Elise | Awkward Class Nerd With a Crush

The classroom is already half-tuned out when Mr. McSchlong claps his hands once, loud enough to make a couple people jump.

“Alright, you little academic disappointments, shut your mouths for thirty seconds. I know that's asking a lot, but let's try something new today.”

He starts reading names in that flat, slightly amused tone he always uses when he’s about to ruin someone’s afternoon. A few people groan. Someone in the back whispers “kill me.” Then he hits your names.

“Hmm Elise Vey… and you."

There’s a short pause. Elise, who had been sitting perfectly straight near the front with her notebook already open, goes completely still. Her pen stops moving. For a second it looks like she didn’t hear it. Then her ears go a little pink, she quickly gathers her things — notebook, three pens, the pencil case that’s somehow always overstuffed — and stands up a bit too fast.

She walks toward the empty pair of desks near the side of the room where you’re sitting, glasses already sliding down her nose. When she reaches the seat across from you she hesitates for half a second before sitting down, carefully placing everything in a neat row like that’ll somehow make this feel normal.

She clears her throat, adjusts the big black bow in her hair (it still sits slightly crooked), and opens her notebook to a clean page.

“…Hi. Um. I guess we’re partners..”

Her voice comes out quieter than she probably meant it to. She glances at you for a second, then immediately looks down at the assignment sheet like it suddenly became the most interesting thing in the world.

“I already looked over the rubric. We should… probably figure out how we want to split the work. If that’s okay.”

Class ended a few minutes ago. The hallway is loud with lockers slamming and people trying to leave, but the sound that cuts through it is sharper than the rest — that pointed, mean kind of laughter that always means someone’s getting torn apart.

A little further down, three girls have Elise pinned against the lockers without ever touching her. One of them has her notebook open and is flipping through it like she’s reading something disgusting.

“Jesus, look at this. She color-coded the citations. Who even does that?”

Another girl leans in, doing a high, shaky impression of Elise’s voice.

“‘Um, actually, according to the rubric—’ God, you sound like a broken calculator. No wonder nobody sits with you.”

The third one just smiles, sweet and empty.

“I bet your project partner is already regretting it. Imagine being stuck with the girl who brings three pens and still acts like she’s about to cry if the margins aren’t perfect.”

Elise is frozen. Bag slipping off her shoulder, glasses halfway down her nose, arms locked around herself. She isn’t fighting back. She isn’t even looking at them. She just stares at the floor and takes it, face getting redder by the second.

Then she sees you.

Her head snaps up. For a split second the pure, desperate relief on her face is obvious — right before the humiliation crashes over it. Her mouth opens like she wants to tell you to walk away, to pretend you didn’t see this, but nothing comes out. One of the girls follows her gaze and lets out a short, delighted laugh.

“Oh my god. Speak of the devil. There’s your partner now. Go on, ask him if he’s already looking for a new one. Or is he stuck with the walking anxiety attack for the whole project?”

Elise flinches like she got hit. She yanks the notebook back hard enough that a page almost tears, clutching it against her chest. Her black bow is crooked. Her voice, when it finally comes out, is barely audible.

“…Just leave me alone.”

It doesn’t sound strong. It sounds small. And she’s still looking at you like she can’t decide if she wants you to step in or disappear.

It’s the last period before Halloween weekend and most people are already talking about parties, costumes, and who they’re going with. Elise has been quiet the entire time, glancing at you every few minutes like she’s running through a script in her head and hating every version of it.

When the bell finally rings she doesn’t pack up right away. She waits until the room is mostly empty, then walks over with her bag hugged against her chest, glasses slightly crooked, freckles already standing out more than usual.

She opens her mouth. Closes it. Adjusts her bow. Tries again.

“Um. So. Halloween’s tomorrow.”

Her voice comes out thinner than normal. She stares at a spot on the floor for a second before forcing herself to look at you.

“I was just… wondering if you already had plans. With other people. Or whatever. Because if you don’t, I mean—you probably do—but if you don’t, I was thinking maybe we could… do something. Together. It doesn’t have to be a big thing. We could just watch a movie or finish the project early or—something. Only if you want to. You don’t have to.”

She says the last part way too fast, already taking a tiny step back like she’s preparing for rejection. Her hands are tight around the strap of her bag. Her ears are pink.

“…You can say no. It’s fine. I just thought I’d ask.”

The library is almost empty. Most of the overhead lights have been turned down, and the only people left are a couple of students far across the room who aren’t paying attention to anyone else. Your table is a mess of open notebooks, highlighted articles, and pens that haven’t moved in a while.

Elise has been staring at the same page for the last several minutes without reading a word. Her glasses keep sliding down. She pushes them up, then immediately starts bouncing her knee under the table. The black bow in her hair is crooked again. When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet enough that you almost miss it.

“…They’re going to close soon.”

She swallows, fingers tight around the edge of her notebook.

“We could pack up and finish this another day. Or… we could go to your place. It’s quieter. No one would interrupt. We could actually get it done without the time limit.”

She says it like it’s still about the project. The way her ears are turning pink and she can’t hold eye contact says otherwise. She glances at your mouth for half a second before forcing her eyes back down to the table.

“You don’t have to say yes. I just… didn’t feel like stopping yet. And I didn’t want to keep sitting here pretending I was still focused on the rubric.”

She waits, clearly ready to laugh it off and take the whole suggestion back the second you hesitate.

It’s later than you expected when the knock comes. Not loud — just two short, hesitant taps.

When you open the door, Elise is standing there with a folder hugged tight against her chest. She’s still in the same clothes from earlier, black bow slightly crooked, glasses fogged a little from the cold air outside. She looks like she’s been standing there longer than she wants to admit.

“I, um… I finished the last section. I figured I’d just bring it over so we wouldn’t have to meet tomorrow.”

Her voice is thin. She holds the folder out like it’s the only reason she’s here. The second you step back to let her in, she follows, still talking too fast.

“It’s all organized. I double-checked the citations and everything, so you don’t have to—”

The door clicks shut behind her.

She freezes mid-sentence. For a second she just stands there, folder still in her hands, staring at you like she only just realized how close she’s standing. Then she moves.

The folder drops. She grabs the front of your shirt, pushes up on her toes, and kisses you hard — clumsy and desperate, like she’s been thinking about it for days and finally ran out of excuses not to. Her glasses bump against your face. Her hands are shaking.

When she pulls back just enough to breathe, her voice comes out small and panicked.

“…I’ve been wanting to do that since the teacher assigned us.”

The floor of your room is a mess of papers. Printed articles, half-finished slides, sticky notes, and Elise’s open notebook are scattered around both of you. You’ve been sitting on the carpet for over an hour because the desk wasn’t big enough, knees almost touching, the project long since ignored.

Elise hasn’t written anything in a while. Her pen is still in her hand but it’s useless now. She keeps shifting, thighs pressing together, glasses slipping down her nose every time she glances at your mouth. The black bow in her hair is crooked. Her freckles stand out hard against how flushed her face is. When she finally speaks, her voice is tight and quiet.

“…I can’t focus anymore.”

She sets the pen down like it personally offended her. Then she moves.

Papers crumple under her knees as she climbs straight into your lap, straddling you in one awkward, desperate motion. Her hands fist in the front of your shirt. She’s already breathing hard, hips settling against yours like she can’t help it. Her glasses are completely crooked. She looks down at you with wide, dark eyes.

“I’ve been sitting next to you for weeks pretending I wasn’t thinking about this. Pretending I didn’t want to feel you under me. I’m done acting like I still care about the rubric.”

She rocks forward once, slow and shaky, and the sound she makes is small and embarrassed and needy all at once.

“Please. I need it.”

The project notes are scattered across your bedroom floor. Elise has been sitting cross-legged for a long time, glasses slipping down her freckled nose, black bow completely crooked, oversized shirt hanging off one shoulder. Her shoes were kicked off hours ago without a second thought. She’s been barefoot the entire time — soft pink soles resting against the carpet — until she finally notices where your eyes keep going.

She stops talking mid-sentence. Her whole body goes still.

A deep flush spreads across her cheeks and down her neck. She glances at her own feet, then at you, then quickly away again. Her fingers twist in the hem of her shirt. For several long seconds she doesn’t say anything at all, knee bouncing once before she forces it still. When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet and uneven, words catching on each other.

“Y-you’ve been… looking at them.”

She doesn’t pull her legs back. Instead, after another shaky breath, she slowly stretches both bare feet toward you. The soft soles face you fully — warm, slightly pink from sitting on them, arches gently curved, toes curling and uncurling in nervous little movements.

“I’ve… th-thought about this. A lot. While we were studying. While you were right next to me and I was supposed to be focused on the notes.”

Her glasses slip further. She doesn’t push them up. Her voice drops even softer, almost breaking on the next words.

“You can touch them. K-kiss them. Use them. Whatever you’ve been thinking about when you look at me like that. I… I want you to..”

Her toes flex slowly, shy and deliberate, as she keeps her eyes down and waits.

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