Playing with Forever

Chapter 6: A Confusing Look

After Sam told me that he admired my self-respect, I made more of an effort with him. I'd ask him the occasional question, and he'd respond. When I saw him around school, I'd smile or wave as I passed him. He looked confused the first few times, but he eventually started giving me a nod in return. I shared my AP English notes with him when he missed a class. He offered me some baby carrots when my stomach rumbled in Study Skill one afternoon. His coldness and occasional condescension evaporated. Perhaps a friendship was budding, I thought.

One Thursday morning, we had a lecture second period Stats. Halfway through the period, I shifted in my chair and caught a glance of Sam out of the corner of my eye. The seating chart had changed with the start of the new month--October was now upon us--so instead of sitting beside me, he was now kiddy-corner to me in the row behind me. I assumed he had a pretty good view of my left ear.

But at that moment, Sam was staring at me. Staring without blinking his startlingly beautiful  eyes. But not just staring with a glare, or admiration, or confusion, but with shock. Bewilderment with anxiety glazed his eyes. Fear seeped from his golden irises to the thick fringe of brown lashes and shone outwardly.

Fear.

I didn't look back at him, didn't let him know I saw him staring. My stomach churned my orange juice breakfast violently. It looked like he had just figured out something serious about me. Oh no, had he honestly found out something?

What did he know?

I didn't let myself panic for very long. There was no way he could have known anything. Everything about the last few years of my life was sealed away in silence. As silent as sealed government documents could be.

He must have found out about something simple, like maybe he'd seen volleyball practice last night and seen that I actually had talent despite my scrawniness. Maybe he found out that I had a 4.0 GPA? But no, he knew how studious I was. Maybe he noticed the birthmark on the side of my neck.

I put my hand to it self-consciously. Oh, come on, it wasn't that bad. Not enough to justify the look he was giving me.

I stared back at my desk, studying my blue pen and the ink smear on the side of my pinky finger. Maybe Sam was just really tired, staring out into space. He was thinking about something that had absolutely nothing to do with me. Yeah, that had to be it, I decided. I wasn't that exciting.

I was flustered nonetheless. I shuffled my feet, sneaking a tiny glance back at Sam. He was still looking, same expression. I raised my hand and asked Mr. Black for a hall pass. He gave me permission to go to the bathroom, where I lingered, trying to waste time. I had to get away from Sam's penetrating eyes. I scrubbed at the ink on my hand with the neon pink hand soap in the bathroom. I'd have to get a pen with a faster drying ink to avoid these smears. The soap smelled weird, like artificially sweet chemicals, and I focused on that rather than Sam's odd look.

When I came back into the classroom and took my seat, Sam didn't look at me. His face was stone again, just like it was when we first met. Only now it was a scowl of determination. He flicked a glance at me through his eyelashes, then looked pointedly back to his book and gnawed on his lip.

I spent the rest of the day steeped in anxiety, despite what I was trying to tell myself. I didn't know what I'd do if he really found out anything serious. Would he bring it up later in the day?

He didn't. He skipped AP English, but was back for Humanities. I was anxious as I sat beside him, but he returned the hesitant smile I sent his way. He shot sneaking glances at me every once in a while, but he didn't give me the horrified look again. We went back to being almost-friends, and he never asked about my past, so I finally dropped it. It wasn't worth the stress of worrying if he didn't actually know anything.