Bridge to a Distant Star - Carolyn Williford [90]
As Michal took her seat in class—it was Bible Study Methods, a requirement—she shivered, a delayed reaction to Allistair’s defiant attitude, his rebellious words. It was beyond her comprehension to even think of criticizing a chapel speaker, and again she worried about who might’ve overheard.
Glancing quickly around the classroom, she caught a glimpse of Stephen. He was hunched over his desk, studying.
The quiz. Michal suddenly remembered. I completely forgot to go over the material last night.
Frantic, she turned to the assigned chapter, skimming through the sections she’d highlighted. By the time the professor walked into the room, Michal had reviewed her notations. But whether she’d recall everything was debatable.
That first class was only a preview of how the remainder of her day would play out. A feeling of being a step behind became her shadowy nemesis. When she’d finally finished her last class—in which a returned paper received a B rather than the A she’d hoped for—and was heading back to her room, inwardly grumbling, she childishly kicked stones out of her way. It felt good to take her frustrations out on something.
Once again Michal was so preoccupied she didn’t notice another had joined her until he kicked a rock into her line of vision. Glancing up, she saw Stephen Jones had fallen into step with her. The sight of him hunched over, cap pulled down to cover his ears, kicking at stones in tandem, was enough to strike Michal as funny. She giggled. “I take it you’ve had a rotten day too?”
“And I take it you weren’t at the first lunch hour?”
She gave him a lugubrious look. “I was late leaving New Testament class because … oh, forget it … too long to go into. Let’s just say it wasn’t good. Then I needed to ask Dr. Brown something. Things went downhill from there.” Michal shook her head, frowning. “Sorry. That’s my sad story. So what happened during the first lunch hour?”
“I’m surprised you didn’t hear. The Nerd,” Stephen stopped momentarily, comically pointing to himself, “managed to drop his lunch tray.”
“Oh, no. With all your food, I suppose?”
“But of course. Why bother doing it otherwise?”
Michal giggled again. “I’m sorry. It sounds like something I’d do. Actually, I’m surprised I haven’t dropped a tray already.”
“I hear my faux pas may be on YouTube. Isn’t that grand?”
Michal’s mouth dropped open. “No. I can’t believe anybody’d be that mean.”
“Well, apparently somebody is.”
“It’s nice to talk to you, Stephen. But we’ve never officially met.” She smiled, happy to have a conversation with the mysterious outcast. She held out her hand to him. “I’m Michal McHenry. MK. Originally from Kansas City but really from Ethiopia. Near Addis Ababa.”
Stephen took her hand somewhat tentatively, but as he did so, he popped the green cap off. Inclined his head, blond hair falling over his forehead and catching glints in the bright sun, flashing her a huge smile. Dimples highlighted. “I’m Stephen Jones. Studious nerd who provides video for others’ twisted humor. From Ohio. Pleased to meet you, Michal McHenry.”
The effect on Michal—who was so often oblivious—was close to dazzling. She was nearly speechless at the transformation, stammering, “Um … you’ve got dimples. I didn’t know—” Too late, she realized she’d pointed out the obvious. Clearly something a girl should never mention. “Oh, I’m sorry. That was just stupid.” She could feel the heat going up her neck, knew she was blushing. How many times today?
Stephen tugged the cap back on and returned to his usual scowl. Jammed his hands into his pockets and proceeded toward the dorms, taking large strides with his long legs. Michal had to scurry to catch up with him, judging an apology was a must. “Sometimes I say the dumbest things. I just talk, without thinking. Know what I want to tell people when I do that?”
He glanced up, the sulk a little less severe. When