Subliminal

It's the last two weeks of senior year and finals are right around the corner. The pressing frustration of still being stuck with some of these morons is incomprehensible.

The only upside of still coming to this dump, is that I get to see him. I get to see his not-so-subtle side glances at the clock in the corner. I get to see his rich curls bounce with every affirming nod, indicating that he grasps what the teacher is talking about. I get to revel in his blooming laughter when one of his friends makes him laugh and I get to witness his pure blissful smile when someone takes the time to work in a quick convo. Colton Baldwin is truly every YA book loving girl's dream and from my seat-two bunks behind the clock- I can blissfully pretend that he is looking at me every time he turns to check the time. Yep, pathetic, I know...

But today his presence isn't distracting enough to drown out Miss Wellington's incessant blabbering about the latest discoveries in the field of neurosciences and the functioning of the human psyche.

I can feel myself groan inwardly when she smacks yet another couple of homework assignments on the blackboard, next to the notes about the human consciousness.

Something about the power of the mind and how when someone is constantly thinking about a person, this person can even dream about or subliminally react to the other person. Sounds like a solid load of BS to me.

Although, my Aunt Agna does always say that dreams are the paved road to the subconscious, or some shit.

She always claimed that the world was filled with people who could read minds. That this is how politicians won elections and how mothers somehow always knew exactly what their children were up to, or even how friends would sometimes finish each other's sandwiches... I mean sentences. Then again, she's always been a bit of a nut.

I don't know. The idea of someone being able to read minds seems absurd.

My eyes catch a glimpse of Colton's brown curls vibrating softly with one of his wholesome chuckles. He turns his head slightly to look at the clock in the corner again. Damn, he must be looking to get out of this place just as much as I am.

As my mind settles back into the sullen haze of boredom from whence it came, I find myself once again playing with idea of mind reading. What if it does exi... No. It's impossible.

Another snigger from Colton floats my way and nestles up next to the thoughts somewhere in the back of my mind.

Okay, let's say ther was such a thing as a mind reader. How would one test to see if your mind was being read? I could think of when I saw old Miss Harrison's prunelike figure in a bikini that one time, and whomever seems like they need to vomit the most should be the culprit.

No, there are too many variables which could result in such an outcome. Another one of Miss Wellington's cryptic lectures for instance. I need something more aggressive, with reliable results to be absolutely sure.

Within a split second I decide to give the most horror film worthy, frustration relieving, tension oozing scream I can muster. Internally of course.

That should do the trick, I thought.

Colton's head suddenly jerks in the direction of the clock again, but this time it's different. His head is angled awkwardly and his shoulders are tense, as if in pain. His hand gingerly reaches for his right temple. My heart immediately reacts with sporadic hammering and I'm sure the shock on my face is evident when Colton turns around to look at me. A pained expression still outlining his usually bright features.

"Well, that was a first," he said.

A wicked, knowing smile blooming on his lips.