Annie sat towards the back of the classroom with her nails scratching against her forearm. Her Speech professor lectured in the front of the room while the rest of the students scribbled down notes, played games on their laptops, or flat out slept face down on the table. Annie half listened, half wondered what she would eat after her commute home. She knew she should pay attention as next class they were required to perform a five-minute, memorized speech before the room, but she couldn’t be bothered to think of it. The idea of that made her skin crawl.
Oliver doodled in his notebook, shading hero figures as the lecture droned on before him. He was the type of student who didn’t need to pay attention to do well, a gift he took advantage of. But the gift of art was something he carefully crafted, practicing for hours into the night. He was confident in front of a crowd, a people person, perhaps a mistaken extrovert, allowing him to connect with all the classmates. He wasn’t nervous about his speech next class he was rather proud of his topic.
But there was one thing Oliver dreaded most.
There was one person that scared Annie.
It was a stupid fling, a regret Annie carried into the spring semester. On the evening of the winter banquet back in December, she was a beautiful creature dressed in black. It was a rare sight for her feet to be decked in silver heels with her lips coated in red. She cleaned up to impress a certain someone her eyes had been drawn to in her Philosophy class. A certain someone she knew would be there. And the night was magical, the theatre hall was decorated in lights with music pumping through the speakers. The students, all wearing their finest, jumped and sang on the dance floor until their feet and throats stung. Annie and Oliver danced, he was clumsy on his feet, but she guided him through the beat of the music. She was pleased to be in his arms, just as she planned. So when the night ended, she walked him out to his car, her feet blistered and raw, but she hid it with a confident stride.
Oliver said goodnight, unlocking his car, pulling at the handle. But she stopped him, Annie, the girl who’s enchanted his sights all semester long. She pulled the sleeves of his suit towards her waist and planted her soft lips on his.
The month and a half after that were blissful for him. He picked her up in his car, took her to the movies, made out in the last row way back in the dark. They went to diners at midnight, saw who could eat the most fries in one minute, then made out in the back seats of his car. She came over, met his parents, then made out in his room.
So Oliver was shocked when he said I love you and Annie said we need to talk.
Annie thought she was clear when she said, “I’m not looking for anything serious right now,” when they first spoke about their impulsive kiss back in December. He nodded, agreeing with her, saying, he too wasn't ready for a relationship. She thought they both knew this was casual. A friends with benefits type thing. But he had fallen in love with her before they even had sex. Annie knew what she had to do. With the dreaded Valentine’s Day looming before them, she cut it off, not wanting to knowingly take advantage of this lovesick boy, blocking him off social media and deleting all conversations.
Oliver was quite heartbroken; he thought he found something rare. But now, halfway through the Spring Semester, he sat in the front of a classroom where she sits just a few rows behind. Oliver felt her presence like a sword sticking into his side. He’s embarrassed for what he said, I love you, wishing he could take it all back and start over.
However, Annie secretly felt the same. Though she could never tell him, she was starting to fall in love with him too.
After class ended, they both packed up their things, zipping up their backpacks and waving goodbye to their friends. Annie knew Oliver made a right turn after leaving the classroom, so she did too, slowly trailing after him. She wondered if he knew she was there if he wanted to say something to her. If she asked, would he be okay with going out again?
Oliver held the door open for Annie as she exited the English building out into the brisk air. She looked surprised to see him and muttered a thank you before bustling away. She must hate him, Oliver was sure of that. He would too if someone confessed their love after just two months of dating. Though there was aching in his chest, he couldn’t help but recall the tender moments they shared. When she passed through the door, he caught a whiff of her scent, something like cinnamon and tea. Warm, she was warm, the nape of her neck and the skin on her lips. Oliver shook his head, willing the thought to fall out, as he pulled his jacket closer to his body, stalking to his car in the cool winter air.
His commute home was short, the length of three Beatles songs that somehow reminded him of Annie. So, for once, he turned the radio off on the drive home.
Annie busied herself with homework when she made it home, typing out pages of her Speech for the next day. She scratched at her thigh as nerves settled in at the thought of needing to recall three memorized pages about herself. A topic she wasn’t particularly fond, or proud of. The prompt was to inform the audience of something that you already know about, so there were no sources needed. There wasn’t much that Annie knew about. Or, to rephrase, Annie knew a lot about music, but she wasn’t confident enough to show it. Instead, she wrote about something a bit more personal, the only thing she believed was interesting enough to say.
The next day rolled around as it always does, bringing in frost and brisk air, freezing the windshield of all the cars. Oliver scraped his clean, pondered, then scraped his mother’s so her car would be ready when she drove to work. On his commute to school, he did not play the Beatles.
School was boring for Oliver. He felt that he had learned all he needed to in life and school was just a waste of time. Though that’s not true, a 19-year-old boy has much to learn. Classes breezed by, as did lunch, and before he was finished with his sandwich, it was time for Speech Class. A rock formed in his stomach as it does whenever he thought of this class. Not because it’s speech day, but because he knew he had to see her.
Annie was about near tears as she sat in the back of the classroom, scratching an itch on her cheek. She religiously flipped through her notes, mentally zooming through the paragraphs, imagining how she’d deliver the thesis statement. She worried too much, Annie was an excellent public speaker despite her nerves shaking her endlessly beforehand.
The students went in alphabetical order, meaning Oliver was first and Annie was third to last. That only allowed her skin to crawl with worry for a good hour.
Oliver delivered his speech fine, he stumbled over his words here and there, blanked for a few seconds, but his speech about surfing was entertaining enough to make up for it. While Oliver spoke, Annie had a hard time looking at him. She watched his lips move, remembered the way they felt against her own. His bright eyes fell on hers for a moment and she felt breathless, then ducked her head as he finished his speech. She felt her heart pounding and scowled at herself.
When it was Annie’s turn, she walked to the front of the classroom, yanking her sleeves down over her wrists. When the teacher gave her the go-ahead, she started. Her speech was about Anxiety Itches, something that plagued her for months. Her skin would burn in the shower, her limbs screaming with the urge to be scratched with no relief when she did. It was a chronic case, caused by her stress, and the only thing that was on her mind, usually all the time. It’s hard not to think about something that never goes away. Though it was hard to talk about, she did not choke or cry, she delivered her words perfectly and ended with a small smile. Annie snuck a peak to Oliver who sat mesmerized, sympathetic. Her smile faltered and she fake confidently walked back to her seat, pleased with her performance.
Oliver couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the class. His mind kept wandering to the words Annie had said. How long had she been suffering for, and why didn’t she tell him? Surely, the situation between them only made the itching for her worse. He wanted to apologize, try to ease some of her stress. But maybe he’d only cause more trouble.
Annie left the class with her heavy bag slung across her shoulder. There was a slight relief that came from telling others about her situation, something she never did before. And she was sure she’d get a good grade, the teacher seemed pleased. Annie stopped before the exit where Oliver stood, holding the door for her. She clenched her jaw together, a tingle forming on her forearm. She strolled past, saying thank you as she always does, but sneaking a look back. He hadn’t moved, but let the door close shut behind him. His mouth opened as if he was to say something, but instead spun on his heel and left. Annie wanted to cry. All she wanted to do was dance in his arms again, surrounded by the lavender scent of his clothes. The night of the dance, their first kiss, she hadn’t itched once. She was completely content with every moment they spent together. She wasn’t sure if she missed him because he took her mind off the itching, or if she was in love with him. Her feelings were muddled, but all she knew was she wasn’t able to listen to the Beatles because it always reminded her of him.
Oliver sat before his phone in the late hours of his night, a full written paragraph typed on his phone and ready to be sent to Annie. Inside it said all the things he never got to say, sorry, forgive me, I still like you, could we try again? But he erased it, turning off the phone, and rolled over on his bed. Oliver knew she wanted nothing to do with him, she had made that very clear when she broke things off. He shouldn’t bother her any more than he already has. Oliver had to say goodbye to the girl who swept him off his feet, truly. The girl who smelled like cozy fall nights, and danced like she was alone.
Goodbye, Annie.
And though, the two sat in the same room each weekday, both feeling the same longing for the other, they never spoke a word of it. The semester ended and they left without regarding each other. They spent the summer with other people, and returned in the fall semester, never having a class with each other again.
Comments