Chapter One

Kyle's POV

"It seems that many Greek Philosophers had a better understanding of passion and desire—two things we struggle to define and apply to our everyday life in the modern world."

I was seated in the back of a lecture hall, holding a class of 37 students. With the blue lighting bouncing off my eyes, as the screen displayed the eBook version of the required textbook, Mr. Blanche started his lesson five minutes ago, since the clock mounted high above the threshold entrance currently read as 9:53. The first day of classes greeted Maple University with a light snowfall adding to the already existing three-inch white blanket stretching across campus grounds. Just as Mr. [Blank name] turned his back to change the slides flickering on the projector board, the door leading into the class flew open as a snow-covered figure rushed into the hall. Heads whipped in the direction of the figure, but as soon as it registered who I was staring at, my stomach unleashed a swarm of butterflies flapping about like a trapped bird in a wire millinery cage.

His peaches and cream-colored cheeks were flushed. Strands of hair escaped his hoodie and dangled around his face in a sticky mess, and the blue of his eyes seemed wild and out of its element as he looked around for the professor. On his coat was a shadow of whatever was left of what used to be snowflakes. They were nothing but simple droplets slithering down the thermo material until eventually thinning out and mixing with the heat pumping high in the hall. Speaking of, I noticed other eyes gawked in his direction, as Mr. Blanche decided this would be the best moment to breathe down his neck for his lateness.

"Class starts at 9:48. No minute later," he said, walking over to a make-shift desk that stood beside the podium. On top of the desk was a booklet containing the roster for our class. Typically, in any academic setting, he skimmed through it early in the class period to check attendance and pin our names to memory. "Liam Alexander, I assume?" Without bothering to wait for any sign of a "yes" or "no", Mr. Blanche went on with whatever he had to say to Liam. "There are no assigned seats. I recommend one closer to the front so you can catch up on what you missed." Truly, there was nothing to miss. As mentioned before, Mr. Blanche just started his lecture.

At first, it appeared that Liam had something to get off his chest because his lips pursed tightly and the glint in his eyes showed defiance. On the other hand, he must have thought better. Liam simply nodded then ventured further into the room, searching for a seat he deemed a momentary fit. I had the urge to wave at him and motion at the empty seat beside me. I almost did, too, until he found his place at the opposite end of the room from me. I was a little closer to the entrance-slash-exit despite sitting in the back. I shrunk into myself feeling stupid for even entertaining the idea of wanting him near me. The professor proceeded with his lecture, thankfully giving me an excuse to keep from stealing glances across the room and getting lost in wistful childishness.

"Back to desire and passion..." Nevermind. There is no way I could listen to an hour and fifteen-minute lecture about— "Love, something that could mean anything and nothing. But before we dive into where I want the class to go, let's share some insight about the nature of love. Maybe we could come to a consensus." I thought this was a rhetorical question until Mr. [Blank name] turned in my direction. I wasted energy hoping he would pick the column of students lined in front of me because, instead, he raised a hand and jabbed his presentation clicker at me. Fuck! "Kyle, right? I'm curious of what you think."

With my heart still a mess after that nasty breakup in the middle of Christmas break, surely Mr. Blanche did not want to know what I think. On the other hand, he put me on the spot. I couldn't push the spotlight on someone else. Especially, when I know he is watching me. I swallowed my pride, sucked in a fresh gulp of air to soothe the nerves bouncing off the walls of my mind, and pulled my thoughts together enough to hopefully get the professor to move on from me. "Defining love and getting an idea of how it's supposed to feel is subjective through experience," I started to explain. "There's a consensus of how love should feel or what it is exactly, but the nature of love is an experience by an individual. The definition of love is perception from those experiences." And that's my TEDTalk. After voicing my opinion, I finally worked up the courage to steal a glance in Liam's direction. It didn't take long for him to catch me. He gave me a nod and lifted his hand in an "okay" sign. I felt my cheeks burn but I turned away so he wouldn't see.

Mr. Blanche just stood at the podium stunned with a knowing grin on his face. "Perceptive, are we?" he praised. "That's what I expect in this class. In our conversations, there are no right or wrong answers. However, going forward, I would like all of you to back up your claims. Somewhere later in the semester, there will be a debate assignment in class. It will count as a project grade with a hundred points. Because it is a heavy assignment, the project involves a group of two. I will assign partners at the end of class so that you have enough time to get your research in between other assignments. For now, let's move on, shall we?" As he talked, Mr. Blanche pulled away from the podium and walked toward the front row, pacing back and forth ever so often. "Anyone else who want to add on to Kyle's perspective, or maybe come up with their own...?" For the remainder of class, I found myself drowning out the lesson and retracting into myself. I even pulled out a notebook, pretending to take side notes when really, I spent the last hour or so sketching my rendition of Scorpion from Mortal Kombat. In between, I nodded a few times along with the class if he asked a general question like, "With me so far?" "Does this make sense?" "Do you understand why blah blah is A, B, and C?" I can do many things without being bothered or uncomfortable, but public speaking is not one of them, as it may be common for other folks. I tend to run away from the spotlight but there are moments where the spotlight bombards me, leaving no room for escape. So, whenever I feel put on the spot, it is important for me to find a hole or corner (literally or metaphorical)to stay hidden and find my element again. Otherwise, the pressure and stress from being singled out often trigger anxiety.

When the clock above the entrance-slash-exit struck 10:18, and the projector board switched off, I was among the handful of students who packed their bags before the class the professor could even say, "Enjoy the rest of your day!" But I forgot one specific thing Mr. Blanche mentioned earlier. "Wait! Wait! I know I said before class is dismissed the moment the projector board turns off. But I have to assign partners..." he said, halting everyone in their tracks. Still standing behind the podium, he flipped through the roster and whipped out a separate notebook that seemed to contain all his notes. As everyone continued to pack away their materials but remained seated, Mr. Blanche proceeded down the list of partners for the project. "Amy and Johnothan, Brently and Davis, Tasha and Kenya..." The list seemed to go on forever. I sat in my seat, fidgeting with my hands and playing with the straps of my school bag. I groaned to myself, so close to walking out. I have a hard time sitting still. I've always been that way. My sister mentioned once that I should get myself checked for ADHD, but I rolled my eyes and took up hockey to redirect my energy. On the other hand, school was the most challenging. Especially since you have to sit in a chair almost all day. Sounds nice at first but sitting for too long will really kill your blood flow.

I finally heard my name being paired with someone else. When I caught the other name, chills shot through my spine. "Kyle and Liam." Of course. How predictable.

After the last set of names, I tried to make a break for it. But, again, I was stopped short of escaping the classroom. A set of fingers clenched on my shoulders and gently tugged me backward. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.