"I wonder why the blonde boy hasn’t come back to class. Why would he come to the first day but no more after that? And what’s up with his writings? I guess I can’t really ask that question now that I’m writing like he was, but I don’t get why he wrote over them in a different color. Maybe so if he lost his notebook no one would ever know what he thought about all the time. But his handwriting was so bad it wouldn’t matter anyway. Rush had really bad handwriting too. Crap, I don’t want to think about him. Every time Rush comes to mind, I get this gross pit in my stomach and can’t swallow and feel like the world around me is closing in until I’m trapped in my thoughts and can’t escape from them. I don’t want to think about him anymore. I want to move on with my life and not be consumed by him and the past. I don’t know how to do that though. I wonder what time it is now. I just looked at the clock. It’s only 8:34 but that means I only have like 15 minutes left in class. So there’s that. I wonder if I’ll even pass this class since I don’t hardly ever pay attention in here. It’s just so boring. I mean, I love psychology, but this prof is so dry and uninteresting. Maybe it’ll get better. I wish the blonde kid was still in here. Then at least I’d have something interesting to focus on. But he’s not and now some dumb athlete is in his seat instead with his big old shaved head. He probably thinks he’s so cool since he must be like the star quarterback or something like that. Like I really care though. It doesn’t matter to me what sport he plays or how great he is at it. He’s not my type anyway. I date the jerks who masquerade as the nice romantic guys who will never leave you and are perfect and want to love you forever. Don’t I just have great taste? Oh shoot, what if the football player dude looks over here and sees that I wrote about him? That’d be really bad! Maybe that’s why the blonde kid wrote over his own writing. Maybe the other day he was writing about me and I’ll never know it. That’d be interesting. Now I really want to know what was behind all those scribbled words. And why didn’t he ever come back to class?"
Once again, movement disrupted Evelynn’s thoughts. Class was over. She packed up her things and glanced at the time: 8:54. She threw her bookbag over her shoulder and headed for the door. She had an hour to kill again, so she decided to sit in the coffee shop again. Maybe, even though he’d skipped class, the boy would reappear near coffee. She had nothing better to do anyway, so she exited the classroom turning for the shop. She felt a hand on her shoulder and stopped in the middle of the hallway. She turned around and saw the shaved headed athlete looking right at her.