Chapter One-Part One
Alex stared out the window.
What was outside the window was not particularly interesting, nor were any of the things Alex was able to see. In fact, the more Alex stared, the less interesting the world outside the glass became. This became so true, that she could no longer even concentrate on the images that passed before her eyes, she could not think of what was merely a foot from the very place she sat inside. Perhaps it was because the teacher's lecture had become harmfully boring, or perhaps it was because Alex could not force herself to care about history on any given day of the week; for whatever reason, it could not be ignored that she continued to stare out the window for such an extraordinary amount of time that the rest in the room may have come and gone, and Alex would not have known it.
Now, while Alex, in all her non-concentration had failed to notice her peers, they had most certainly noticed her. How could they not? Her face that was not beautiful, but pretty in a profound and almost god-given sense, she carried her quiet demeanor, her self-assured walk, and of course there was her tight blouse pulling across her skin drawing every male's attention to her well formed body. All these things were Alex. When one thought of her, they pictured her, sitting silently in that classroom as the sunshine poured through the window onto her, basking her in afternoon glow. It was then that her doe brown hair caught the light that slipped through the blinds onto her in such a way that it lit up her hair color as if it was brighter than everyone else's. Her whole image became cast on some sort of light yellow canvas in each person's mind.
It was because of this, that the teacher, Mr. Andrews, incurred a frequent problem of trying to get his students to pay attention to the lesson. It seemed that almost each day he had to tear his students away from the girl that sat next to the window. He had often thought of moving her to the back corner, but something always kept him from doing so. He was also captivated by her. The way she never seemed to care about his class and did not care to pick up the material and learn at all what he had dedicated his entire life to. How she discarded his lessons with what seemed to be complete respect and determination! She was brilliant, it was clear in her test scores, but Jonathan Andrews had known that from the first moment he met her. He did not blame the students for their disinterest, for he too could barely keep from staring at her during a class that seemed to drag on for days.
Despite how much Alex loathed the history class, she never seemed to be in a hurry to leave. She arrived on time, amongst a group of excitedly talking teens who bustled her into the room in some sort of pubescent tornado. From what he could tell, she was never speaking, or perhaps he discarded it because he could imagine her speaking of the latest Hollywood scandal or new sandals. When the bell would ring at the end of class, the rest of the room would move, like worms, squirming against each other, all trying to cram their way through the door at the same time. Alex would simply slip her notebook into bag, stand, walk out and softly coo to her teacher, "Have a good day Mr. Andrews."
What was outside the window was not particularly interesting, nor were any of the things Alex was able to see. In fact, the more Alex stared, the less interesting the world outside the glass became. This became so true, that she could no longer even concentrate on the images that passed before her eyes, she could not think of what was merely a foot from the very place she sat inside. Perhaps it was because the teacher's lecture had become harmfully boring, or perhaps it was because Alex could not force herself to care about history on any given day of the week; for whatever reason, it could not be ignored that she continued to stare out the window for such an extraordinary amount of time that the rest in the room may have come and gone, and Alex would not have known it.
Now, while Alex, in all her non-concentration had failed to notice her peers, they had most certainly noticed her. How could they not? Her face that was not beautiful, but pretty in a profound and almost god-given sense, she carried her quiet demeanor, her self-assured walk, and of course there was her tight blouse pulling across her skin drawing every male's attention to her well formed body. All these things were Alex. When one thought of her, they pictured her, sitting silently in that classroom as the sunshine poured through the window onto her, basking her in afternoon glow. It was then that her doe brown hair caught the light that slipped through the blinds onto her in such a way that it lit up her hair color as if it was brighter than everyone else's. Her whole image became cast on some sort of light yellow canvas in each person's mind.
It was because of this, that the teacher, Mr. Andrews, incurred a frequent problem of trying to get his students to pay attention to the lesson. It seemed that almost each day he had to tear his students away from the girl that sat next to the window. He had often thought of moving her to the back corner, but something always kept him from doing so. He was also captivated by her. The way she never seemed to care about his class and did not care to pick up the material and learn at all what he had dedicated his entire life to. How she discarded his lessons with what seemed to be complete respect and determination! She was brilliant, it was clear in her test scores, but Jonathan Andrews had known that from the first moment he met her. He did not blame the students for their disinterest, for he too could barely keep from staring at her during a class that seemed to drag on for days.
Despite how much Alex loathed the history class, she never seemed to be in a hurry to leave. She arrived on time, amongst a group of excitedly talking teens who bustled her into the room in some sort of pubescent tornado. From what he could tell, she was never speaking, or perhaps he discarded it because he could imagine her speaking of the latest Hollywood scandal or new sandals. When the bell would ring at the end of class, the rest of the room would move, like worms, squirming against each other, all trying to cram their way through the door at the same time. Alex would simply slip her notebook into bag, stand, walk out and softly coo to her teacher, "Have a good day Mr. Andrews."
posted by Nat Rivera at 1:03 AM
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