Quiet

He looks away as I walk in the room. The nattering inside my head stops, and each footstep reverberates on the linoleum floor, amplified by the flicker of fluorescent light. The crumpled hands of the biology teacher fly in geometric circles as they describe the digestive system. I sit. I sit on the minuscule plastic chair, and screech it close the plastic table for a hollow embrace. For once I don't tug at the hair elastic clamped around my wrist or swat at the wisp tendrils of hair falling on my face. He looked away. Ammonia mixes with stale sweat and silent laughter gurgles up from the classes belly. My eyes are fixed on the yellow pencil in my hand and the empty note paper in front of me, everything is quite here. The empty look from the back of his blonde head, the fluorescent lighting. He looked away as I walked in the room.