it did.
Mr. Reese passed out a stack of papers, samples of dirty earth in small circular glass containers, and a microscope, completing my negative mood by reinforcing that today was in fact the day I would have to work with Sophie. I was hoping I’d be given at least a couple of hours of reprieve, but Mr. Reese had other ideas. After making one pass with the scientific portion of our assignment, Reese dropped off flowers and other supplies, telling us we had to make an arrangement when we were finished identifying soil types. I tried to let the music play in my head in anticipation of speaking to her, hoping that Ms. Rice was right and all I needed to do was relax and I would be able to have a conversation like a normal person.
When Sophie slid a sheet of paper between us, I glanced at her. She was looking right at me and she was unbelievably perfect. Too pretty. Why couldn’t my lab partner be ugly with buck teeth and a lazy eye? Then she wouldn’t have been so intimidating. The music fled my mind and in fact, so did everything else, when she smiled at me.
“So now you’re forced to talk to me,” she said, her tone low and conspiratorial. “Man, this guy’s all kinds of random, isn’t he? How do you go from soil samples to arranging flowers?”
My mouth suddenly went dry. She was expecting me to speak. She had expectations already and I was going to fail, and then there would be no hope of salvaging her opinion of me. My heart raced and my breathing sped up as I tried to get my brain to work beyond the bare minimum of necessary function. Finally I just busied myself with the soil, sliding the containers under the microscope and identifying them easily myself. I was happy that the samples were contained. I didn’t have to touch the dirt; just the glass slides. I didn’t even give her the chance to help and by the time I looked back up, she was basically just staring at me. I felt sick. I wrung my hands together as I desperately told my mouth and mind to work together and produce a sound that at least mimicked a word.
My breath caught when she touched my hands and they immediately stilled. “I was just kidding, Elliott. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”
Elliott. She said my name. She knew my name. She hadn’t made it a joke, imitating my stammer. Then she withdrew her hand and I immediately moved both of mine under the table to my lap, where they balled into fists.
She spoke again, her voice light and casual as if she was talking to a normal person. “So I imagine that you’re all sorts of smart because quiet types are always smart,” she said, clipping the ends of the stems one by one, “but don’t think you’re going to carry me through this class. I’m all kinds of knowledgeable and I have a wicked eye for aesthetics.” Her expression was as sarcastic as her voice. “I was taking this in Tampa, but I’m not going to carry you either.” She pushed the utility knife and foam closer to me. “It’s not all arranging flowers and looking at little jars of soil is it? Because in Tampa, the syllabus said we were going to get to play in dirt and actually grow things.”
I ignored the way my skin nearly crawled just thinking about “playing in dirt,” and instead focused on all the information she’d just shared. She was from Tampa and she thought I was smart. That was a good thing, I hoped. She smiled at me again and then I couldn’t help it; I gave her a half-smile back. I glanced at the flowers and began carving the foam to fit in the wide orange vase. When I looked back up, Sophie was staring at me, this time with raised eyebrows. Right. She’d asked me a question. My mouth opened to speak before I even realized I wanted to say something, but all that came out was “Ah-ah-ah,” and I sighed in defeat.
“Duh-duh-duh.” I looked up to see Chris Anderson, turned around in his seat, giving me a cross-eyed look as he verbally humiliated me. Something launched itself from my
Mr. Reese passed out a stack of papers, samples of dirty earth in small circular glass containers, and a microscope, completing my negative mood by reinforcing that today was in fact the day I would have to work with Sophie. I was hoping I’d be given at least a couple of hours of reprieve, but Mr. Reese had other ideas. After making one pass with the scientific portion of our assignment, Reese dropped off flowers and other supplies, telling us we had to make an arrangement when we were finished identifying soil types. I tried to let the music play in my head in anticipation of speaking to her, hoping that Ms. Rice was right and all I needed to do was relax and I would be able to have a conversation like a normal person.
When Sophie slid a sheet of paper between us, I glanced at her. She was looking right at me and she was unbelievably perfect. Too pretty. Why couldn’t my lab partner be ugly with buck teeth and a lazy eye? Then she wouldn’t have been so intimidating. The music fled my mind and in fact, so did everything else, when she smiled at me.
“So now you’re forced to talk to me,” she said, her tone low and conspiratorial. “Man, this guy’s all kinds of random, isn’t he? How do you go from soil samples to arranging flowers?”
My mouth suddenly went dry. She was expecting me to speak. She had expectations already and I was going to fail, and then there would be no hope of salvaging her opinion of me. My heart raced and my breathing sped up as I tried to get my brain to work beyond the bare minimum of necessary function. Finally I just busied myself with the soil, sliding the containers under the microscope and identifying them easily myself. I was happy that the samples were contained. I didn’t have to touch the dirt; just the glass slides. I didn’t even give her the chance to help and by the time I looked back up, she was basically just staring at me. I felt sick. I wrung my hands together as I desperately told my mouth and mind to work together and produce a sound that at least mimicked a word.
My breath caught when she touched my hands and they immediately stilled. “I was just kidding, Elliott. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”
Elliott. She said my name. She knew my name. She hadn’t made it a joke, imitating my stammer. Then she withdrew her hand and I immediately moved both of mine under the table to my lap, where they balled into fists.
She spoke again, her voice light and casual as if she was talking to a normal person. “So I imagine that you’re all sorts of smart because quiet types are always smart,” she said, clipping the ends of the stems one by one, “but don’t think you’re going to carry me through this class. I’m all kinds of knowledgeable and I have a wicked eye for aesthetics.” Her expression was as sarcastic as her voice. “I was taking this in Tampa, but I’m not going to carry you either.” She pushed the utility knife and foam closer to me. “It’s not all arranging flowers and looking at little jars of soil is it? Because in Tampa, the syllabus said we were going to get to play in dirt and actually grow things.”
I ignored the way my skin nearly crawled just thinking about “playing in dirt,” and instead focused on all the information she’d just shared. She was from Tampa and she thought I was smart. That was a good thing, I hoped. She smiled at me again and then I couldn’t help it; I gave her a half-smile back. I glanced at the flowers and began carving the foam to fit in the wide orange vase. When I looked back up, Sophie was staring at me, this time with raised eyebrows. Right. She’d asked me a question. My mouth opened to speak before I even realized I wanted to say something, but all that came out was “Ah-ah-ah,” and I sighed in defeat.
“Duh-duh-duh.” I looked up to see Chris Anderson, turned around in his seat, giving me a cross-eyed look as he verbally humiliated me. Something launched itself from my
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