, and I'm unsurprised to see Tyler drop into the chair next to me. Angela moves to the aisle behind us. After arranging myself comfortably enough to take notes, I settle in and concentrate on the lesson. She seems to be covering tenses. Her teaching style is the kind I like, conversing with the students as she gives us the information, even if it is in spanish. The visual aids she uses are good too, a combination of videos from YouTube and projections from the textbook.

I'm writing down a reminder to ask her for a copy of the textbook, when a balled-up piece of paper lands on my desk. Based on the direction it sailed from, the scrap probably contains Tyler's handwriting. I can't imagine that whatever it says is so pressing that he can't wait until class ends. Moving the paper to the corner of the desk, I continue writing.

Not even a minute passes before another ball careens into the desk, this time hitting my hand. I look up, making eye contact with him. He gestures towards the paper but I ignore it, choosing instead to keep staring him down. He decides to start mouthing his message instead. I turn my attention back to the board, trying to catch on to what Colón is saying. Though she's still teaching, her eyes are clearly focused on the desk next to mine. I decide that she must have noticed what is going on. If he continues trying to get a reaction out of me, at least she knows it'll be justified.