As Zack sits in Mr. Oghren's class, his mind wanders as Mr. Oghren drones on about market segmentation strategies, images of Anna's flushed face and confident smirk replaying behind his eyelids. The memory of her kiss lingers on his cheek, a phantom warmth that distracts him from taking notes. 'Domestic situations,' she had said. 'Challenging each other'. His heart pounds irregularly whenever he thinks about spending the rest of his life with someone who pushes back against him so fiercely. "Mr. Riley, could ye explain the impact o' cultural exchange on the local economy?" Mr. Oghren asks Zack directly, his sharp voice cutting through Zack's daydream. "Uh, what? Cultural exchange?" Zack says, his head snapping up, as he is caught off guard. "C'mon now, Mr. Riley. Ye're usually quite vocal aboot these topics. Somethin' on yer mind today?" Mr. Oghren asks. Zack runs his hand through his bleached blond hair in frustrations, wishing he had paid more attention to the class instead of fantasizing about blueberry pancakes and Anna in soft pyjamas. "Cultural exchange strengthens local economies by increasing tourism revenue," he recited mechanically, repeating information he has heard countless times but never truly processed. His gaze drifts toward the window where he can see student milling around between classes. He wonders if Anna is sitting I biology right now, maybe thinking about their upcoming study session in the library. The idea of spending two solid hours along with her under the guise of homework sends a fresh wave of anticipation through him.
"Aye, that's a verra general answer, Mr. Riley." Mr. Oghren critiques with obvious disappointment. "But it is accurate," Zack counters with a shrug, his attention already drifting back to thoughts of Anna. "Tourism brings in money, people spend that money in local businesses and they in turn hire more people and invest in infrastructure. It is a cycle." Zack leans back in his chair crossing his arms over his chest as he stares out the window again. "Isn't that what you wanted to hear? The textbook definition of how cultural exchange affects economies?" Zack said arrogantly. Mr. Oghren sights heavily, shaking his head. "Not quite but close enough fer the day. Just try tae stay focused, Mr. Riley."
Zack barely hears the dismissal bell ring through the fog of his thoughts about Anna. He grabs the brown paper bag of fries and heads out into the crowded hallway, weaving through clusters of students until he reaches his next class, mathematics. Zack enters the empty classroom and claims his usual spot near the back. The classroom is lined in a traditionally orderly layout, with rows of individual student desks filling the room, each paired with a simple red plastic chair. The light wooden desks are aligned in neat columns facing the front of the classroom, where there is a large chalkboard stretched across the wall. The chalkboard is partially covered with chalk writing– mathematical equations, diagrams, and notes– probably from a previous class. Besides the chalkboard there is a white pull-down projector screen– rolled down and ready for use– but Zack has never seen Mrs. Leliana use it before. Mrs. Leliana's desk sits slightly off to the side, modest and functional, with a dark green chair tucked in.
Zack tosses the brown paper bag of fries onto his desk with more force than necessary, pulling out his math textbook with obvious reluctance. His fingers drum against the cover impatiently as he flips through pages of equations he can't focus on. As the classroom fills with other students trickling in from their previous classes, Zack opens the brown paper bag of fries and finishes the remaining fries. Zack barely acknowledges their greetings, his mind still stuck on Anna's confident smile and the way her hand felt against his cheek. He catches himself tracing patterns on his desk with his finger, mimicking the way she had toughed him during lunch time. Mrs. Leliana enters the classroom and casually says, "Good morning class." She walks over to her desk and picks up a book then turns to face the class. Mrs. Leliana has short, softly layered auburn hair and striking blue eyes that are directed toward the class. She is wearing a fitted burgundy blazer over a simple white tip, paired with dark, well-fitting jeans and a brown belt. She removes her glasses from her face and scans the book in her hand. "If you remember we were busy with quadratic equations," Mrs. Leliana says with a small confident smile accompanied by a warm and friendly expression.
When Mrs. Leliana begins reviewing yesterday's homework problems, Zack's pencil remains idle. He stares out the window instead, watching students cross the lawn toward the library. He imagines Anna sitting at one of those long study tables, maybe biting her lip in concentration while working on biology notes. Mrs. Leliana drones on about quadratic equations, but Zack's attention is completely elsewhere. His pencil taps an erratic rhythm against his desk, a physical manifestation of his inner restlessness. "Mr. Riley, are you planning to participate today?" Mrs. Leliana asks pointedly after calling on him twice without a response. Zack's head snaps back to the front. "Sorry, ma'am. Didn't sleep much last night." It is a flimsy excuse that does not fool anyone least of all himself. His thoughts are consumed by blueberry pancakes and the promise of what comes after homework. The final bell rings, and Zack practically sprints from the classroom. He does not bother gathering his books or papers neatly, instead grabbing them and shoving them into his backpack. He then jogs down the main stairs toward the library entrance, tossing the empty brown paper bag in a bin on his way.
The library entrance is crowded, with students passing by and exciting the library. Zack leans against the library doorway frame, arms crossed over his chest as he waits for her to emerge from the thinning crowd. The afternoon sun casts long shadows across the courtyard, and students scatter in various directions toward their next commitments or homes. His patience wears this with each passing minute, he checks his phone for the time again even though it has only been three minutes since the bell rang. When he spots her approaching down one of the side hallways, his posture straightens immediately. Her brown hair catches the light as she walks with purposeful steps, purple backpack slung casually over one shoulder. Zack pushes off from the wall and moves to intercept her path. "There you are," he said, his voice carrying a mix of relief and impatience. "Took you long enough. I was starting to think you ditched more for some other loser."