A Special Moment In Time

"Do you want to try knitting with me?"

I was slouched low in my chair, shoulders hunched and head lowered as you walked in; trying to make myself seem as small as possible. It didn't work, seeing as how you immediately spotted me, calling out my name brightly and walking over with a little too much pep in your step for such a dreary morning.

You smack your hand on my desk, snapping me back to the present. “Lisa!”

You’ve shortened my name again, despite my constant reminders to call me by my full name. I lift my head up and muster up all the energy I have to give you a glare. To anyone else, it’d be enough to stop them dead in their tracks and make them rethink their actions. To you, it’s a sign of endearment.

You lean over, hands planted on my desk, still beaming at me. I wonder if your face muscles are sore from smiling all the time. The one time I tried to practice smiling at myself in the mirror, my face began hurting almost immediately.

“What,” I say blankly, looking at the corner of my desk.

“I said, do you want to try knitting with me?”

“No.”

My instantaneous answer doesn’t bother you. You laugh it off, just like you do with everything. I hate that about you, I really do. 

At least that’s what I tell myself.

“Are you sure? It’s really fun!”

My gaze flickers between your hand placed on my desk and back to the corner. “I’m sure.”

“Are you sure?” you repeat.

I make the mistake of looking at your face. You’ve widened your eyes and pouted a little, giving me a pleading look. To be honest, those looks usually don’t really do much more than annoy me; and I’m about to tell you that, but my throat has suddenly gone dry. I narrow my eyes at you before looking to my left at the intersection where the wall meets the floor.

“I don’t even know how to knit,” I answer, ignoring the little voice in my head that tells me I’m being an evasive little weasel.

I can practically hear you brighten up. “That’s okay! I can teach you!”

I refuse to look at you and your blinding smile. “No thank you.”

You drum your fingers on my desk. I notice that you’ve painted your nails a different color from last week. It’s not really that much different, just a lighter shade of blue.

“Don’t you want to learn a new life skill?”

I shrug. “I think I’m fine being a clueless halfwit.”

That gets another giggle from you, and I feel the corner of my mouth twitch as I hear you laugh. I quickly straighten my expression out again.

You open your mouth to say something again but by now the teacher’s standing up, and he’s cutting you off as he claps his hands.

“Alright everyone! Judging from the volume in here, it seems like you guys have finished the ‘Do Now’, right?” he announces.

I haven’t. In fact, I didn’t even notice the work we were supposed to complete. I sigh as I look at you. You’re quite the distraction, I think.

You give me one last look before heading to your seat, finally giving me the peace I enjoy. It feels less enjoyable than usual, but I chalk it up to the gloomy weather.

The period starts to fly by, and I don’t hear my name called once, so it’s a good class. I spend my time staring out the window, studying the gray clouds in the sky. Halfway through the period, I feel a small scrap of crumpled paper hit the side of my head, but ignore it. 

I may not pay attention to our teacher’s lessons, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to read the notes you flick at me during class either.

He dismisses us and everyone stands up, scrambling to get to their next class. I sit there, in no mood to engage in a vicious struggle down the hallways to make it to the next class. Resting my chin on my palm, I continue gazing outside, planning to start heading to class after a few minutes. It’s not like the teacher cares anyways; he’s used to me lingering in his class for a bit after classes.

A tap on my shoulder.

Surprised, I turn around, an eyebrow raised as I twist around in my seat. When I see it’s you, I exaggerate a sigh and turn back towards the window.

“Hey!” you complain good naturedly as I make a point of ignoring you. 

I glance over at the teacher’s desk. He looks at me, then points at the clock, sending a clear message. Don’t forget to get out of my classroom before the next batch of students come.

“Lisaaa.”

“Stop shortening my name,” I grouch.

“It’s easier to say ‘Lisa’ though,” you answer.

I stay silent, and you take that as your cue to continue.

“Do you want to come to my house today?”

My mouth parts before closing again. “Not particularly.”

You’ve been inviting me to your house almost everyday, which is confusing to me, seeing as most of our interactions consist of me trying to avoid you. And yet, you still continue to try to hang out with me.

I’m not sure whether to be grateful or annoyed by that.

“Well... I just thought you might want to come and study with me,” you say.

I frown. “Why?”

“For the quiz?”

“What quiz?”

It’s your turn to stare at me with a dumbfounded expression. “The one he mentioned in class today,” you say as you subtly point your thumb at the teacher still sitting at his desk. If he hears you, he doesn’t say anything.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

I’m suddenly faced with a few options. I’ve never been the best at academics or taken my education very seriously, and to top it all off, I don’t even know what this quiz is on. I hate talking to adults even more than people my age, so asking the teacher anything is out of the picture. So I can either a) take my best shot at the quiz and put my trust into a higher entity, or b) study with you.

“Do you know what the quiz is on?” I ask you.

You nod. I mull the situation over for a bit longer as you wait patiently, a small smile still on your face.

Finally I look at you. Or, to put it more accurately, I glare at you again.

“How long do I have to stay there?” I grumble, the question coming out more like a complaint.

“Until you understand the material, so it’s really up to you.”

It’s silent for a moment, and I can hear the slightest sounds of heavy footsteps starting to approach. Our teacher clears his throat loudly and I roll my eyes at the ground.

I lift a hand and wave you off. “Go to class,” I sigh. “I’ll be there after school.”

You grin, getting the answer you wanted, and turn to race out of the class, most definitely late for your next class. Why you decided to stay behind and convince me to accept your help is beyond me; but I can’t say I particularly dislike the new warmth heating my cheeks.

I slowly get to my feet, tucking my unused binder under an arm. The footsteps are getting louder, and I know I have to get out before I get caught up in the wrong class, but I hesitate for just another moment.

Looking around, I make sure the teacher isn’t watching me before bending down to pick up the crumpled scrap of paper lying on the ground by my desk; slipping it in my pocket before making my way out of the room.

*

You greet me at the door the second I raise a hand to knock on it, as if you saw me coming up your driveway.

“Lisa!”

I nod in return, shifting the strap of my bag on my shoulder. After walking to your place in this pre-thunderstorm like weather, I don’t have enough energy to even try to correct you, especially when I know you won’t listen anyways.

I enter as you step aside to let me in, looking around. It’s not all that big, but it already seems quite cozy. The framed pictures on the walls, the light hum of the AC working, and the smell of pasta wafting through the air is inviting, to say the least. Much more inviting than the cold, bare walls that greet me at my own place.

You start leading me down the hallway, but we take no more than a few steps before a woman hurries out of one of the rooms branching from the hallway. She stops in front of us, stray strands of auburn hair falling from her bun, wiping one of her hands on an apron tied loosely around her.

“Hi! Are you Analisa?” she asks, breaking into a wide smile. I’m stunned momentarily by the obvious similarities between her smile and yours, but manage to nod.

“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” I say respectfully.

She giggles. “Oh, just call me Amanda,” she says happily, waving her hand casually, as if she believes she can swat my words out of the air.

I give her a small grin, feeling a little uncomfortable. I don’t play on addressing your mother by her first name anytime soon, but I agree anyways.

She’s not done speaking, as she begins to ramble. “Oh, my daughter’s been talking about you so often, I was wondering when you were going to come over. Everyday, she comes to me and she-”

“Mom!!” you exclaim, and I see a blush cross your face for the first time. You grab my hand and start yanking me away. Her laughter grows more distant as you quickly pull me down the long hallway and up the stairs. I let you drag me along, ignoring how sweaty my hands are getting.

You pull me into your room, pushing me to the center before closing the door behind you. As you lean your forehead against the door, catching your breath, I take the time to look around.

A bed is pushed up against the corner, a pale blue blanket messily bundled up below a white pillow with red snowflakes on it. A desk is on the opposite side of the bed, with nothing but a silver lamp and some pencils strewn on it. A beanbag is placed at the foot of the bed and the floor is covered by a light orange rug.

“You matched your nail polish to your blanket?” I ask.

“I did! You noticed?”

You sound thrilled. I shrug. “Yeah.”

“No one else did but I didn’t really expect anyone to, since it was really hard to notice. Thank you, Lisa!”

I shrug again. I don’t really think it’s that big of a deal, but her appreciation is making me feel like I’m worth something. It’s not a comfortable feeling, so I look around again to occupy my thoughts.

It’s just a normal high school girl’s room, but I still feel a little flustered being here. I scan your room one last time, my eyes wandering before they land on a certain something placed on your nightstand.

“That better not be for my visit here,” I deadpan, staring at it.

You look over, before grinning. “Do you think it is”

“Don’t be smart with me.”

You laugh at my cold tone, which annoys me a little. I can’t ever seem to intimidate you, can I?

“I really want you to try knitting, just once.”

I watch as you walk across the room to pick up the ball of yarn. You swivel on your heels and stretch your arms out, holding it out like an offering.

I cross my arms. “I’m here to study.”

“We can study afterwards!”

You’re stubborn. I know that from experience. So I can tell right now that you’re not going to give up on trying to rope me into your hobby anytime soon.

“You’re not going to change your mind?”

You shake your head. “Nope! Knitting is fun. I promise, you’ll like it.”

I make a face at her, one that conveys all my doubt at her promise. 

“And we’re going to study afterwards right?”

“Yup!”

“You promise?”

You hold a hand to your forehead in a mock salute. “Yes!”

I sigh for what seems like the umpteenth time that day. When did I become so compliant? But there’s no point in arguing, so I slide my bag off my shoulder, dropping it to the rug. I give you a tired glance as I gesture for you to come over.

You do, bounding over like an excited puppy. I’ve barely settled into a slouched position on the rug when you’re dropping next to me, already explaining how to use the needles you brought over. 

You’re speaking too fast, but I don’t want to interrupt you. Not when your whole face is lighting up like you’ve just received the best gift of your life. What kind of monster would I have to be to  take that away from you?

You wrap the yarn around the needles in some way before handing it to me. I’m busy looking at your face and the way it seems to glow that I end up poking my fingers more times than I can count. Although, your grin makes up for any lingering pain I might feel. 

I don’t know why knitting is making me notice so many new things about you. I don’t know how or why I haven’t been appreciating your smile more, but I plan not to make that mistake again.

It’s like time is slowing down just to let me study you. I have no reason to, but I end up looking at you for way too long. I can’t deny it, you’re really pretty and the way you speak is mesmerizing. Suddenly I’m scared; I’m scared that one day you’ll decide I’m not worth the trouble and stop trying to hang out with me. It’s a terrifying feeling, and one that I despise having, so I try to take my mind off of it by watching you work.

I shouldn’t be thinking like this, I tell myself repeatedly, but I still have to drag my gaze from your smile back to the yarn more times than I can count.

It’s grown considerably darker by the time we finally pull out the textbooks and smooth them out on the rug. You open up your notes and I wait patiently for you to start explaining.

Before you continue, you look up at me.

“Did you like it?” you ask.

I think about the slightest hint of a dimple I noticed while you smiled. I think about the way your eyes crinkle at the corners when you give me a huge smile. I think about how I’ve never seen you give that smile to anyone else.

My heart pounds in my ears as I drop my gaze to the textbook, the tips of my ears burning. “Yeah,” I finally say.

There’s a pause, and when I dare to look up, I’m pleasantly surprised by the faint dusting of red on your cheeks.

“So will you come again tomorrow?”

Your voice is tentative, more fragile than I’ve ever heard. It’s hard for me to answer. My stoic nature is telling me to refuse, but I can’t. Especially when you use such a soft tone.

My gaze falls to your nails as I suddenly feel conscious of the paper crinkled in my pocket. The burning sensation spreads from my ears to my face and down to my neck.

“Yeah. I’ll…” I trail off, swallowing hard before continuing quietly.

“I’ll be here tomorrow.”