I yawn for the second time in five minutes, covering my mouth with the back of my hand. The spacious and typically designed lecture room is packed with students, most of them chattering and laughing animatedly about Astrid's party. But all this noise isn't enough to shake off my Monday morning exhaustion.
Groaning, I spin my swivel chair around in a slow circle and drop my head on the smooth wooden table. Just as I'm about to close my eyes, a short silence fills the room, followed by the commotion of people shuffling around to take their seats. I look up to find my marketing professor, Mr. Murdoch, walking towards the podium positioned a few feet in front of the chalkboard. As always, a big folder — the same shade of gray as the hair at his temples — is tucked underneath his arm. He puts the folder on the platform and pulls a pair of thin metallic glasses out of his pocket.
"Good morning," he says in a bored voice, surveying the class from underneath his spectacles.
The class returns the greeting in unison with undisguised lethargy and disinterest.
"Great to see you, too," Murdoch says dryly. His sarcastic reply elicits a small laugh from me and a few others.
Suddenly, the classroom door is thrown open to reveal Felix Reed. Shifting his sporty backpack from one shoulder to the other, he hurries into the room.
"Nice of you to join us, Mr. Reed," the professor deadpans, shuffling a pile of papers in his hands.
"Sorry!" Felix smiles apologetically, scanning the desks for an available seat. His eyes finally land on the empty seat beside me on the front row. He rushes towards it, shrugging his backpack off and sitting down.
"Good morning," he says to me in a perfect imitation of Murdoch. His eyes are narrowed and his mouth is turned down to mimic the permanent frown on the grumpy professor's face.
I dip my head to conceal my laughter, hoping that Murdoch isn't looking.
"Hi," I say finally, raising my head to smile at Felix.
"So, today," Murdoch begins in his typical drone. "We're going to continue talking about consumer buyer behavior and the factors that affect it."
He turns to the board and the rest of us reach into our bags for our notebooks and pens.
"How was your weekend, Carmen?" Felix asks, opening his ruled notebook to an empty page.
I'm slightly taken aback to discover that he remembers my name. We'd introduced ourselves to each other at a party a few weeks ago and hadn't had the chance to talk ever since.
"It was great, thanks," I reply, smiling as the fresh memories flood my brain. "How was yours?"
"Good, good!" He runs a hand through his brown hair — two shades lighter than the chocolate-brown hue of his eyes — and grins at me, confident and easy-going.
Mr. Murdoch starts his lecture, talking in fast, long sentences and raising his hand to adjust his glasses every few minutes. I scramble to write down everything he says while Felix scrawls random words on his notebook in no discernible pattern.
"Were you at Astrid's party on Friday?" he asks me suddenly, leaning towards me when the professor turns to face the board.
"Yeah," I whisper back. "Were you there?"
"Yeah, I even did the weird dance experiment thing."
My right hand comes to a still, blue ink pooling at the spot where my pen is pressed against the paper.
Could Felix Reed be the stranger? Have I really found him so easily?
Heart thrumming, I rack my brain for any small detail about the beautiful boy I had danced with. Felix, having a six-foot-tall frame and the physique of a star football player, doesn't fit the description of the boy I remember.
I study his face carefully. Thick eyebrows, sloping nose, short stubble. "I did, too."
I'm not sure what I was expecting from Felix, but maybe I wanted to see a flicker of recognition or surprise, or maybe I wanted to see the hope that was burning in my stomach. Instead, he just smiles and nods, causing my excitement to simmer down.
The rest of the hour-long class is torture. I can't bring myself to focus on Murdoch's lecture; I'm too preoccupied with the two inches of space between my arm and Felix's, resting on the dark, polished surface of the desk.
If I reach out and touch him, would I feel the way I felt on Friday night?
Part of me is too scared to find out.
What if it is Felix? What would I do?
But what if it isn't him? What if I never find him?
Murdoch's monotonous voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts when he announces, "You can expect a test on this unit any time next week."
The class of forty lets out a collective groan. I make a mental note to study for the test, adding it to the ever-growing pile of things I have to do. The professor gathers his file and ambles out of the room. The noise of books being closed and chairs being scraped back fills the air as students make their way to the exit.
"Hey," Felix says, turning his chair towards me. His knee brushes mine occasionally as he jiggles his leg up and down. "Do you, uh, want to study with me for that test?"
"Yeah, sure!" I reply, smiling earnestly.
Shouldering our backpacks, Felix and I walk over to the door.
"How about Friday night at The Blacktop?" he suggests, wringing his hands together.
"Sounds great."
"I'll see you around, Carmen."
"See you."
We wave goodbye before heading off in opposite directions.
I count the days to Friday night as I walk towards my next class, watching the lazy winter sun shine through the treetops. My smile fades a little when I think back to the things about Felix that are different from what I remember about the stranger.
But my blindfolded judgments could've been wrong, I keep telling myself. I'll know for sure on Friday.
I just have to endure the agonizing wait.