Sunday, I walked out of what they call the “Sunday school room” in the Clark building on campus—on weekdays this room is used for home economics and family management classes. My intention was to walk home as quickly as is possible in heels, to heat up the last of our leftover Cholent. My social apathy set in, and I shuffled my way past the crowd of recently released church-goers, to the large glass doors, avoiding any eye-contact.
He swooped in front of me. “Hey. What’s your name?” I stopped. My roommates broke past the crowd from behind me, and one stood at the door with her hands on the long metal push bar. She looked back at me.
“Aly,” I told him. I noticed I was taller than this guy in my grey heels.
“What semester is this for you?” Really? I’m hungry, dude, I thought. He had a huge bottom lip, his suit was brown, and he had straight, semi-white teeth. I looked to make sure my roommates hadn’t abandoned me altogether. They were still there.
“Oh, this is my last semester. Then I’ll be going on a mission,” which means I already don’t want to date you, so please stop trying.
His eyes widened, and he bounced on his toes. He dangled his arms in front of his body the way a thug would and said, “No way, that’s awesome. . .” I smiled and nodded. “That’s really awesome.” His eyes fell to the floor. K, can I go now? He wasn’t finished. “Well, cool. Um, well we should hang out sometime.” Based on what information? I asked myself. Unless I’m totally oblivious to your ability to read minds or to decipher really awesome people from others, how would you know we should hang out? I smiled without my eyes.
“Yeahhh. . .” He pulled out his phone, got my number, and texted me that same night.
TO BE CONTINUED. . .