Rushing into the class, I keep my head down and try to get to my seat as quietly and as fast as I can. I'm late. And being late is something I don't do. Every time someone is late, every head in the room turns and looks at the person. Looking who the person is. Judging them.
I sit down by Alexander who's having a smirk on his face. I'm so mad, I don't even look at him. The professor eyes me, displeased of my tardiness and I keep my eyes lowered, taking out my notebook and my pencil case.
I'm even trying not to breathe out too loud, which is hard because I ran all the way here from the bus station and, damn, I'm really not a runner. I want to exhale my lungs out but I can't.
When I'm settled and the professor continues with the lecture, I turn my head and straight-out glare at Alexander. "Why didn't you wake me?" I accuse him.
He merely shrugs, nonchalant as ever. "I wanted to be a good boyfriend and let you sleep. I kept you up late, after all," he says proudly. Yes, he's proud.
My cheeks flush in the embarrassment of his words and also when I remember the reason why we were up late. Yes, well. I keep my stare angry, though, still pissed.
On Tuesdays, we have a morning class together and we always go together. It's fair to say I was very confused when I woke up this morning and found out he's already gone and that I overslept.
Alexander leans close to me, but I refuse to look at him. "You can borrow the notes I took later."
I look down at his notes and then at him, my eyebrow raising. He rarely ever takes notes. If he does, they're ... incomplete as I'd say. Something only he could understand because he only writes what seems important to him which is ... not much. But I see he tried and took good notes today, even using colours. Huh.
I don't bother replying. I rather focus on the professor and his lecture, taking my own notes now that I'm here. I'm the one who has to have colourful notes, writing down as much stuff as I can so it's easier for me to learn it for an exam.
English is not my first language, although I speak and write it fluently, but, sometimes, professors use some words that I don't understand and I late ask Alexander to explain them to me. That doesn't happen often, but there were some complex words even he struggled to explain.
But then, attending the same university with Alexander is interesting and quite different as to what I imagined it'd be. He's that cool guy that gives off a vibe of uninterest and laziness, but he's smart as hell. Plus, I get him to attend classes easier since we go together, otherwise he's all about not going.
The school has never been of his interest, really, and I think it still isn't, he's just going for my sake and to not get bullshit from his parents. They're paying a lot of money, after all.
In the middle of the lecture, Alexander shifts in his seat, places his elbow on the desk, puts his head on the hand and flat-out starts staring at me. I turn my head give him a quick look while still continuing writing. "What?" I whisper, looking back down at the paper.
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Aftertaste (Sin #2)Teen Fiction
Aftertaste, noun Af·ter·taste : persistence of a sensation (as of flavor or an emotion) after the stimulating agent or experience has gone There was once a time she was running away from her life, from people, from everything and everyone; running a...