Crossing Boundaries

POV | Valerie

“Miss Ferrari, Mr. Riley, a word.”

I raised my head at Professor Brown’s call. The class was over and the lecture hall was emptying out. I finished stuffing my things into my backpack and walked down the steps toward the desk.

A guy—I assumed he was Riley—walked ahead of me. I paused to observe him, driven by curiosity about this double summons. He was wearing jeans, a black hoodie, and an ordinary backpack; he had dark brown hair, neither too short nor long, and an athletic build. He was tall, well over a head taller than me, even though I certainly wasn’t short. Around six foot three? I thought. He moved with confidence, perfectly at ease in the university environment.

When I reached the desk, the professor was already speaking to him. “…tell me what you think of it,” I heard him say as he handed the boy a sheet of paper.

I took a quick glance at the guy’s profile, catching a mix of focus and apprehension. I didn’t have time to study him further because the professor turned his attention to me.

“Miss Ferrari, this is your pre-course assignment,” he said, passing me the paper. I took it and realized I had assumed the exact same expression as the guy. The page was covered in red marks: they were all grammatical or lexical corrections.

When I finished reading, I looked up. Beside me, the guy did the same.

“Miss Ferrari,” the professor began in a perfect British accent, his tone direct and firm. “Your assignment is excellent. I certainly cannot say you lack the basics, and it is clear you have prepared yourself thoroughly. Unfortunately, the language remains your flaw. You will understand, I suppose, that to obtain a good mark it is necessary not only to master the subject matter, but also to express oneself properly.”

I looked at him, slightly surprised, even though deep down I knew all too well my difficulties with English. Feeling someone watching me, I turned my head to the side and met two dark green eyes; the stranger was staring at me with an expression somewhere between surprised and curious.

“Mr. Riley,” the professor added with a sigh, drawing the boy’s attention back. “If you wish to continue playing soccer, it will be necessary for you to study properly. Do not expect any kind of favoritism or leniency from me regarding your marks.”

I looked back at my companion in misfortune. He had truly enviable features, almost like a model, despite a few minor imperfections that gave him character. He listened to the lecture, merely raising an eyebrow. Neither of us said a word; we stood waiting, staring at the professor.

The man ran a hand through his hair, adjusted his glasses on his nose, and continued: “I am thinking of assigning pair projects for the first term. Particularly to those students who, in my view, need it most. You two are among them. Given your European origins, I imagine it might be simpler for you to work together.”

He paused to gauge our reactions. The guy and I exchanged a silent look, both of us caught off guard.

“In this way, I would hope Miss Ferrari might assist you with your studies,” he said, turning to the boy, “and that Mr. Riley might assist you with the language,” he concluded, looking at me. He picked up his briefcase, put some documents inside, and dismissed us with a faint smile: “A mutually beneficial arrangement for both of you.” He said goodbye and left the classroom.

I looked at the guy, who in the meantime had gone back to staring at his assignment. I sighed, put the papers in my backpack, and headed toward the exit.

“Hey, wait,” I heard behind me as I crossed the threshold of the classroom.

I stopped in the hallway and he quickly caught up with me. I looked up to meet his eyes; he smiled, revealing two small dimples in his cheeks. He was undeniably very attractive.

“I’m Alex, Alex Riley,” he said.

“Nice to meet you,” I replied.

I didn’t extend my hand, nor did I do anything except stand there in silence, staring at him, gripping both straps of my backpack.

“Uhm,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. He seemed almost embarrassed, but it didn’t affect me at all. I had to rush practically to the other side of campus for an appointment with the registrar’s office; plus, the professor’s comment and all those red marks on my assignment had left me quite annoyed and frustrated.

“You have European origins?” he asked. His voice was warm and deep, not tentative at all, despite his body language suggesting otherwise.

“It would seem so,” I replied, rolling my eyes slightly.

“Where are you from?” he pressed, curious.

“I’m Italian. Look,” I cut him off, a bit annoyed, “as much as I would love to have a friendly conversation with you, I’m already late and I don’t have time. I’ll see you around, okay?”.

The last thing I needed was to make small talk with a stranger, right after discovering that spending over a month in this country and taking a whole English course hadn’t achieved anything. I didn’t even wait for his answer and turned to leave.

“Hey, Italy,” I heard him call out.

I whipped around, glaring at him, irritated.

“No need to be rude,” he concluded, giving me a smile.

Maybe he’s making fun of me, I thought.

“My apologies,” I replied, “but I have to go. Bye.”

I quickly walked down the steps of the building, hopped on my bicycle, and sped off toward the international relations office. Before turning the corner, I caught him out of the corner of my eye: he was watching me with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.