A Hue of Blu

Year Four/Week Four – Present

“Mine.”

His fingers were so close to my hand, so close. If I extended my pinky just a little further, it would’ve touched his thumb.

“Okay,” he nodded.

I won.

The girl-next-door’s face dropped. Maybe she expected to be his partner – don’t know what kind of delusional world she was fucking living in.

“What question do you want to do?” Jace asked, opening a Google doc. “I was thinking number two. It’s the easiest if you did the readings.”

Oops.

He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. “Did you do the readings, Blu?”

Caught red-handed, I guess. I accept my defeat. “One too many glasses of –”

“Prosecco. Got it,” he snapped, glancing one last time at the projector before typing away.

“I can help, you know,” I leaned in closer, re-reading the question. “I’ve done Crenshaw’s readings before.”

“But it’s not about before, is it?”

“Why are you being rude?” It slipped out of my mouth, but I didn’t regret it. He was being an asshole and he needed to know.

He laughed, well, more like a scoff. It was condescending as hell.

“You ask to be my partner, but you don’t prep for school. Did you expect me to do all the work?”

Fuck. This. Guy.

I sat in silence while he typed away, crossing my arms and analyzing my surroundings. Not looking at him was the easiest thing I could do. Maybe he had a point, but there were nicer ways to say it. I liked direct people, fuck, I was direct myself.

Direct, not sharp.

There was a difference.

Ten gruelling minutes of nothing passed before Prof. Flowers clapped her sandy, bony fingers and began asking the pairs for answers.

I was in and out until it reached girl-next-door. She had a soothing voice, like an angel or a priest. Whatever fucking way you look at it, she seemed innocent.

Men loved innocent girls.

It was a weird thing they enjoyed. Like, this goal of taking someone’s virginity was the ultimate trophy, and if you had been touched you were some fucking harlot.

It ground my gears, watching her. She had perfect hands, a symmetrical face, she was small and fragile like a glass mirror.

In some ways, maybe she and I were the same.

Breakable.

“Okay, Blu and Jace,” Prof. Flowers targeted. “What question did you select?”

“Question two,” Jace responded. For himself, not for me.

“And what answer did you come up with on Crenshaw’s reading?”

Jace began to talk but I wanted to sew his perfect fucking mouth with a needle and thread.

And that’s what I did.

“Crenshaw discussed racial discrimination,” I began, silencing whatever tooth-lipped comment the man beside me had to say. “White male privilege and power is still being pressed upon women, depicting them as incapable and unworthy due to the colour of their skin. Because of this, women have a hard time coming into their identity in fear of being judged.”

Contrary to what Jace believed, I had done the readings. Two years ago, Prof. Wentworth. I didn’t forget a thing.

I never do.

“Great analysis, Blu.” Prof. Flowers quickly moved on without acknowledging Jace.

For the rest of class, I didn’t either.