USC (short story)

USC
______________

Her hoodie read “USC”.  “University of South Carolina?” he thought to himself.  “She has the exact same kind of bottled water as me,” was a thought added onto his previous one.
Everyone was clustered in their respected groups of everywhere between five to nine people, discussing and coming to a final conclusion as to what the correct answer was to each of the 40 questions that made up the exam.  He sat by himself content enough, be they right or wrong, with the answers he gave not to seek the insight of others.
The young woman, with a tattoo on her neck, which was covered by a veil of dishwater blonde hair in a small ponytail seeing as how she didn’t have enough hair to compose a standard length ponytail, wearing a white sweater, he thought he caught her out of the corner of his right eye looking back at him.  “Just fluttering curiosity,” he thought to himself.
***
Every once in a while he glanced up to see another young woman, in the same group as the blonde with the shifty tattoo on her neck, in black, also with hair, almost identical in color as that of the girl directly in front of him, bunched up in a pony tail.  Unlike the other, this young woman, later to be found out to have been christened “Sandra Sandeck,” had no visible tattoos, rather a piercing on her left eyebrow, because the way her shirt was cut, when she leaned over to enquire or contribute, a sufficient amount of cleavage was exposed.  It didn’t get him sexually excited, but it made him happy enough.  A grin found its way on his face, only momentarily.  They seemed like nice, teetering on perfect, breasts.  On very few occasions, in this particular case, there were less than a handful of looks from her eyes pointed in his direction, they exchanged eye contact no more than twice.
***
He got up and grabbed his bottle of water, nearly empty, and left the bee hive-esque room.  As the door closed behind him, he could still hear, as he walked away, the numerous discussions taking place.  He walked to the bubbler closest to the room, filled it halfway up and decided to go to another bubbler, because this water always seemed to be the warmest of all the water coming from the numerous bubblers in the building.
He saw an old teacher of his sitting on a bench and was tempted to approach him to try and stir up a conversation, but decided not to.  The teacher seemed to be reading something with a heightened sense of interest.
He continued westward down the hall, which was plastered in random education affiliated posters, announcements, and a few other miscellaneous pieces, until he decided to take a right, heading towards his hydro-destination.  Before turning rightward he had seen a young woman, brown hair, of seemingly foreign complexion.  He was debating in his mind “If we make eye contact I’ll smile.”  Vague eye contact was exchanged and no smiles appeared.
Now heading north down the hall, no others in sight, a woman and a young black man crossed his path, heading west, laughing.  He decided, with no particular reasoning, not to get any more water, and he headed back to class.
After a few dozen steps in the eastern direction, he turned and headed north, where upon entering the frame of the hallway he saw at the opposite end a black janitor, sweeping the floor with a broom that took up at least half of the 15 foot wide floor.  Being in the oddly festive mood he was in, he was tempted to compliment the worker as they passed each other, “Keep up the good work,” he would say.  But he kept quiet as they went their separate ways, fearing misinterpretation of his good will for that of sarcasm.  He was never one for confrontations of any kind.
***
Back in the room, still filled with vibrant chatter, he took his seat, setting down his bottle of water.
Having been long done with his exam he sat silently doodling in his notebook, occasionally taking off his glasses and tilting his black hat the way that cowboys tilt theirs when they want to catch 40 winks, however, his was not a cowboy hat.
Sitting, listening to the now apparent monotonous droning of random conversations, “No, I think it’s D.”, “It’s B word for word,” laughs found their way into the humming of all the different volumes and octaves of voices, like a small, quaint river, finding it’s way to the ocean, merging as one, one disappearing into the other.
***
The group, the one containing the girl with the “USC” hoodie, and bottle of water that was the twin of his, stood, one after the other, to hand in their exams.  They each, again, one after the other, in one case in a pair, made their exits.
Moments later he walked up, solitarily, to the teacher’s desk to place his test paper and answer sheet on his desk.  The teacher approached him after he placed both items where they needed to be, “Goin’ to stay for the scoring?” he asked.  He stood before the desk, staring his teacher’s briefcase, and the metal desk, and the various items strewn about it, “Sure, I guess so,” and he returned, somewhat reluctantly to his seat.
***
The girl with the tattooed neck made an exit, to go get a drink, to smoke a cigarette, to go to the bathroom, to make a call, what she did, was never revealed.
He was sitting, leaning forward, his hat disabling him from seeing anyone in front of him; he continued his previously initiated scribbling.  Becoming more and more focused on his inane ramblings and what-have-you when out of the corner of his, again, right eye he saw her return.  Her group had since then disbanded, thoroughly pleased with all of their decisions, so the chairs, once grouped together like a pow-wow, now found their way back to their assigned places in the room, hers was the only still in it’s group orientated spot, like an injured and forgotten soldier, left to die, completely erased from the minds of his fellow men.
She moved her desk back to it’s original spot, and grabbed her chair, swinging it slightly, to put it back into it’s proper position, when she hit his desk, a loud “CLANK” shook him out of his concentration and he jumped, only slightly, like an old wise-man deep in meditation who is awoken by the poking and prodding fingers of a persistent small child.
“Sorry,” she said, with a hint of real sincerity, “It’s not problem,” he replied, and went right back to his notebook.  It was only later that he realized that perhaps this could have turned into an ordeal of some kind, preferably drawn out to a positive conclusion, but alas, it did not happen.
She packed her things and left, after handing in her exam.  He slyly watched her behind as she made her exit.  Again, he was not sexually excited, or aroused in the least, but it was a pleasant sight.
***
Still in his seat, now occupying his mind with random thoughts, one of his classmates, a middle aged police officer, approached him.  He said to him, in his baritone voice, “Hey Jon, we got a 50 on our presentation, full credit,” he looked up, cleared his mind and replied with a pleasantly toned “Oh,” his classmate walked away and returned to his seat.
He then overheard another person inform his former partner that 50 was, in fact, not full credit, so curious and slightly confused, he, the officer, went to the teacher where an inaudible discussion was held.  It turned out that they had received 55 out of 60, which was more than good enough for the both of them.
***
Between deciding to stay and the present moment he was considering getting up and leaving.  But his conscious wouldn’t let him.  He told his teacher that he would stay, and the teacher had just enough melancholy in his approach and voice that he would have felt bad had he decided to leave early.  So he stayed.
***
Moments later, the scores of the exams still an undeclared mystery, Sandra and the girl that he had noticed her coming to and leaving class with every week, made their exit.  He watched them, from beneath the veil of his hat, as they approached him, partially hoping that one of them would say something about his neglect to join any group when everyone else had, but they passed silently.
Once far enough away he turned to the right to see if he could catch a glimpse of Sandra’s behind, but her black coat, as short as it might have seemed from the front, was long enough to cover any potential sighting of her jean covered posterior.  He simply sighed and turned back forward.
***
The door to the room opened, and Sandra & confidant returned, to his surprise.  They returned to their previous spots, chatting away with surrounding friends, if not just affiliates.  And he sat, watching, never once speaking up, and never once making so much as a noise.  He simply watched, now and then going back to the hiding of the brim of his hat, as the others interacted.
***
The Water was just fine.