Knowing Everything about Nothing

My first semester of my junior year of high school was coming to a close. We were 1 week out from winter break. As much as I liked studying, even I was ready to have nothing to do with that place for two weeks.
I walked into my 7th and final class of the day: Anatomy. I didn’t really see the point of coming to class today, or much less the rest of the week. We took our final exam of the term the previous week and would just start new material today. Well new to everyone else in the class; I already began studying the content 2 weeks before our previous exam, but you get the point. It was just my neurotic tendency to maintain my perfect attendance, as well as an opportunity to answer each of the teacher’s questions to the class that kept me from skipping.

I headed toward the first lab table centered in the middle of the classroom. Even though we didn’t have assigned seats, I sat there every class period a) because it was directly in front of the teacher and allowed for me to give my undivided attention during class and b) due to reason a (no student except for me liked to be randomly called on; being in the front of the class increased that probability), the seat next to me was alway vacant and provided no additional distraction. I settled into my desk and pulled out my gel pens and color-coded notes I took from the reading on today’s lecture. All of the questions the teacher asked for participation points were directly from the back of the textbook. I had previously researched each of the answers and wrote them neatly on a sheet of notebook paper, readily available to answer when asked (not that I needed the notes anyway, I already had the questions and answers memorized).

The rest of the class took their seats as Ms.Grande set up the overhead projector. She began the lecture on the musculoskeletal system and I began my diligent note-taking. Right on schedule, Ms. Grande asked the first question to class 5 minutes into the presentation:

“So, looking at the drawing above, how many tendons does the rotator cuff have? Remember this goes towards your participation grade, so I want everyone to attempt at answering.”

Without even a second glance at the diagram, my hand shot up.

“Yes, Jaida Johnstons,” Ms. Grande said with a slight twinge of disappointment that I was the only volunteer.

“Four,” I said confidently.

“Yes. Excellent, as you can see on the drawing there is one discernable tendon…” Ms. Grande was about to use her laser-pointer to explain the diagram when a boy, tan, about 6 feet tall with a lean, but muscular build wearing all black clothing-- with the exception of a bright red bomber jacket--and sunglasses, walked, no sauntered, into the doorway of the classroom.

“Oh...hello, can I help you?” Ms. Grande asked.

The boy grinned widely, flashing Ms. Grande with his white teeth and brushed back his gelled, black hair “I believe I’m your new student.” He said as he handed her a sheet of paper from the front office.

“Ahh.. yes” Ms. Grande gave him the look that all teachers give to all trouble-maker students, the oh-crap-I’m-in for-a-long-year-of-phone-calls-home-and-trips-to-the-front-office look, “ I forgot you were joining us today. You can take the empty seat next to Jaida.”

Next to Jaida? I cursed under my breath. I had become slightly possessive of the seat next to me and of people to take it was this very mysterious, slightly unsettling boy.

He walked from the front of the classroom to the seat next to me. The rest of the class’s gaze, girls in particular, followed him as he sat down.

Clearing her throat Ms. Grande said, “Alright, attention back to the board.” Ms. Grande said, noting the distracted class.

“Ahh man, she didn’t even introduce me to the class.” The boy said to me sarcastically, almost as if he was used to this treatment from teachers. He then whipped off his sunglasses, revealing a pair of piercing green eyes and stuck his hand out to shake my hand, “I’m Erebus Marx, but you can call me Ere.” He said with a smirk.

Two thoughts went through my head at this moment: 1) who the hell is this guy who took my seat? (well not actually mine, but I had grown a fondness to it so was essentially the same thing) and 2) who wears sunglasses inside in the middle of Oregon’s December?

Without even looking at his hand, I curtly said, “Nice to meet you.” and turned my head back to the board. I didn’t need anymore of a distraction from the lesson than what his entrance already had.

He studied me for a few seconds, his gaze boring into my peripheral vision, and he then let his hand fall, muttering “Alright, I see how it is. It's a shame, I thought you were kind of hot.”

I rolled my eyes so hard I was surprised they didn’t go into the back of my head. See a lot of other girls would have been flattered at this comment. But me, no. I don’t know what it was with teenage girls, but so many were just infatuated with the facade guys, much like this one, put on. I had encountered many of them, and without even entertaining the idea of a relationship, or even less, I could understand they likely only wanted one thing from the girls. Was it really that hard to see, or was it just me?

He saw my reaction, smirked, and slowly turned his attention to the lecture.

“Alright, based on this diagram, how many compartments does the knee have?” Ms. Grande asked.

I already knew the answer, but looked to my notes for confirmation. Sunglasses, as I had mentally named him, also glanced at the neatly inscribed “2” on my notes and then suppressed a smile.

Before I could process what that was about, I raised my hand, “Ms. Grande, there are 2 total compartments.”

Ms. Grande gave me a quizzical look and said, “ Close, but not quite right Jaida.”

The class looked at me. My face felt hot as blood rushed to my cheeks. I’m never wrong when called on. Ever.

Before I could recover from my shame, Sunglasses, who was slouched in his seat, lazily raised his hand.

Ms. Grande, taken by surprise said “Err, yes…” she looked down at the class roster for his name, “Erebus.”

“You can call me Ere.” He flashed her another mischievous smile, “ The knee has three compartments: the medial, lateral and patellofemoral.” He said as he turned to me and winked.

“Yes. you are correct Ere. Job well done.” Ms. Grande said, a trace of grudging approval in her voice.

Three compartments! I could have sworn I wrote that in my notes. I flipped back into my textbook. Underlined in my blue gel pen was the line: The knee has three compartments: the medial lateral and patellofemoral. How did I underline the exact line and then transcribed it incorrectly in my notes? I took the notes in the middle of the day, so I know I was fully awake and alert when I did the reading...

As I was going through this internal monologue, Sunglasses leaned over to me and said “Beginner’s luck, maybe?”

“Maybe. But I had the correct answer underlined in my textbook, I just wrote it down wrong.” I said, almost as I were trying to convince myself.

He looked at me, smiled, didn’t say anything and turned his focus again to the board.

What was with this guy? First day of class, and he knows one an abstract fact about the musculoskeletal system? Did he have anything to do with my sudden lapse of intelligence? No, of course not. What would’ve he done to change my answer on my notes as I watched him? There was a very logical explanation to this: I simply wrote the answer wrong from where I read it.

But even as I told myself this, it still didn’t seem right.

I put the thought aside and would deal with it later. I needed to focus or I would miss important information in the lecture…

The rest of class I decided not to answer any of the other class questions; I didn’t care about my participation grade for the day, I was not going to make the same mistake. My lowered self-esteem probably couldn’t take it. When the bell rang I bolted, refusing to make any sort of contact with Erebus Marx to the best of my ability.