8 O'clock on a Tuesday morning equals elementary stat and elementary stat just happens to equal a bunch of college students looking like they'd rather be picked apart by a mountain lion than sit through another gruesome maths lecture. I'm just happy that I'm not the only one who doesn't like anything about the class.
Not the professor who loves to throw questions he knows damn well that I can't answer at me, not the lecture room thats all the way in the freaking basement and definitely not the lecture that's going to happen in the next ten minutes on Preparation For Midterms.
Maths and I stopped being friends in twelvth grade because that's when shit started to go beyond numbers into letters. Everything honestly went downhill from there.
Despite not wanting to be here, I set up my things on the table-my laptop, pencil case and a notebook that I use to jot things down. It's very clear from the words displayed on the board that there will be a lot of writing today. Preparation For Midterms. Another awful reminder that dead week is fast approaching. I don't even want to start thinking about that because it gives me a headache.
I wriggle slightly in my seat (I'm two rows to the back of the class this time. A seat where Professor Byrne will never be able to call on me-I made sure to be here on time for this reason) as students file in, most of them with a cup of Starbucks in hand. I should have branched to grab a cup myself but I wasn't taking any chances -I didn't plan on being late today. Morning rush at Starbucks is the worst.
The half empty lecture room starts to get filled up while the professor walks up and down the stage as he sets up for class. A bunch of people are now headed towards my row because it has more empty seats.
As if the infuriating hot dreams I had about this person last night wasn't enough, I hear his voice. Charlie. He's talking to a group of freshmen boys I don't like because they make too many unneeded jokes during lecture.
I just don't understand why Ryan is here. I've never noticed him in this class before. Neither did I notice Charlie freaking Murtaugh. To be honest, I know no one from this class simple because the people I knew actually passed and moved on with their lives while I'm stuck here, retaking. Most of the time I'm thinking about how to get the hell out this class.
I look at Charlie. He's wearing a black hoodie and black jeans, the same yankees cap sitting on his head. My breath catches softly when he catches me staring. He whispers something in Ryan's ears which causes Ryan to laugh before looking at me.
My face warms and I frown, looking away as I mutter an asshole under my breath. Charlie shifts his wilful gaze to the empty seat next to me.
Oh no. God, please no. Grant me this one favour.
After slapping one of the boys on the shoulder, he strides over to my row with Ryan following suit, earning glances from a lot of people in the room as they watch where the golden boy's final destination will be. I bite my lower lip nervously, the events of yesterday making me crease as it replays in my head for the umpteenth time.
An Asian girl with dyed blonde hair twisted into braids smiles politely at me as she takes the only empty seat next to me and I let out a breath of relief before smirking at Charlie. I send him a tiny wave just to piss him off.
Take that Charlie. I think to myself as I turn back to my laptop to open my online textbook.
But when I look up again, Charlie is standing over my chair talking to the girl next to me. Ryan's sitting one row up with some girl. "Hey Kimberly." he flashes her a megawatt smile that wouldn't be caught dead on his face any other time.
The girl looks shocked that he even knows her name. She's looking up at him like he's Micheal Jordan or something. "Hey?"
"I just wanted to say, I'm a huge fan. I saw your Othello play last year, you were really good."
"Oh my God, really? Thanks. That means a lot." The girl gushes happily.
"This is going to sound really weird but do you mind moving? I'm longsighted and I forgot to wear my contacts and this is like the perfect place for me-"
"No-"
"Yes! Yeah, sure." The girl is already gathering her things before I can persuade her not to. I doubt she'd even listen to me-not when she looks like it's a honour to move seats for Charlie Murtaugh.
"Thank you so much, this means a lot to me."
What a fake.
"Sucking it up now I see." I hiss, moving as far away from him as my ergonomic lecture chair can let me. I let out a strained breath when Charlie sinks into the seat next to me. The smell of his cologne wafts towards my nose, tingling my senses and commanding attention. It's a pleasant smell. Not what I'd expect him to smell like-light, warm and powerful like the fresh morning of spring after a cold winter.
We do love a boy that smell delicious.
"It's called doing whatever it takes to get what you want. You should try it sometime."
"Thanks." I reply sarcastically "I guess I'm just shocked you got her name right."
"Aw, are you jealous?" He gives me a mocking smile as he struggles to stretch his long leg under the too small wrimatic tablet.
"Why would I possibly be jealous that you got one girl's name right?"
"you'd think with all the funding this school gets from sports they'd get chairs that actually fit athletes." Charlie complains when he finally manages to get into a comfortable position on the chair. I kind of feel sorry for him though. Imagine walking into every room wondering if the chair is going to be comfortable to sit in or not. Charlie turns his gaze back to me, a light smirk playing on his pink lips "And I know every girl's name, Lora."
I wince slightly "There's just something about that sentence that makes it hard to believe."
He smiles "Did I say Lora? Sorry, I meant Leslie."
"Very funny." I deadpan before turning back to my laptop.
I thought turning back to my laptop would signal that I'm done talking to him but he clearly can't take a hint as he continues speaking "Here I thought seeing me again would light up your world."
"The only thing that lights up when I see you is the invisible jackass written on your forehead."
"You don't have to be so mad about not being able to write my article. It's nothing personal."
Is he kidding me right now?
"You dropped my pizza. It's doesn't get more personal than that."
"That's not what I recall."
"Well let me jog your memory." I turn around to face him so that he can see just how pissed off he's making me "You grabbed me, I dropped the pizza. Take that to any court and let's see who wins."
"It's not my fault you can't handle the touch of a man."
I shake my head. There's no point to this conversation.
"You're not going to give me the interview so you might as well just leave me alone Charlie."
He opens his mouth to speak but instead, he turns away and I turn back to my laptop.
If Charlie's intention was to make me uncomfortable for the whole 90 minutes of sitting next to each other, then he did a phenomenal job because I can assure you that I spent the last one and a half hour feeling uncomfortable. I have no idea what has just gone down in the lecture and my notes have more blank lines than actual words. My concentration certainly went down the drain with Charlie turning around every once in a while to blatantly stare at me only to not say anything and turn back to the yapping professor.
Yeah, it was very intense and confusing and I can only be glad that it's over.
But why's Charlie still in his seat, scrolling through his phone like he has no other place to be? Why isn't he leaving like everyone else? What does he want?
I try not to act affected by his presence as I slowly pack up my things into my bag. I thought staying behind longer would mean that I don't have to deal with this but it looks like that's exactly what's gonna happen.
Oh God.
When I'm done packing my things, I realise that the lecture room is almost empty. Just a few people who stayed behind to ask Professor Byrne irrelevant questions.
I place my bag on my shoulder gingerly as I push myself out of my seat. I finally look at Charlie for the first time in the last 45 minutes and realise he's getting up too, stuffing his phone in the pocket of his black jeans.
His eyes rest on my face as he speaks "Come on, I'm getting you food."
It wasn't an invitation. No, it certainly wasn't a 'Is it okay if I buy you food now if you're free?' It didn't take into consideration that I maybe have a life or that I might be busy. It just assumed that I'm in dire need of food-which to be fair I am.
But that doesn't mean I'll blindly follow him. I barely know the guy.
"Sorry?" I tuck my hair behind my ear as I look up at him with a confused expression.
"I want to buy you food." He repeats, dazed by my reaction. Yeah, not every girl is going to jump at the prospect of having lunch with you.
"I heard that. Why do you want to buy me food?"
"We need to talk," his tone is serious "plus, I dropped your pizza, it's only fair."
***
I keep telling myself the only reason I was in the front seat of Charlie's black BMW is because we're going to talk about the stupid article and I loved the look on Ryan's face when Charlie told him to catch the shuttle home. Although the car ride was as awkward as it was short and quiet, only one thing mattered. What do we need to talk about? I know it has to do with this bloody article but something's telling me it's not just that.
Just thinking about what the conversation is going to be like is making me loose any appetite that I have. My belly is churning badly and it feels like I just ate something acidic.
"What's your order?" Charlie asks as we join the short line in front of the famous food van.
Young's is a popular spot amongst the student of UCLA. It was started by two American brothers with Korean roots about 5 years ago. Despite only being a blue food truck with food posters on it, it offers some of the best hot food on campus alongside Starbucks coffee of course (my personal favourite.) Overlooking the St Andrews courtyard, a few blue wooden benches and tables are scatted in front of. The tables are adorned with white and red checkered tablecloth making up an outdoor setting for people who decide to eat in or out. Whatever you want to call it.
It was my second favourite food place freshman year and I was here every other day with the girls. Three months back in New York for summer break and I got over my attachment to their chicken pad thai. But now my mouth is watering by the smell of the Korean cuisine.
I can't believe I haven't been here in three weeks.
I also can't believe that I'm here with Charlie like it's something that we've done before. I mean, he just asked for my order. As innocent as the question sounds, it didn't fail to provoke a tiny gallop in my chest.
"Chicken pad thai." I reply.
The looks I'm getting from the few students spending their afternoon in the minimalist restaurant is borderline rude. One thing I'm not jealous of is the constant looks Charlie gets when he enters a room. He's either used to it or doesn't give a shit because he doesn't look bothered by it in the least.
But I'm not used to being looked at. I've pretty much been invincible for the past school year and I honestly like it that way. I hate the unnecessary drama that comes with popularity and I certainly do not want a bunch of strangers watching my every move with microscopic eyes.
A few friends will be nice though, Lorraine.
When it's finally our turn to order, we're greeted by the two men in charge of the shop, their faces breaking into a very familiar smile.
"Lorraine, annyeaonghaseyo." Charles Young, the mastermind behind this little food joint, greets behind the order window, wiping his hands on a napkin. "Long time, no see."
I smile sheepishly, feeling guilty for not coming back to the shop. Charles and his twin brother Parker, the sous chef, are very nice people who made sure my friends and I had a good time when we came here. Most of the time we didn't have to pay for the sides which was a huge relief-money can be very tight as a college student.
"What can I get you?"
"Chicken pad thai." the reply comes out quicker than I expected "extra spicy please."
Charles winks before shifting his gaze to the basketball player next to me while Parker beams excitedly from his position behind Charles, his free hand raising up in a wave. I wave back surprised when Charlie returns a warm smile to Charles "And you Charlie, the usual?"
"You bet, but we're eating in."
"Take a seat guys, food will be ready in five."
Five minutes later, Charlie returns with the food and I take my eyes off my phone. I know it's dramatic but I've told Elle if she doesn't hear from me in half hour then she should come to Young's. He places two sides next to my food. "Present from Charles." It's my favourite-Kimchi and Oi Muchim.
I really should start coming back here.
"For someone who's had a lot to say you sure are quiet." Charlie tells me soon as he takes a seat opposite me. He picks up his chopsticks and swirls what looks a lot like Japchae (stir fry noodles) around it. His eyes doesn't leave my face as he raises the food to his mouth, tongue darting out to lick his lips.
Oh God. I swallow before replying. "What are we doing here Charlie?" I say, cutting to the chase. I'm nervous so I'd rather not make small talk.
Charlie's biceps flexes as he folds his arms. I take note of the tattoo covering his left arm and wonder how far up it goes.
"I had a chat with Melissa." He takes another scoop of his noodles reminding me that my own meal remains untouched in front of me. Despite the fact that I haven't had anything to eat today, I can't eat. Not with this boy in front of me, especially not with the statement he just made "she really likes you."
I blink "She does?"
Let me add that to my list of things I didn't expect.
He nods as he returns to his food, that baseball hat casting a shadow on his face again. I wish he'd take the damn thing off "She said some pretty interesting things about you...about why I should give you a chance."
Really? Maybe Melissa isn't a Nazi bitch after all.
I want to ask him what interesting things she said but I don't want to lose track of what's important.
"So does this mean I get to write the article?"
"Yes." Charlie pops open his can of Pepsi, chugging down almost half of the drink in one go. He's got one hell of an appetite okay. Our eyes meet and the first thing I can think is I don't like the direction this conversation is heading. I keep by mouth shut and my eyes focused on him as I wait for the inevitable but "...but on one condition."
There it is.
"And that is?"
"Date me."