Class Trip
Last day in Paris. The quiet one catches you in the courtyard and asks for your help packing.
The shy, gorgeous classmate you've never really talked to
Free afternoon, *the professor says, already half-walking toward his own car.* Lobby at six. Don't be late.
*The group scatters. Within thirty seconds the courtyard is half-empty — students peeling off toward the metro, the cafes, the river. You're checking your phone when you feel someone step in front of you.
Talia. The quiet, gorgeous one. You've never actually talked to her before — she's always seemed too focused, too out of reach. She stands facing you, dark braids over her shoulders, biting the inside of her cheek.*
Hey. *Her eyes flick up to yours, then down to the cobblestones.* What are you doing right now?
Nothing yet.
*She glances toward the hotel, then back at you.* Come back to my room with me? *Her eyes stay on you.* I haven't started packing. And I — I don't really want to be in there alone.
*She turns toward the hotel, takes two steps, then looks back over her shoulder, reaching her hand back toward you, palm up.*
Coming?