Basic Anatomical Parts

I tried to pay attention in class the next day—I really did—but it was another yucky, mucky, rainy day that just made me want to crawl back into bed and pull the covers up over my head; not to mention the stuff they were feeding me was completely elementary and utterly coma-inducing. I mean English is English. What’s not to get?

The rain was still coming down hard when I finished my classes at four, so I ducked back into Faye’s again and ordered a latte. Running from the English building to the campus coffee shop everyday was not a habit I wanted to make though, so I vowed, as I jumped onto the end of the burgeoning line, that this would be the last time I stepped into the would-be romantic shop for at least the next week and a half.

“'Ey.”

I jumped at the voice behind me. The feeble lights above us cast a broken shadow over his face, but the accent was clear.

“I would'na pegged you for a Corner Coffee Shop kinda girl.”

I turned my eyes downward, zipping up my wallet. “Yeah, me neither. Thanks,” I said to the barista, carefully taking the piping cup in one hand, and turning away from the counter.

It was dark outside. Not nighttime dark, but that angry, white-dark it does when it’s raining profusely. The sky was still dumping buckets.

“So uh, you don’t say much in class.”

He already had a steadily smoking cup in one hand. The barista was smiling at the back of his head.

“Not an English fan, eh?”

I looked back at the sky as I lowered my lips to the cardboard rim. “Big fan.”

“Oh. You’re so quiet I never would'a guessed. Why don’t you contribute more?”

I resisted the urge to scoff and took a long, slow sip of the pumpkin-flavored chemicals cooling in my cup.

“I mean Technical Writing isn’t the most excitin' of English classes, and Lit has me a little nervous, but it might be bearable if someone passionate piped in a little.”

I nodded slightly, eyes glued to the top frame of the window. We stood in silence for one very long minute.

“Have you started the book?”

I nodded again. “Yup.”

“The thing’s practically a small dictionary.”

My lips lifted. That was exactly what I’d thought the first time I picked it up. Which was unfortunate, because once upon a time my excitement over a book almost always increased with the thickness of its spine. Now my excitement where thickness was concerned only had to do with—

“It isn't even that small,” he murmured to himself.

I shot him a sideways glance. His hair was bronzed through with rainwater and lay in wind-tousled turmoil around his head. The slightest of rain sheens covered his face.

The corner of his mouth pulled back in defeat. He looked away from the window and caught my eye. He was cute. I’d give him that.

Despite the fact that he was soaking wet, he smiled a real smile.

I shifted my weight and nodded faintly toward the table next to us. It was a relatively small, low-laying table with short wooden chairs, made more for a couple or close friends than two newly-made acquaintances. I hoped he enjoyed my coffee breath.

“So what’s your major?” he asked, elbows propped on the table.

The snort that erupted from my mouth was one of the most unladylike sounds I’ve ever graced a conversation with. “English,” I said with a face that clearly said, I’m humoring you. “And yourself?”

“Film.”

I bobbed my head, turning my eyes to the window beside us. “Explains the English.”

“Yeah, they want us to be literate or something.” He shrugged indifferently and lifted his cup to his mouth.

“The nerve of them,” I muttered.

He laughed quietly. “What class are you?”

“Senior.”

“Oh, me as well.” He shook his head. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“NYU’s a big campus.”

“True,” he said, “but given your major, I find it likely we’da shared a class before now.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Likely though.”

“…I’m a transfer,” I said finally.

“In senior year? Why?”

I flicked my eyes up at him. “Why not?”

He considered. “Where from?”

“I forget. What about you?”

He hesitated, turning his head to look at me with a stink eye, but offered no fight; “Australia. Perth, actually.”

“Oh. Well you’re a long way from home.”

“Indeed,” he said nodding once, “You can make films anywhere, but America has the biggest market.”

“Gotta love that shallow American materialism,” I said shaking my head lightly.

“Oh I do. It’s gonna put me in business.”

I lifted my coffee in cheer and took another sip.

“How about you?” he asked, “What are your plans for that English degree?”

I turned my attention to the window again. The sky was already beginning to lighten into coming dusk.

I shrugged. “Whatever comes my way.”

“You didn’t come to New York City with big dreams?” he teased.

“Was I supposed to?”

“Course not, but that is the cliché of beautiful young ladies, isn’t it? Correct me if I’m wrong—I have to get this right for my storyboard.”

Oh geez. Another philandering flirt. I glanced at him blankly.

His eyes were trained unwaveringly on mine, and his body angled forward over the table a little too eagerly. I leaned heavily into my chair back, moving my attention to the window once more, treating my coffee to another moment of lip service.

“Well good sir," I said finally, "I’m going to have to leave you to ponder that one.” I stood and began gathering my things.

“Oh. Well before you do, I meant to ask you; as an English aficionado, do you, maybe, tutor?”

I stopped. “Tutor?”

“Yeah, you know…For good-looking, English-deficient, Australian blokes?”

I raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll even read the book,” he added.

“Well that’s a given.”

“So is that a yes, then?” His mouth parted in a lopsided smile.

I pursed my lips in grudging contemplation, eyes straying to the window again. “Read the book. Then we’ll talk.”

He grinned. “Deal. I’m Seth, by the way,” he said offering his hand.

I looked at it hesitantly, breathing slowly out as my eyes returned to his face and our hands met. “Jacey.”