EVIE
Rain pounded against the windowsills of the lecture hall masking the drowning sound of my professor. It seemed like the hours were ticking away slowly and his voice kept going on and on. He had become lost in the world of statistics; leaving most of us lost and left behind.
I was usually okay with math. Even in high school I was pretty successful in it, but for some unknown reason, my mind was unable to wrap around the concept of statistics. I took the class thinking that I'd be able to do well in it, yet here I was struggling to even stay awake to listen.
"Now, as you can see," Professor Chandler continued, "The probability of an event can be thought of as long run proportion and frequency. In simple probability in an event, the formula used would be P(A) equals the number of elements in A over the number in elements in S..." His hand sped across the white board as he wrote in the same faded black ink.
My eyes squint to catch the last bit of the formula, because being the ditz that I am, forgot to bring my glasses with me (and lost a contact).
"Need help?" I glance over my shoulder to see Ryder leaning across the table, his lips quirked into that all-knowing smirk.
"I'm fine," I lie, not needing his assistance. I was stubborn in that sense, never needing anyone to help me figure out a problem. I was able to do it on my own.
"Don't look too fine," he says with his eyebrows raised.
"Promise you that I'm fine. Fantastic even... super-dee-duper... now, if you excuse me," I whisper yell, before turning around and focusing on the blurry mess in front of me.
"Evie," Ryder whispers once more.
I ignore him once more, again not needing his help. Ryder doesn't seem to get the hint, however. I flinch when something hits the back of my shoulder, skidding across the floor. I whip my head around, embarrassed by the few students who sent a few withering stares my direction.
"You're being a nuisance. Grow up and do your work," I pick up his pen and throw it back at him, satisfied as it hits him straight on the nose.
"Why do you play soccer? You should be on the baseball team."
I don't say anything, but instead, flick him my freshly manicured middle finger. Take that pompous-yet-overly-sexy idiot! I hear his arrogant chuckles behind me. Once again I ignore them, focusing on whatever the teacher was going on about.
Once class was over, I packed up my notebook and sling my oversized book bag over my shoulder. I wince as the fabric digs into my boney shoulder. Realizing that I had everything, I make my way down the long steps of the lecture hall, and towards the front door.
"Miss. Jones," someone calls, halting me before I could make a quick getaway. I turn around and face Professor Chandler. He was a middle aged man with thick grey hair. His aged green eyes are kind but full of wisdom. He calls me over to his podium which is full of highlighted notes and an iPad.
"Yes Professor Chandler?" I say as I walk up, anxious to hear what he might have to say. I wasn't one to visit or talk to professors after class hours. Some days I found myself frequenting a few TA's offices whenever I had questions regarding a paper. Other than that, I usually figured everything out on my own, never finding the need to bother them during office hours.
"Miss. Jones, I was looking over your latest test score," he begins, pulling out a small file from under his mess of notes. My name is clearly typed on top, earning an eruption of anxiety to course through me. "I must say, I had heard a lot about you. Many teachers had spoken highly of your academics, praising you on your high test scores and aced papers."
"Thank you sir," I smile, my nerves dispersing slightly.
"However," he begins once more, his low voice stern. My heart drops, "I've been keeping an eye on your last few tests and I'm worried about you. The last few tests you've scored well under sixty percent - not even close to what you normally produce. Are you having trouble with the material?"
"Nothing I can't handle," I say.
"Miss. Jones, it's perfectly normal to have difficulty in this class. Some of the formulas can be rather confusing if you're not used to them. However, judging by your previous test scores from high school and last semester's Statistics class that you took, I would have expected higher performance. I don't seem to be seeing that and it concerns me," he says carefully, as he brings his glasses off of his nose, holding it carelessly in his hand.
"I promise you, sir, that I am more than capable of handling this class. Sure some of the formulas have been a bit difficult, but I will try harder."
"Yes, but you're an English major. It's not essential for you to be taking this class. Perhaps it would be best if you dropped this course, take a lighter load and focus more on your English classes. You don't need this class, I can assure you that..."
"No," I interrupt, "I can handle this. I promise you sir that I will be able to do better. Thank you for your concern..."
"What I'm trying to say, is that you're failing, Miss. Jones."
At those simple words my whole heart drops. Failing... I was failing. I never failed. I was not a failure. This couldn't be right.
"Pardon me?"
"The past few tests you've been getting fifty at best, but your papers have done nothing to boost your marks. You're a bright student, but this is only damaging your GPA. I talked to your counsellor and we both agree that it would be best if you dropped this class before it fully damages your overall marks."
"But, I can do better..."
"I'm sorry, Miss. Jones, but that is final. Please go talk to your counsellor when you have the chance and sort this all through. I want you to do well and succeed in your chosen profession. A statistics class will not benefit you, which I can assure you. Take a class that will."
"Thank you," I rush out of the room, ignoring the groups of students, and head straight towards my car.
-
Gummy bears, chocolate chip ice cream, cookie dough, pepperoni pizza and a side order of honey garlic wings cover my living room floor. I stare at the damage, silently going over which one I would eat first.
"Fuck it," I reach for the cookie dough and take a massive chunk, stuffing it into my mouth. The rich goodness coats my mouth, my tongue salivating at its sweet taste.
There's a knock at the front door, distracting me from finishing up the rest of the tube of dough. I ignore the consistent knocking, hoping that whoever they were they'd get the hint and carry on. Unfortunately, whoever they were are stupid and are incapable of getting a hint.
"Sorry, Evie can't come to the door right now... leave a message and get back to me later!" I shout through the thick frame, hoping... praying... that they'd leave.
"It's Niall."
Groaning, I through the leftover tube back into the pile of food. Not bothering to check my mirror, even though I was sure I looked like a character from the Walking Dead, I walk over. Opening the door, I see Niall on the other side, with a cheesy smile plastered on his lips. "You're rather peachy this evening," he says.
"I'd get my pom-pom's and do a little dance, but I'm not feeling very cheery." This only encourages Niall more. He laughs, pushing me to the side, "Sure you can come in," I sarcastically remark.
"What crawled up your ass?" Niall makes his way into my living room, taking a seat on the couch. "I figured you are always crashing my place, that it was finally my time to return the favour."
"Is it Christmas already?"
"Just call me Santa."
"Kinky..." I sarcastically roll my eyes as I join him on the couch, "Gummy bear?" I offer, grabbing a handful for myself.
"Don't mind if I do," he takes a handful, popping a few in his mouth. "Having a party and didn't invite me? I'm wounded Jones."
"It's actually the first meeting of the 'We hate Niall Horan' society. I'm chairman, president, and coincidently the only member.
"Too bad I don't hate myself," he chuckles, leaning back against the couch. He turns to his side, giving me a quick once over. "You look like shit."
"Gee, you sure know how to make a girl feel good about herself," I scoff.
Niall laughs, scooting closer towards me, nudging my shoulder with his own.
"You don't look yourself. Everything alright," he asks gently. His eyes watch me carefully as I sit there awkwardly. I bring my knees to my chest, a common action when I felt myself growing anxious or uneasy.
"Everything's fine," I say but my voice holding no conviction. For a girl who was usually over dramatic, I was a shit liar.
He studies me carefully. His bottom lip tugged into his teeth, he furrows his brows. We stay there, looking at one another, neither one of us making the first move to break eye contact. I wasn't sure why Niall seemed to care so much about me. He had this way of making me feel slightly uneasy but at the same time cared for. It was in the way that he watched me. Not in a creepy 'I'm watching you' kind of way, but of a 'You're my friend and I want to make sure you're not dying' kind of way.
"Promise... all is good," I smile, this time with more reassurance.
Moments past by before Niall nods slowly, "If you say so..."
"I do," I promise, scooching my knees closer to my chest. "Now tell me why you really came over here," I quickly change the subject, not particularly wanting to get into why I was having a pity party.
Niall sits up a little straighter, moving his arm so that it hangs against the back of the couch. He turns to face me, his lips curved up into a small smile. "Was alone at my flat, figured I'd come and see what my favourite girl was up to."
Redness rises to my cheeks, as he watches my reaction. He has a knowing smile on his lips, making a rise of butterflies to swarm in my stomach. "I'm sure you say that to all the girls in your life."
"But I only mean it with you," he teases, wiggling his eyebrows in a joking manner.
"Charming..."
He doesn't do or say anything next. We only remain sitting there in this comfortable silence. I don't know what to do or say next. The same feeling of nervousness plays inside of me, an unusual reaction.
"Honest reason?" He asks, breaking the silence. I hum a small yes, urging him to continue. "Was hoping we could have a movie night part two," he admits, smiling sheepishly towards me.
I smile over at him, not at all expecting that. With everything that had happened during the day, all I had wanted was to have some time alone. But the idea of eating junk food and watching some crappy movie with a good friend seemed like a much better alternative. I knew that it would distract me from my busy mind.
"Okay," I reach for the remote, turning the television on. "I'm picking."
As the movie begins to play, I take a slice of pizza. There's a satisfying feeling that comes with food. It had this comforting appeal to it. Whenever the world around me was feeling shitty or went out of control, I knew that food would always be there. I was thankful for the feeling that it gave me whenever I ate something that I enjoyed.
"Care to share?" he asks, and I nod passing him an uneaten slice. We eat in silence as the movie plays on.
Hours go by and everything was quickly consumed. I felt like a hot mess... a hot, bloated mess. "Be right back," I say, carefully standing up from my crevice on the couch.
"Sure," Niall says dismissively, too engrossed by the mystery movie that was playing.
I slip into the bathroom. The florescent light hits my face in an unflattering matter, highlighting the dark circles that were painted under my eyes. Blonde hair is a tangled mess against my pale cheeks; an unfortunate sight for sore eyes. I suddenly felt awful that Niall had to see this all evening.
I bend down, quietly using the toilet. There's a gross aftertaste on my tongue, a direct result from too much junk food and three cups of coffee. I brush my teeth, opting for the mouthwash infused kind. There was something satisfying about the minty aftertaste that came with it. It also saved me a crap load of money since I didn't have to buy mouthwash.
Finally I deemed myself done. I shut the bathroom light and walk back towards the living room. When I get there, I am surprised to see Niall fast asleep on the couch. The movie is still playing in the background, but Niall was conked out. His body was sprawled across the couch, his arm tucked under a pillow. He looked at peace. His forehead was free of lines and his eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks.
I open my closet door, and pull out a grey blanket. I lay it over his sleeping body, not wanting to disturb him from his peaceful slumber.
Before I go back to bed, I stop in my tracks. I hold my breath, as Niall's grumbled voice comes from the couch. I walk back over to him, to see his droopy eyes half opened. "Jones..." he mumbles, his words slurred in exhaustion.
"Yeah," I ask as I hover over the couch.
"Are you sick?"
"No. Why?"
He furrows his brows, his lip tugged into his mouth. "Heard noises from the washroom..." he slurs.
"Probably the TV," I shrug, "Go back to sleep, okay? I'll be in my room if you need me."
But before I could go back, he calls once more, "Jones?"
"Niall..."
"Night... pretty girl..." he hums sleepily, his head buried into the pillow. I feel my cheeks redden, but I brush it off, his snores already filling the room.
"Goodnight Horan."
-
VOTE + COMMENT
He called her pretty. Swooooon. Do you think Niall might be feeling something for Evie? Also, what do you think about her news from school? Yikes.