The Real Me

Anastasia's Pov It was a sweltering Saturday afternoon, and I was sitting on one of the lovers' benches on campus, nestled under the trees, lost in a book. Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I looked up to see Gilbert Geizi, one of the hottest guys in my class. We weren't exactly close, but we weren't strangers either. I suspected he was here to ask about Beatrice again. I raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite my guess. "Good afternoon," he said, catching me off guard. This was new—usually, he'd dive straight into questions about Beatrice without bothering with pleasantries. I glanced at him briefly before responding with a nod, the greeting stuck in my throat instead of coming out. I meant to say "good afternoon" back, but for some reason, my voice didn't cooperate. "Can I perch here with you?" he asked, plopping down beside me before I could respond. I nodded, shifting slightly to my right to create some space between us. His eyes met mine for a brief moment before he settled a book – our literature class's copy of Ralph Ellison's The Invisible Man – between us on the bench. It was the same novel I'd been reading just moments before. "Anastasia, right?" he asked, looking at me with a hint of uncertainty. I looked at him, surprised he'd even ask, and thought to myself, 'He doesn't even know my name, I mean, if not for Beatrice, nobody would know I exist in the class.' "Mmm, yeah," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper, avoiding eye contact.He chuckled softly. "You don't really talk much, do you?" he observed. "Or is it just strangers?" "You're not a stranger," I said with a small laugh. "And I'm not a friend either," he added, his tone casual. "Well, we're classmates, and you're friends with my friend, so?" I shrugged. "That doesn't make us friends, right? I mean, the only time we talk is when I'm looking for Beatrice," he said, his words laced with a hint of observation. "It's always been about Beatrice," he added, and I nodded, forcing a small smile. What was I supposed to say? "I'm sorry if I made you feel left out," he said again, catching me off guard. I was just a nobody to him, after all. "No, no, you don't have to apologize for that. It hasn't even occurred to me like that," I replied shaking my head, surprised by his apology. "Okay, glad I could clarify that," he said with a smile that showcased his dimples, rendering him even more handsome. I found myself lost in the sight of him. Gilbert's fair skin complemented his short, black hair, and his white T-shirt paired with black khaki shorts – the standard school uniform for guys – fit him well. His lean physique gave his shirt a relaxed fit, and his build was more slender and athletic than muscular. "So... what got you so engrossed?" he asked, snapping me out of my thoughts as he gestured toward the book in my hand. "Oh, uh, just catching up on some reading," I replied. "Okay, is that The Invisible Man?" he asked, gesturing to the book again, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the brown cover sheet. "Yeah," I replied. "Okay, since I've got mine with me, why don't we read together? We can take turns reading chapters," he suggested, pulling out his book. "Okay, what chapter are you on?" I asked, despite my reservations about reading with him – I wasn't sure I'd be able to keep up. "I... haven't started yet," he said, drawing out the words. I raised an eyebrow, thinking he must be joking. Did he expect me to start over from chapter 1 when I was already on chapter 10? "That means we can't read together, I'm already on chapter 10," I said, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. "Oh, come on, Stasia, you can't abandon me now that we're friends," he said, pouting his lips in a comically exaggerated way. I couldn't help but notice the sudden nickname – Stasia – and wondered if he had just coined it or if he was just feeling creative. "Please, let's start over, and it'll be to your benefit since you'll get double the understanding," he continued, raising an eyebrow at me. "Uh... I-I, okay, fine," I stammered, feeling stupid for not being able to form a coherent response. Why couldn't I just say no to him? "You sure? I hope I'm not forcing you, and you do consider me your friend, right?" he asked, throwing multiple questions at me at once. "Yeah, sure, we're friends, and you aren't forcing me," I replied, addressing all his questions. "Okay, it kind of feels nice to be friends with you. I'm Gilbert, by the way," he said, flashing that smile of his. "Yeah, I mean, I already know your name," I said, smiling genuinely this time. "Oh, sure, I bet," he said, locking his gaze with mine. "You look more beautiful when you smile," he added, his eyes sincere, matching the earnestness in his tone. "Thanks," I said, feeling so embarrassed that I couldn't look at him anymore and directed my gaze to the book on my lap. "And you loo—" he started, but I cut him off. "Okay, can we start our reading now?" I looked at him, daring him to object. "Okay, fine. My little Ana is shy," he said as he opened his book. "Hey, I'm not little!" I objected, choosing to overlook the 'my.' "Oh, my bad, big Ana then," he said, stifling a laugh. "Whatever, let's start reading already. You start first," I said, deliberately ignoring his teasing and steering the conversation back on track. "Okay, but you start first; I'm not good at reading aloud," he objected. "Okay," I agreed hastily, eager to get started. "So, I'll start with the prologue, and you read chapter 1," I clarified. "Yeah, sure, I'm listening," he replied. I began to read: "I am an invisible man. No, I am not a spook like those who haunted Edgar Allan Poe; nor am I one of your Hollywood-movie ectoplasms. I am a man of substance, of flesh and bone, fiber and liquids—and I might even be said to possess a mind. I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me..." As I read, the words resonated deeply with me. I felt a pang of recognition, realizing that the themes of invisibility and being misunderstood were eerily familiar. It was as if the narrator's struggles mirrored my own experiences with friends and family. "Wow, you read really well," Gilbert complimented after I was done, his eyes sparkling with genuine admiration. "Thanks, your turn," I replied, feeling a warm flush rise to my cheeks from the praise. But before he could begin, he flipped through the pages with a look of boredom and said, "You mean right now, why aren't you going to explain what you just read? I don't understand." I stared at him incredulously. "Gilbert, you can't be serious, right?" I exclaimed. "What? I mean, you can't just read through it and expect me to understand," he said with a straight face, as if it was the most logical thing in the world. I sighed, feeling stressed about the prospect of explaining such a complex topic. "Okay, fine. But don't blame me when I explain and you still don't understand, because I'm not a good teacher," I warned, and he just nodded smiling. I took a deep breath and began to explain how the narrator felt invisible because people saw him only as a stereotype or a role, not as an individual with his own thoughts and desires. Gilbert listened intently, his expression a mask of confusion. When I finished, he uttered a simple, "I don't understand." I felt frustrated, like I was banging my head against a wall. What more could I say to make him grasp it? "Okay, chill, alright? You look like you want to murder someone. I hope it's not me," he said, chuckling as he clearly enjoyed seeing me frustrated. I glared at him, but my expression softened into a laugh as I took in his excited, teasing look. "I understand, okay? I just wanted to know how you'd understand it, since we're all learning," he explained, his grin still plastered on his face. "Okay, it's your turn, so I'm listening," I said, eager to move forward. I was already behind schedule, and I didn't want to waste any more time. As he began to read, I was struck by his skill – the words flowed effortlessly from his lips, like he'd practiced reading aloud many times before. And when he finished, his explanation was thorough and insightful. We wrapped up our reading session at chapter 13, realizing the evening had slipped away and we needed to get ready for dinner. As we parted ways, heading to our respective dorms, he promised to meet me again tomorrow at the same time and place. "See you tomorrow, Ana," he said with a smile, and I nodded, feeling a sense of anticipation for our next session together.