Like Fire & Gasoline

Bridgette sat in her class, scribbling down notes at a furious pace. Her English class had a center on Shakespearean literature, and the teacher was rambling on furiously about the Capulets and Montagues. There was a big test coming up, and it was likely to have 70% of this rambling on it. Bridgette looked down at her page, the loopy writing legible, even though her hand had smeared most of the ink.

The class was a required one for her English Composition and Writing major. She aspired to be an editor, no matter how long it took to get there. At the moment, however, her fear was her hand would be permanently clutched around the pen. It had been cramped writing for the past hour.

There was a knock on the wooden door, and the gray-haired professor stopped her lecture, the heels of her patent leather pumps clicking against the white tiled floor. Bridgette saw her steely eyes narrow curiously, but she stepped aside to let the visitor in. Bridgette used it as an opportunity to stretch her tiny hand, and readjust her blond curls in the sloppy ponytail. She heard everyone whispering, and when she finally looked up, she realized why. She nearly fell off of her burgundy plastic chair.

“Bridgette?” James asked curiously, walking through the aisles of desks to where she sat near the back corner. She felt her porcelain cheeks flushing scarlet, and her cyan eyes widened. Her black pen fell out of her ink-stained hand.

“James, I’m in class. What are you doing here?” she asked through gritted teeth. Everyone was staring now, and the professor had her arms crossed, her ashy eyebrow raised. A few of the girls where giggling like crazy in the row ahead of her.

“Well, I kinda wanted to talk to you,” he said sheepishly, giving her a brilliant smile. She swore a girl behind her nearly fainted. It made her want to puke really, how amazed they were. This was college, not some club.

“I’m busy right now, if you haven’t noticed,” she hissed, motioning to the class. Seeing all eyes on her made her feel claustrophobic, but James seemed to be basking in the attention.

“Well, I figured at least here, you couldn’t walk away,” he said with a shrug. Bridgette heard some guy a few seats over chuckling, and she slid down in her seat, covering her crimson face.

“Miss Thomas, do you care to inform us what is going on?” Professor Smith asked in her haughty, overly dramatic voice. Bridgette cringed, searching her mind for some sort of explanation.

“Just a guy, who can’t take a hint,” she mumbled, glaring at James. Despite her harsh tone, his face wore a triumphant smirk, which infuriated her further.

“Sir, could you leave and stop interrupting my class?” Professor Smith asked, adding a dramatic sigh. James looked at her, wide-eyed and appearing innocent.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll leave, as soon as Miss Thomas,” he paused, his hazel eyes falling upon Bridgette’s enraged features. “Agrees to go on a date with me.”

The room released a simultaneous ‘awe,’ and all turned to the thin blond girl. Bridgette dug her chipped nails into her palms, trying not to jump out of her chair and punch the smug look right off his face. She pursed her lips together, her sapphire eyes emitting hateful rays at the chestnut haired boy. Here she had thought he couldn’t get any more annoying than he had at the beach. Unfortunately, she was wrong.

“In your dreams,” she growled, grinding her teeth together.

“All right, then,” James replied, sitting pretzel-style on the cold white speckled floor.

“What are you doing?” she asked, leaning slightly over the cold black metal of her desk scowling.

“I told you, I’m not leaving until you say you’ll go out. On a date. With me.” Bridgette groaned, slamming her hand against her face. She looked up at the ceiling, asking God what she had done to deserve this.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she stated firmly, her eyes resolved.

“Then I’m not going anywhere,” he retorted. The whole room was mesmerized, like they were watching a soap opera. Bridgette could not believe what was happening. Her mind argued back and forth, debating if he were bluffing. After a few minutes, she realized he wad dead serious.

“I’ll go on a date with you,” she mumbled quietly, crossing her arms over her chest. She could feel the defeat seeping through her. James knew exactly what he was doing, she couldn’t help but notice.

“What was that?” he asked, holding a hand to his ear. “I don’t think I heard you.”

“I’ll go on a date with you!” she screamed, throwing her hands in the air. The whole class applauded. She couldn’t believe she’d agreed. Never in her right mind had she pictured going on a date with someone as shallow and self-absorbed as James Maslow. And yet, here she was.

“Thanks,” he said cheerfully, popping back up. He picked the pen up from her notebook, then flipped through it, finding a scrap piece of paper, scribbling his number down. He handed her back the pen, which she snatched, right out of his hand. The anger within still hadn’t calmed, and if possible, she thought she hated him just a little as she scribbled her own number down for him, along with her address, at his request.

“I’ll pick you up at seven on Friday. Otherwise, I could just end up in your classes again,” he taunted, and she crinkled her button nose.

“Fine. But this doesn’t mean I like you,” she snapped, and he chuckled to himself as he started walking away.

“We’ll see about that, Bridgette. Just wait,” he called, before strolling back to the front of the room. He shook Professor Smith’s old, spider-veined hand, and with a dramatic bow, left the room. The whole room was abuzz with what had just occurred, and it took five minutes to settle them down again.

“Now, the Capulets—“ Professor Smith started, but was cut off by the chiming of the bell. “Don’t forget about your test next week. It’s worth a quarter of your grade this semester!” She was still calling out well after Bridgette had shoved her way through the crowd filing out of the room.

As she found her car to drive home, it really hit her. She had a date with James Maslow. She grimaced, starting the engine of her old Grand Am. All of the anger she’d felt in the classroom was still boiling inside. The boy was tricky, but she would get him at his own game.