For the first time in my entire life I think of skipping class. I know it’s a horrible thought and it shouldn’t have even crossed my mind, but it has. I don’t know why I’m so nervous, he won’t attack me in class or anything, right? And once we are dismisses I just have to run.

But then… I said that if in one week I don’t come with some conclusion then I would just forget about this. Then, wouldn’t it be reasonable that I use Literature to observe Zeke? Of course, I have to be as discrete as possible, but I’m in front row and he is in the last one. I can’t just turn around to watch him or use mirrors.

What can I do?

By the time I make it to the classroom I have accepted that I can’t use this instance to observe Zeke and try to figure him out so I try to focus only on the class instead. We are reading Dickens and some of his short stories and I quite enjoy his writing.

Mr Gayle, our Literature teacher, walks in with a different attitude. I can immediately tell. He’s quite young, probably late twenties, and he’s very energetic and optimistic, but today he looks resolved.

“Okay class, I reached my limit,” he says dropping his books and briefcase on the desk. “I know most of you don’t give single shoot about this class or literature, but we are all here and we can’t let the same students participate all the time, right?”

I hear murmurs around me but I don’t turn around, I keep my eyes on the professor.

“Henceforth, I have decided a new way to work, a way in which I will force you all to participate.” I can feel in the air that this is not an idea that everyone approves of. I have to say I’m intrigued.

I normally participate in class when Mr Gayle asks me because he knows I always do the readings and I’m listening, but the ones who actually participate are other three students. I don’t know them because I never turn to look at them, I only listen to their answers.

“Do you see this?” he says taking a small black notebook. It looks like a planner.

“Your little black book?” a student teases and quite a few laugh, although I don’t get why.

“No, Sean, it’s not that.”

“The Death Note?” some other student suggests and this time only two students laugh.

“That would be useful but no, it isn’t the Death Note,” he replies and I have no idea what they are talking about but I’m surprised that Mr Gayle actually knows what the student said. “It’s just a normal pad but it has all your names. I’ll keep track of your participation in class and according to that, your grades can improve… or get worse,” Mr Gayle explains fanning himself with the pad. The class is in complete silence and I can tell by the look in his face that he is satisfied. “So even if you don’t want to improve your grades you have to at least participate a few times to keep your grades as they are, otherwise, well, you’ll have to study harder.”

I don’t know if what he is doing is allowed or not, but it sounds like a good idea. I only get As so I don’t need to improve my grades, but I can’t afford to lower them.

“Can you do that?” a girl asks him and he smirks.

“I talked to the headmaster about this method and he offered no complaint. So yes, I can do it and I’m going to do it. And this is not the only change. This is a literature class, not a seminar, so we’ll work how it is supposed to be. Grab your chairs and move all a little bit closer. Try to form a circle, okay? Sit on top of the tables, I don’t care for today.”

I freeze because I like when things are in order and so many changes out of the sudden is just… well, unexpected. But then, isn’t it true that literature has to be discussed to contrast the different readings we can have of the same text?

I look around and see if the rest are moving and they are, suddenly a bit more excited for not having to sit behind a desk. As I’m in front row and close to the teacher’s desk I don’t have to move but I see all my classmates getting closer. I’m seeing faces I never saw before and I feel ashamed that I don’t even know my classmates although we are already in October.

I wait until everyone has settled. Mr Gayle is sitting on his desk, watching us all. Next to him there’s his black pad and his book with all Dickens’ works. I take a look at all my classmates and I realise that at the extreme, the farthest from all, and the closest to the door, is Zeke. The only one not talking to another student, the only one who doesn’t look excited. I can’t stop looking at him, surprised that I had forgotten we are in the same class for a few minutes.

Out of the blue, Zeke looks up and our eyes meet immediately and I gasp due to the surprise. My heart races when I see how his frown deepens and when I feel his disgust towards myself.

“Oh right, this is good. I like it this way. So, did you all read The Signalman?” Mr Gayle asks and his voice makes Zeke and I break eye contact. I turn to look at the teacher immediately as my hand flights to my chest, to feel the rapid beating.

I don’t answer the question although I did read the short story. I hear some murmurs saying things but it doesn’t sound like the whole class did. Typical. It is just a short story, I don’t understand how they cannot read it. Plus, it’s a really good one.

“So, can I start by asking how you felt while you were reading it? Thoughts about the short story?” Mr Gayle asks, his hand going to the black pad with all our names listed. I look up again, watching him and not only his hands. For the corner of my eye I can see students avoiding his glance. Those are clearly the ones who haven’t done the reading for today.

“Sean, why don’t you tell us how you felt?”  Mr Gayle asks. Sean was evidently avoiding his glance so I think that was his mistake.

“I um… it was… I dunno, weird. I’m not sure if I really got it,” he replies and Mr Gayle sighs heavily. It’s so obvious Sean didn’t read it.

“Okay, it could be called weird, taking Sean’s words, in what sense? Does anyone have an idea?” he asks next and I look at the whole class. I notice that Zeke is now the only one avoiding Mr Gayle’s eyes but he doesn’t look like he’s doing it because he didn’t read it. He looks more like he couldn’t care less about this class, which I think it’s worse. Why is he here, then?

But then I see him mouthing something. Uncanny. I think that’s what he mouths, but I am not sure.

“Okay, I’ll give you all the key word: uncanny,” Mr Gayle provides and my eyes widen.

Zeke actually knows the answer, he could raise his hand and provide the kind of interaction Mr Gayle is looking for, but he doesn’t. He stays silent and invisible, because Mr Gayle doesn’t even look at where Zeke is sitting.

Another classmate raises her hand and actually answers more or less what Mr Gayle is looking for and from that onwards the discussion carries on. I listen carefully but don’t participate today, instead I just observe Zeke who keeps his head low, but he is actually taking notes and mouthing the answers from time to time.

So it’s not like he doesn’t care about the class, it’s just that he chooses not to participate and I wonder why. Is it because he just doesn’t care about participating and giving a good impression to the teacher or because he’s shy and doesn’t want to stand out?

I spend the whole class watching him, as dissimulated as possible, but still my eyes are on him all the time. And by the time Mr Gayle dismisses us I realise I have learnt a bit about Zeke, but I’m also left with far more questions than before. I can tell he is a clever guy and contrary to his bad reputation and all that bad boy appearance, he is quite respectful to the teacher. In fact, I saw him making annoyed faces every time someone did or said something that was inappropriate considering we were in class.

I try to gather all the little things I know about Zeke and I can’t solve the puzzle yet. If I keep observing him, will I get somewhere or will I only have more questions?

By the end of the day and my classes I head to my locker with a headache. Thinking about human behaviour is exhausting, especially because I have no clue about the theories behind. I’m more convinced than before to read some psychology theories just to see if I can figure something out.

It’s funny. I have done the same that I do any other Monday, but I am exhausted today. I think I’m actually dragging my feet and I’m definitely not paying attention to my surroundings. Having your eyes open, really open, is quite demanding because there is always something going on.

Once I’m in front of my locker and I’m about to open it to leave the textbooks I don’t need inside, a loud thud exalts me. I jump half metre away and look next to me, from where the sound came and my heart actually stops in my chest.

Zeke is right there. His hand on the locker next to mine, his eyes fixed on me, his frown deep and disapproving and I can’t move. Even if I want to flee, I’m glued to the floor.

Oh God, I’ve really pissed him off. He looks so angry. Is he going to yell at me? Is he going to beat me up? Oh God, oh God, oh God! Will someone help me?

“Do you have a problem with me?” he asks and it’s the first time I hear his voice so close, directed at me. His accent is thick, his voice low and manly and it makes me shiver out of fear.

I open my mouth to say something but nothing comes out and he leans in closer, his eyes boring into my skull.

This is the end.

“I said: do you have a problem with me? Lately, you seem to be everywhere I look at and you are always watching. What’s your problem? I’m not some freak, you know?” he spats and my heart starts beating again, fast, faster, the fastest it has ever beaten. “If you wanna go to the headmaster and tell him what happened today you can—”

“I won’t do that,” I hurry to say. That has never been my objective.

“Then what do you want? Why are you always watching? Is it funny for you?” his voice is angry but something tells me it’s more than that. He sounds… frustrated? Because he doesn’t understand?

“No, it’s not that,” I say in a small voice. I’m still too nervous. “It’s just that you… you… you are not just a bad guy. It’s more complex than that. You’re more complex than that and I just don’t understand but I want to. You’re different.”

His frown disappears and incredulity shows in his face. His eyes, which are of a warm brown that I didn’t notice before, widen in surprise. Seeing him like that allows me to take a breath and calm down a bit. He doesn’t look like he’s going to beat the living days out of me anymore. I now look at him closely. The long and curved eyelashes, the chiselled jaw, the thick lips, the shadow of a bear, the dark hair in a mess that looks… looks good. I notice the shape of his nose and his cheekbones and I hold my breath for a very different reason. I didn’t notice before how… handsome he is. I was always scared, I didn’t allow myself to really look at him like this. I have this urge to reach out to touch his face because it just looks like it’s not real, especially when he has that puzzled expression. It’s like he’s lowered his guard.

He moves, taking his hand off of the locker and then taking a step back, away from me. His eyes are still examining me and I can still see the confusion in his eyes.

Without a word he turns around and walks away rather fast, never looking back. I stay on my spot, watching him, my heart still beating fast and my hand ready to reach out. My head is spinning, not sure what to make out of this. I would’ve never expected that reaction from him. Didn’t I just basically call him some sort of freak? Didn’t I offend him? He didn’t look angry, though. I honestly don’t know, I think I’m just more intrigued and I have one thing for sure: he’s really more complex than what I anticipated.

-:-:-

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Bel, xx