Writing Class

-4 Classes Later-

Miranda and Finn have established a class routine. Miranda walks in and Finn is always there before her. She’s tried to beat him to it, but no matter how early she can get there, he somehow is always there first. She hates him for it. He makes it no secret that he knows she’s tried to beat him there and has no difficulty with portraying cockiness. They greet each other, maybe exchange some quips, some smiles, insult each other, get through the class, and they part in much the same way they came together.

Miranda swings the heavy class door open, hoping that Finn hasn’t arrived yet, but knowing that he’ll be there. She steps through and sure enough, there he is. Feet adorned with an old scuffed pair of dark red Dc. Martens that look they were just pulled off the feet of Trevor the Skinhead, swung up on her seat, crossed at the ankle. He’s holding a worn copy of ‘Howl” up in front of his face, and completely oblivious to the outside world. Nothing written on his chest today. Just a plain black t-shirt worn over a tight long sleeved grey shirt. His ever present hair, sticking up in the front, is making him appear boyishly charming. She’s caught herself watching him at times. Once she realizes what she’s doing, she chastises herself…or he does. Depending on who notices first. He watches her too. She knows he does. But he doesn’t care if she knows. His is an open, for everyone to notice, kind of surveillance. It used to make her feel like she was in a glass display case, stuffed and mounted in some old human museum. After some time though, she’s gotten used to it. Now the feeling of his eyes running across her skin is comfortable. She feels almost strange without it, like she should be on alert.

Without looking up from the poem, Finn mutters, “Hey Rand.”

She smiles a bit at his shorter version of her name, like Miranda was just too long for him to bother with. Why waste your time? He just gets to the point. He probably recites “Randy Randa” in his mind and that’s why it’s so fun for him to call her Rand.

“Hey Finley,” she needles and shoves his feet from her chair. She lets her bag drop heavily to the floor and takes in the empty classroom, getting an extreme urge to wander around and touch all the desks.

Finn glances up and grins, “Oooh, I’ve been hit.”

“Oh shut up.”

Finn smirks and cocks his head to one side, nodding slightly at her.

“What?” Miranda questions hesitantly, wondering why his eyebrows are raised.

“And how old are we today?” he asks with barely concealed laughter in his voice.

“Excuse me?”

Finn doesn’t answer, but motions towards her clothing in reference. Miranda glances down, moving her arms out to her sides. She doesn’t see anything wrong with wearing overalls. She remembers how popular they were when she was younger and just because they aren’t as popular now, she doesn’t see why she should stop wearing them. They’re comfortable. Besides, she’s wearing the only clean shirt that she could find and she didn’t feel like getting stares.

“I like them. Besides, it keeps my shirt hidden,” Miranda replies dismissively.

“Lemme see the shirt,” Finn’s voice carries a teasing lilt to it as he straightens his back in the hard plastic seat.

Miranda sighs in mock annoyance and unclips the two front clasps to reveal her t-shirt reading “Fuck Me I’m Scottish”.

She is immediately greeted with Finn’s raucous laughter and bears through it, waiting until he is finished. She clips the front back up and sits down in her seat.

“That is the best thing I have seen all day, thank you,” Finn grins and holds his hand out to shake hers. Miranda slides her hand in his and shakes his hand, playing along.

“Your very welcome.”

“Are you really Scottish?”

“I can be whatever the hell I want to be,” she says sarcastically, mocking his response to an earlier question of hers. Finn only laughs in response.

“My dad’s side,” she gives.

A few minutes go by and they both resort to their own minds. Finn retires to ‘Howl’ and Miranda glances around the room with boredom. She slumps down in her seat, sighing, and rests her head in her hands. She settles her eyes on Finn, not really looking at him, just looking at the space he’s in. She knows that he’s noticed, but he seems content in ignoring that fact. She just watches him read. The way his expression changes with what he’s reading. A hint of a smile, eyes widening slightly, a twitch of a frown, a look of awe. The small book is frayed at the corners, the cover is creased, it’s obvious that it’s been read many times. His copy is more frayed than Miranda’s, which captures her interest. She imagines that he has notes scribbled in the margins. She’s always had a ridiculous soft spot for anyone who loved books. She’s never asked him any questions about his life, his hobbies, why he’s in a writing class, if he’s taking any other classes, or even how old he is. She’s never asked anything that any other person would want to know. She asks him questions that no one else would care about. She’s always found more in those answers than in the rehearsed answers.

Watching him read has only made her desire to read stronger, so Miranda reaches down into her bag and pulls out the first book her fingers make contact with. She takes a look at the cover at smiles at Amy Hempel’s name. The spine cracks when she opens it where she left off at. Within minutes, Miranda is completely cut off from the outside world. Instead, she’s become absorbed in another.

She doesn’t know how much time has passed when her desk shifts and she realizes that people have started to file into the class. The girl in front of her just slid into her chair, nudging Miranda’s desk. Scanning the room, trailing her eyes over the new arrivals, her gaze rests on Finn once again. Her eyebrows raise slightly when she realizes that he’s staring straight at her and looks like he’s been at it for awhile. His head is cocked to the right, resting slightly on his fingers. He doesn’t bother shifting his eyes in embarrassment, he’d have to be embarrassed for that. She hates how he is so damn comfortable with himself and his actions. She wants to be like that. For many seconds, they stare at each other. She’s waiting for him to do or say something, and he’s just…looking.

“Stop it,” Miranda finally mutters.

Finn doesn’t answer, and doesn’t avert his gaze. The only change is a small twitch of his lips into a tiny amused smile.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she tries again, with more insistence in her voice.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m…Kim Basinger to your Mickey Rourke.”

That gets a smile of recognition and a softly uttered question, “Is this the part when I lead you out of here, pull you into a dark corner, and fuck you against a wall?”

Miranda’s mouth drops open before she can stop the fall. Luckily, Ryan strolls in so she doesn‘t have to respond.. She had nothing to say to that. She’d never heard him curse before and for the first time for it to be…that, was quite startling.

An hour later, Miranda is yet again in the group for the reading. It’s poetry this time and she hates the poem she wrote. It never turned out how she wanted and she knows that Finn is going to notice. He never has anything nice to say about anything she writes, always with the criticism. She hates him a little each time for it. She’s always as kind as she can be, while Finn is always as cruel as he can be.

She finishes reading it, and as usual, Finn waits until the others are done with their opinions before he chimes in.

He sighs and rubs his hand up his face, pushing his hair back. Miranda leans back and crosses her arms across her chest in a defiant, ‘give it your best shot’ posture.

“Okay…that was honest. It was honest and you’ve been lacking that in the past. You didn’t gloss over death, but you didn’t give in to the typical stereotypes either. But…you can still do better.”

“Why don’t you just write that on a shirt? You won’t have to keep saying it then, you can just point to your chest and be done with it. How the hell do you know my limits?” she looks at the people around her when she notices that she asked that a little loud and than looks back to Finn, waiting for an answer.

“I don’t know your limits. That’s the point.”

When the class ends, Miranda ends up walking out alongside Finn. Usually one leaves before the other, so she finds herself feeling a bit strange being so close to him outside of the classroom. She’s never even spoke to him outside of the classroom before. Now she’s not only talking with him, she’s walking alongside him.

“Parked in this one?” he asks while gesturing to the parking lot closest to the room.

“Uhh,,,yeah. You?”

“Indeed I am,” he answers slowly. He shoves ‘Howl’ in his back pocket before sliding his hands in his pants’ pockets.

“How are you always in class before me?” Miranda questions, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Don’t have any classes before it.”

“Oh…than why do you show up so early?” She usually doesn’t ask him questions like this, but since he’s answering, why stop?

Finn kicks at a flattened soda can, “More quiet reading time.”

They fall in silence and Finn waits two beats until he continues, “That is till you show up and break my concentration.”

“Oh thanks a lot.”

Finn shakes his head slightly and guides her with his hand at the small of her back around a crowd of people. She doesn’t notice when he fails to remove his hand.

They continue the rest of the walk in silence. The only communication is that of where exactly she’s parked, because he insisted on walking her the whole way. She stops at her car and unlocks the door. Turning to thank him, she sees that he’s already walking away from her. The edge of ‘Howl’ can be seen sticking out of his back pocket and suddenly she thinks that it’s the sexiest thing she’s ever seen. She dutifully files that away and forgets she ever thought it.

“Why do you never have anything nice to say about my writing?” she calls out to his retreating back.

He turns around while walking backwards, “I’ve never said anything to hurt you Miranda. You’re just not hearing what I’m saying.”

“What are you talking about? I listen.”

“Yes…you listen, you just don’t hear me.” With that said, he turns around and jogs to his car.


Author\'s Note: Read and review. Tried not to make it too short.