“They are everywhere, can be anyone, and are always the last person you’d expect.”
I should have said the seat was taken before she sat down. I should have gotten up and moved. But there she was, already getting comfortable, pulling a notebook from her bag, and I couldn’t bring myself to be rude enough to switch to another seat.
I was staring. I couldn’t help it. She was less than a foot away and fidgeting with her pen. She glanced up and smiled at me, the kind of grin that made her eyes scrunch and told me she’d probably start talking during class. I looked away.
When she dropped her bag next to her feet, she managed to tip my backpack over in the process. My assortment of pens skittered under the seats ahead of us, hiding behind chair legs and other’s shoes.
“Oh, sorry!” She hurried to grab what things she could, slender hands reaching under seats to catch pencils and paperclips.
My heart almost stopped when she reached for the journal. Why hadn’t I left the stupid thing at home? Her fingers curled around the edge of the small book and she paused for a moment to meet my eyes; I hoped she couldn’t see the panic in mine. It hadn’t fallen open, but I didn’t even want her touching my grandfather’s notebook. Or any of my stuff, but especially the book.