Unfortunately the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I'd already studied in Biology III at Pleasure Valley High School. I took notes carefully anyway, always looking down.
I couldn't stop myself from peeking occasionally through the screen of my hair at the strange buck next to me. During the whole class, he never relaxed his stiff position on the edge of his chair, which he'd scooted as far from me as possible. I could see his hand on his left leg was clenched into a fist, tendons standing out under his pale skin. This, too, he never relaxed. He had the long sleeves of his white shirt pushed up to his elbows, and his forearm was surprisingly hard and muscular beneath his light skin. I timidly wondered what else under those buckskin clothes of his was hard and muscular. He wasn't nearly as slight as he'd looked next to his burly bison of a brother.
The class seemed to drag on longer than the others. Was it because the day was finally coming to a close, or because I was waiting for his tight fist to loosen? It never did; he continued to sit so still it looked like he wasn't breathing. But how in the world could he continue to sit there, with his eyes open and his fist clenched, if he wasn't breathing? I had learned about oxygen in Biology II. What was wrong with him? Was this his normal behavior? I questioned my judgment on Jessica's bitterness at lunch today. Maybe she was not as resentful as I'd thought.
It couldn't have anything to do with me. He didn't know me from Eve. Or Adam. Or did he?
I peeked up at him one more time, and regretted it. He was peeking down at me again, his black eyes full of revulsion. As I flinched away from him, shrinking against my chair, the phrase if looks could kill37 suddenly ran through my mind.
37. A reference to the 1986 smash-hit "If Looks Could Kill" by Heart. "If looks could kill/I would be lying on the floor/begging you/please don't look at me no more."