o p a l t r e v o r
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No one really asks for chemistry last period. I know I sure didn't. But that's just how my schedule was from the beginning of junior year. So I saw no point in changing it this time around for the second semester. That would just mess up the order of things and complicate the friendships I've already made in my classes.
Lunch isn't over yet so the new period hasn't started. But I came up early before everyone else anyways, and Ms. Jackson - the chemistry teacher - had no issue with this since I'm always up here helping her with grading, organizing, or just doing random work on mondays like this.
When I walked in the room, we'd chatted for a little bit, and then I went to my seat so she could prepare for the lesson. I laid my head on the table, staring out the window beside me. The following minutes consisted of students coming in and getting settled, but I don't pay them any mind.
The second bell rings, signaling the end of the last period, and through the window I watch some of the kids out on the lawn gather their stuff, before making their way inside.
"'Sup, Opal." I look up to see Isaiah, a friend from student council, and offer him a close-lipped smile when he pulls out the seat next to me.
"Okay guys!", Ms. Jackson claps and her voice echos throughout the room along with the sound, "I feel like shaking things up a little this semester. So that means new routines, new topics, and of course new partners-"
Many of us groan, some actually voice their protests, while the rest of the class try to negotiate who their new partners can be. Ms. Jackson, ever the diplomat, laughs at all this, "I know, I know. But change is good and you guys need to practice the skill of working with different people anyways. When I call you, please just get up and move."
She starts going through a list of names and the natural organized chaos of the classroom ensues. Chairs scratch against the floor, people swap seats begrudgingly, some are moved to a whole different section of the classroom in general. A handful drag their feet, prolonging the whole thing. Few are actually happy with their new seats while others bicker with Ms. Jackson about their distaste for theirs. I take this all in, not really affected, and continue my conversation with Isaiah about the show Arcane: League of Legends.
It isn't until she calls out a particular name that I'm on high alert.
"Ethel Dixon?" My head reflexively snaps to the front of the room and I slowly slouch in my seat to play off my eagerness. It isn't lost on me when Isaiah pauses briefly to give me a confused look. I wave it off and he continues, as does my mind.
I've never seen her in this class before, nor has that name ever been called here.
Could it be a different Ethel?
Ms. Jackson points at my table, "Can you please come to this table right here next to Opal. Sorry Isaiah, you're gonna have to move hon." I feel myself freeze when he stands, going wherever. But then someone else takes his place. It is her.
Ethel adorns the bland school uniform like the rest of us, but somehow makes something as dull as that look lovely on her. The navy blue khaki pants hug her figure with a perfect fit, along with a clean pair of baby blue jordans on her feet. The sleeves of her white button up are bunched at her elbows, a few buttons left undone to reveal a small sliver of skin. She has a green sweater tied at her neck in this posh kind of way, a couple of accessories sprinkled here and there. Simple, yet elegant.
She looks down at me while taking her seat and I offer a small smile. But her head turns away quickly, steering clear of my gaze, and I'm left confused as I do the same. She had no issue mouthing me off last friday, but now she seems self-conscious almost?
Maybe she just isn't comfortable being seated next to me.
This thought, although fair, makes me a little disappointed.
A few seconds pass with awkward silence taking up this huge space between us. Meanwhile, Ms. Jackson hasn't started the lesson yet, so the classroom continues being filled with the raucous of student's moving around and settling in with their new partners.
I sit rigidly with my shoulders sort of hunched, trying to take up as little room and air as possible, if that's even possible. I spare a quick peak out of the corner of my eye and I see her fiddling with an eraser. She blows out a breath, puffing out her cheeks in this way I find adorable. But my eyes quickly flicker back to my fidgeting fingers when she shifts a little.
Come on, say something Opal. Anything.
"I'm Opal, by the way." I cringe at the slight crack to my voice when I say this.
Ethel blinks at me, "I know. She said your name when she told me to come sit here."
I feel my cheeks warm, and I'm embarrassed when I realize she's right. This makes me laugh nervously, "yeah, you're right. Sorry."
"What you apologizing for?"
I smile, being reminded of a few nights back. It falls a little when something else comes to mind though:
What if she doesn't even remember?
The idea doesn't really sit well with me, the possibility that she isn't aware of what happened. It's not like people don't have random interactions with strangers at parties all the time. That's the thing though, ours felt a little intense for simply random. But I dunno, I guess I'd feel like I'm taking advantage of her by keeping this to myself since she wasn't exactly sober then. Ergo, I suck in a breath and reply cautiously, "I don't know if you remember but, we danced at that party thursday - it's not really that big of a deal -, but you said the same thing to me when-"
"I don't know what you're talking about, so..." She says this really fast, focusing intensely on her eraser in this sheepish way.
Huh?
"Oh...kay," The corners of my lips twitch upon sensing the obvious lie. And when I notice her angry pout accompanied by a small side-eye, my smile blooms bigger. I don't push it any further though. I get the idea that she might be a little embarrassed about me bringing it up. And I guess now also wouldn't be the best time to joke about her sudden interest in the spam account my older sister likes to pretend she's the manager of. So we go back to being quiet again. This time, not as awkward.
"Sorry about my comment on friday, by the way."
This comes out of the blue and I'm shocked. Not because she seems like someone who can't apologize when they've done something wrong, but because, well...who am I kidding? Ethel just seems like the type too stubborn to even admit when she's wrong. I didn't expect her to bring it up.
But when I glance at her, Ethel looks up at me under her pretty lashes, glossy lips pursed to the side apologetically. A nervous flutter in my heart causes me to shift in my seat. My smile slightly falls and I can only hope my expression seems normal in contrast to how unsettled I feel inside.
"Oh... Um, no hard feelings, right?" She hums in response, doodling on the inside of her notebook with a pink pen. Why do I get the feeling that she's trying to avoid me when she hides her face with the cover?
The pressure to carry on the conversation is then taken off me when Ms. Jackson calls for the class's attention, starting to flip through the slides. She explains each thing on the powerpoint, handing out papers with diagrams, and highlighting the most important things for us to take down. I'm in the middle of writing notes when Ethel pokes my arm.
She seems uncertain when her lips part, but then shakes her head. My eyebrows furrow, but I quickly copy down the last sentence before Ms. Jackson switches the slide.
When I'm done, I find myself mimicking Ethel's previous actions before whispering, "What is it?"
She seems surprised at first. Followed by her pushing my hand away on the desk, trying to come off as mean - I make sure not to smile so she isn't heated even more. "What's your pronouns?"
Random. But not surprising since I have been experimenting with dressing androgynous lately. Her thoughtfulness makes my chest warm a little.
"She, her. You?"
"She, her." Ethel nods and then she goes right back to doodling in her notebook, establishing a clear disinterest for taking down any notes. This makes me more aware of how neat I write - in case she needs mine later. And as my pencil scrawls across the page, I can't help to be amused. Ethel's kinda like a life sized sour-patch-kid.
"Number two would be a carboxyl group?"
"Carbonyl actually."
"But there's a double bond."
"Yeah, but part of its functional group is an -OH molecule."
She sighs, glaring at the packet in frustration. I try to go slow with her since she missed a lot of the things we covered in class already.
When Ms. Jackson had sent us off to work on the assignment with our lab partners, she told me to help Ethel out however I could with the remaining twenty minutes of the period. She promised her next week she'd just do a review on everything for the new kids added to the class.
"And what about number four? Its hydroxide right?"
"Close, but no. Its carboxyl." She aggressively erases what she wrote down, crumpling the page a little. I hear her mumble a low 'wasn't even close' and 'gonna fucking strangle you'. My pulse jumps at the latter but I don't respond to either. I worry my bottom lip, feeling bad because she's actually trying. I'm just not the best at explaining things.
I pause her actions with a gentle hand atop her fisted one. She freezes, eyes narrowing on my face in question. I realize what I'm doing, and pull away immediately, feeling myself blush.
"Let's do five together, kay?" She nods, shifting closer. Invading my personal space a little ironically, but I don't mind. I ignore when our elbows brush, concentrating my best on simplifying things for her.
"You see the nitrogen molecule in its functional group right?"
"Yeah."
"Right off the bat just know that makes this a protein." Another nod.
"Proteins are made of amino acids, and amino acids are made of a nitrogen bonded to two hygrogens and some other stuff - but you don't have to worry about that right now." I watch her eyes widen, finally getting it, and she goes to quickly write down her answer on the worksheet. Ethel slides the paper over mine, chocolate brown eyes staring up at me in question.
I check the answer, nodding with a proud smile when I read 'amino group'. She beams at me with her own pretty smile, going to flip her long pink braids over her shoulder. I catch a light whiff of her sweet-citrus-y scent, and for the shortest of seconds, I feel drugged.
"Scholarly tingz." I giggle at this and Ethel joins me. But this celebration is short-lived because not even a second later, she goes cold on me. Clearing her throat, she scoots a bit further away, right back to being standoffish like at the start of class.
What did I do?-
"How about six?" My thoughts are interrupted when she asks me this, "hydroxide?"
"Phosphate actually."
Ethel groans, "This is so fucking frustrating."
I agree, although referring to something else entirely.
©neuttt