Under My Skin

When the bell rings, signaling that Psychology is over, I rush to get out of that room as fast as possible. Unfortunately for me, though, Ms. Massa has other plans that do not include me getting to my next class on time.

“Miss Peterson, Mr. James, may I have a word with you two?” her voice echoes through her now empty classroom. Hayden and I groan simultaneously, both of us taking our time to turn around and approach her desk.

“Yes, Ms. Massa?” Hayden says sweetly, as if that is going to get him out of whatever trouble he’s in. Ha. Ms. Massa is not a sap, that much I do know.

“It seems that both of your grades are dropping. Crystal, it’s because you’re always late and missing some of the important stuff. Hayden, well… You just don’t pay attention.” I snort and Ms. Massa glares at me. “To make up for your inappropriate behaviors, I’m assigning you an extra credit project that you will have to work on together.”

Another simultaneous groan shared between us.

“I want you to spend some time with each other over the weekend and make observations on your partner. Note some of their habits and expressions and see if you can get any emotion from looking into the eyes. Then, I want you to each write a two-page paper on what you learned about your partner and the importance of observation. It must be typed and printed out. No other forms of the paper will be accepted. You got it?”

We both nod in unison while Ms. Massa smiles in satisfaction.

“If you choose not to do this assignment, then you should plan to fail the course unless you actually begin to put in some hard work and effort. The assignment is due next Friday. Good luck.”

We leave the classroom after that, knowing we’re going to be late to our next class. I really need to get to my locker to put away this stupid Psychology textbook and grab my binder for English, but I don’t know if I really have the time to. Actually, I know I don’t, but I really need that English binder. If I forget it for one more class, Mrs. Ellis is going to implode, I swear.

Shrugging to myself, I decide that being late to class is worth not being yelled at, again, for unpreparedness. I make my way to my locker, which, just my luck, is in the opposite direction of where I need to be. Seriously, the high heavens must hate me or something. Wait, no… Our school is just stupid like that. Figures.

I turn the dial three times, carefully stopping at each number of the combination with each turn. I like to assure myself that this ridiculously old locker will open. Once I have the combination in, I pull on the opening lever and attempt to open the locker door. But to no avail… My locker does not open.

What. The. HELL?!

I kick my locker in hopes that it might initiate some sort of emotion from this inanimate object. And with that emotion, it will open for me because it does not want to be kicked again.

I can hear my locker laughing at me in my head. Hahaha. Then I realize that I’m crazy and I should just go to English, because messing with this locker is not getting me anywhere.

“Having locker troubles?” a voice sounds from behind me. I whirl around to face the figure, a confused look on my face. As soon as my mind registers who this person is, my cheeks heat up almost immediately.

Jordan Grant.

“Oh, uh… Hey. Y-yeah, actually.” I stammer like an idiot, avoiding eye contact at all costs. If I even so much as glance at him, I know I’ll become even more of a blubbering idiot, and no girl wants that when they’re interacting with some guy who happens to be really super gorgeous.

Jordan chuckles.

“Well, lucky for you, I have a key for all of the lockers, here.” I can’t help but look at him weird, this time. How the hell did he get a key for every locker in the school? Before I can even ask, he answers my questioning glance, like he could read my mind.

“I help out around the school and so they gave me a small set of keys, including one to the lockers. I guess for situations like this; I’ve never really had to use the key until now, though,” he explains, and I nod in understanding; makes sense.

“Do you want me to get your locker open?” he questions next, and I nod again; I feel that is the only thing I can do, right now. He walks up to my locker, the key in hand. He inserts the key into the lock and turns the key. Checking to see if the locker handle will work, he eases it up and pulls out. My locker door is open.

“You have the magic touch, Jordan,” I state firmly, making him emit a giggle-like laugh. I smile and gaze into the big, black hole known as my locker. My English binder is right there, an easy reach, but… That stupid note… It’s on top of the binder. Ugh.

“Is that a note?” Jordan asks curiously. I snort. “I’ll take that as a… yes? Aren’t you going to read it?” My eyes shift to meet his. He’s grinning mischievously.

“To answer your question. No, I’m not going to read it, because it might not even be mine…” My voice trails off nervously. That was not a very smart statement to make.

“But it has your name on it, and you’re the only Crystal in this school that I know of,” Jordan says intelligently. I despise him for it, because I really don’t want to know what the contents of writing are all about. It could be a hate letter or a practical joke… on me.

“Well, I don’t want to know who wrote the stinkin’ note, and I don’t want to know what’s in it. If you want to open it up and read it, be my guest!” I say, snatching the folded up paper and slapping it into his own palm. Then, I go for my binder, and I realize I’m really, really late for English. This is going to be the second time today that I’m late. I’m going to get into so much trouble!

“Thanks, Jordan, for helping me get my locker open. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to class because I’m really late, as it is. Keep the note and I’ll see you around.”

Turning my back to him, my legs begin shuffling my being away from him. As much as I’d love to stay and chat, I can’t.

“Wait, Crystal!” Jordan calls after me. I stop walking, but I don’t turn around. His footsteps are heard from behind me; he walks around to face me, the note hanging right before my eyes.

“You should really read the note. It’s not much, but it probably will mean something more to you than it does to me. It’s your note, after all,” he says softly. I scowl at him, taking the paper in defeat. He smiles a small smile, tells me he’ll ‘see me around,’ and walks away.

Meanwhile, his words spark my interest in what the note has to say. So I start unfolding it, my eyes scanning over the nearly empty page.

There are only three words written.

I like you.