Perfect Enemies

10

Our teacher instructed us to pull up a page from the e-book on our iPads, then directed us to pair up to go over the study questions from the prior night’s homework. Before I could look around to pick a partner, Kane took hold of my desk and pulled it next to his. I gasped and gaped up at him, now only inches away from me. His eyes were hooded, and a sultry curve hooked each corner of his lips. “That wasn’t necessary,” I whispered, eyes darting around the room. No one else had bothered moving their desks.

“I don’t have my iPad. This way, I can see yours.” He was smug. Satisfied. But his admission was just another black mark against him for being irresponsible and not caring about school. Students at Xavier were academically competitive, often motivated by overachieving parents with oppressive expectations. There was nothing attractive about coming to class unprepared, so why did my heart begin to thrum in my chest at his proximity? Why did the air in the classroom suddenly feel suffocatingly thin? I took in a deep breath, hoping to compose myself, and moved my iPad between us where we both could see. I wasn’t going to make a scene by pushing my desk back to its original location. Kane leaned forward, placing his elbows on his desk and clasping his hands together before him. He wore a long-sleeve Henley like he had the day before, but for the first time, I noticed a set of three colored friendship bracelets on his left wrist. At least, I thought that’s what they were. They were crudely made—essentially a collection of threads knotted in random intervals. “You have a little brother or sister?” I asked quietly, completely forgetting about our assignment. He followed my gaze to the exposed bracelets and fingered the strings. “I’ve got a brother.” His words were surprisingly tender. I had no response I was so taken aback by the sudden change in his demeanor and the emotion in his voice. The sincerity. He’d struck me as phony with all his schmoozing and cocky showmanship, but this brother of his elicited something more genuine from him than I expected. “What about you? Have any siblings?” he asked. My eyes sought out his again for some unknown reason, and when I peered into those warm molasses depths, I saw a tiny glimpse of the man beneath the surface. Someone with passions and fears. His truth hid beneath the harsh line of his brow and straight, humorless lips. Genuine curiosity unearthed in his gravelly murmur. All signs of the cavalier playboy had disappeared. It made me wonder if that person even existed or if every bit of it was a mask. Had he meant to pull back the veil, or had it slipped without his permission? “Um, yeah. Two sisters, both older,” I finally answered. He cleared his throat and directed our attention back to the device on the desk. “We should probably glance at these questions. Did you read the assignment last night?” I nodded. “Good. At least one of us did.” He smirked, slipping back into the skin of his school persona. I sighed. “Okay, first question. According to the essay, why is it important to protect speech, even if that speech is unpopular?” I crooked an eyebrow at him, putting the onus of answering on him despite knowing he hadn’t read the assignment. “If the government was allowed to censor speech, our fundamental democratic rights would be at risk. The sharing of ideas would be stilted and thus inhibit progress. Freedom of communication, just like education, is essential to the prosperity of the people who make up a nation.” I stared at him speechless. Kane may not have deemed homework worthy of his time, but he was unquestionably intelligent. Maybe even smarter than I cared to admit. “You sure you didn’t read the assignment?” “Just a fan of the constitution.” “Seriously? Who even says that?” He grinned, his teeth tugging on his bottom lip playfully. “I think I just did.” I shook my head, unsuccessful at stifling my own smile. “Whatever. Next question. According to the essay, what kinds of actions are included in the term ‘speech’ as it is found in the first amendment? And I guess it’s my turn to answer.” I paused to collect my thoughts. “According to the essay and not just some wealth of knowledge I acquired through an unnatural fascination with government,” I glared at him coyly, “speech includes any expression of opinion—verbal or written words, non-violent actions, or any other form of expression that doesn’t infringe on anyone else’s rights.” Kane slowly nodded his head as if processing my statement. “So, if I jumped up on this desk and began to yell about the benefits of an increased minimum wage, and the school forced me to stop, would that be an infringement of my rights?” “No, the First Amendment protections apply to censorship by the government. Xavier is a private institution.” “What about if we were in a public school?” I had to think about his question for a moment. “Well, I would think that my actions would constitute a disruption of the other students’ rights to an education. The school must have some kind of right to regulate student speech—at least to some degree.” I peered at Kane, my brows raised theatrically. “Is that correct, oh great master of the constitution?” A salacious smile spread wide across his face as he slid down languidly in his seat. For the briefest of seconds, a swarm of butterflies fluttered up from deep inside me at the approving gleam in Kane’s eye. Then everything changed when his knee relaxed against mine. I gasped at the tingling desire that emanated from the warmth of his touch. We both dropped our gazes to the point of contact—my naked knee resting against his khaki-clad thigh. When I peered back up, the playful young man sitting next to me had turned to stone. His body rigid and smile turning rancid, Kane was suddenly a stranger. He sat upright, stiff and mechanical, severing our connection. “I’ll read the next one.” He slid the iPad from my grasp, a grimace in place of his smile. I had no idea what had happened. He was clearly upset, but why? Because we touched? His response made me feel like I had the plague. I wanted to lash out defensively—shame him for being so egregiously rude— and simultaneously hide under a rock. He was the one who’d pulled my desk over. He was the one who touched me, not the other way around. Why had the contact seemed to disgust him? He’d appeared happily engrossed in our exchange seconds earlier, so what had changed? The longer I thought about it, the angrier I got that I cared at all. What did it matter to me if he was upset? Why did I care if he was the most mercurial man I’d ever met? I considered a million scathing admonishments throughout the rest of class but didn’t voice a single one. In the end, I decided that ignoring him entirely was the best recourse. An emotional response to his actions would only concede that he held a small degree of power over me, and that was an admission I wasn’t willing to make. When the bell rang, I packed up my things and left without giving him a second glance.