Anne T. Fletcher

The problem with living in small towns is that the day after everyone will know that you tried out for the football team. The problem with living in my small town is that no one will forget it.

“Do you need help with that?” I heard Mathew’s voice ask. I knew that voice way better than I would like.

“No, thank you.” I answered, balancing the Economy book, a spiral and my calculator in one arm only, while with the other I tried to open the door to the classroom.

Mathew seemed to ignore what I said and opened the door for me. “You’re welcome” he smiled as I gave him a killer look. Then he sat right next to me and put his head on his arms, staring at me.

“Stop that!” I told him, as Mr. Sasu closed the door.

Mr. Sasu, our Economy teacher, was the most boring person alive. Students used to say he had powers – he could put a whole classroom to sleep in five minutes. I think they were right. I heard Mr. Sasu telling us which page to turn to, and then my mind started to wander.

What was wrong with Matthew? I asked myself as I noticed his eyes on me again. Was he just trying to irritate me? Why couldn’t he leave the fact that I tried out for the football team alone? Why did he have to show up wherever I was with his jersey on, or a football on his hand, or just carrying around those stupid goody-bags the cheerleaders gave the players? Why did he have to sit next to me in almost all of my classes? Why had he started to go by my parent’s bookstore after school? It wasn’t like he could ever read all the books he had bought already. I mean, every day after school I would drive to my parent’s bookstore, where I worked, followed by Matthew’s bright blue pick-up. He would go in right behind me, and wander around for hours, until right before six, when he would get a book from the shelf and bring it to me at the register. He would smile, ask me how I was, I would tell him the price, he would give me the money, and wave goodbye, saying he hoped he would see me the day after.

“When you’re done, do the exercises on the following page” Mr. Sasu told the class.

I looked for some paper and then I looked for a pen.

“Do you need one?” Matthew asked me, offering me his lucky pen – I had noticed he used to during quizzes and tests only.

I wanted to ignore him, but I couldn’t say no to that without sounding rude, because I really didn’t have my own, and he was just being nice.

“Thank you” I whispered getting the pen from his hand.

As I did so our hands brushed against each other for a second, and I felt his hot as burning iron. His bright blue eyes shined as they met mine and I looked away fast.

I started the first exercise, but I could feel Matthew watching me. I loosed my hair and let it fall on my right side, as a curtain. I tried to go back to the exercise… maybe Mathew would go to the bookstore during lunch to return the books. Yes, that had to be it.

“Miss Fletcher, are you done?” Mr. Sasu asked. I blinked and looked up.

“No, sir., I haven’t….”

“Then why were you asleep?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I wasn’t asleep, I was trying to remember a formula…” I told him, my voice trembling – I had heard he had sent students to the Principle before for way less than that…

He walked towards my desk at the back of the room. “Didn’t you read the pages I told y’all to read?”

Mathew coughed on my right. “Sir, I have a question…”

Mr. Sasu looked over my head to Mathew and sighed. “Yes, Mr. Schoultz?” He walked behind me to Mathew’s desk and looked over his shoulder.

I saw Mathew look down to his paper again and think for a second before answering Mr. Sasu’s question. He was pretending.

Mr. Sasu wansn’t very pleased with Mathew’s question, and lectured him for a while about paying attention to what he reads and about how he hadn’t been paying attention to his class since the beginning of the semester. I felt guilty. He was being given the lecture that I should have been given… And it was my fault. He had asked that stupid question to save me.

When the bell rang I got up as slowly as possible, hoping Mathew would have left the room before I did. But things didn’t go the way I had planned. Mathew stayed behind and when I got up he showed me the palm of his hand with a smile.

“Can I have my pen back, please?” he asked.

We walked out of the room and towards our next classes. I looked for it in my notebook, trying not to bump against other people in the hallway. “Here. Thank you for...”

“The pen?” Mathew asked, putting it in his jeans’ pocket. “No problem.”

“Yes, but I meant…”

“It’s ok, Anne.” He stopped walking and looked to the hallway he had to take. “Look, I have to go, but we’ll talk later, ok?”

I nodded and watched him take a few quick steps to catch up with a teammate. As I opened the door to my chemistry class I asked myself why in the world had I felt so funny when he said we would talk later. And… Had I really agreed to that?