“Finches are very quiet little birds,” the professor continues. “But even though their chirps are soft and sweet—making them a great house pet—they are actually very social in their own little groups. Now, this poses a problem. Like I said, they make good house pets, but you really have to have more than one in your home in order for them to be mentally and emotionally stable. Finches need companions in order to thrive. They’re not like a dog or a cat, forming special bonds with their owners, they prefer the company of other finches over human companionship. Out in the wild, they live in fairly large groups and rarely migrate.”
My mind drifts to Olivia, her soft voice and tiny frame, and how she’s never strayed from home. I feel a smile touch my lips, thinking about her sweet smile and melodic laugh.
“Dude,” Chase whispers, nudging me and giving me awhat the fucklook. I probably look like a loon sitting in the middle of biology grinning as the teacher spews out random facts about birds.
I shake my head, sitting up a little straighter in my seat to try to get through the rest of this lecture without falling asleep again.
>> <<
“You’re going to need that,” Chase snickers as I grab a coffee from the dining hall, setting it and a bottle of water on my tray before we head to the checkout line.
“Shut up,” I grumble, taking a large swig of the coffee after paying, and we find a table where some of our teammates are already sitting.
“Whoa, look who showed up,” Brennen comments. “I thought you’d be in bed, getting your beauty sleep after the party last night and before the game this weekend.” I flip him my middle finger while taking another long drink from my coffee cup. “Damn, coffee? Someone means business today.”
“I’m surprised you’re even attending class after this. I would’ve thought the two you had this morning would have been your limit,” Chase adds. “What class are you even prepping for anyway?”
“English,” I say, downing the rest of my coffee and feeling a little more alive. I also perk up at the thought of a particular brunet I get to see shortly.
“Oh, yeah, for the teacher who’s already assigning homework,” Brennen says, remembering me bitching about it the other day while we went to go pick up our books.
My face blanches and I quickly twist in my seat to reach for my backpack on the floor, rifling through it to find my English textbook. I let out a curse, pushing my lunch tray to the side while I try to remember the page numbers we were supposed to read, flipping frantically through the book. How did I forget?
Finding the pages, I quickly skim over the poems while my teammates snicker at my odd urgency to actually do something that was assigned. I read the five poems, one about spring, one about grief, another about a boat lost at sea, and then there’s that famous one about taking the road less traveled by, or whatever. But the one that really catches my attention is about a lonely man who stands at his window every day, watching for a bird he recently befriended. Captured by its beauty and melodic chirps, every morning he gets up to watch for this bird that sits on the edge of a low-hanging tree branch just outside his window, the little, colorful bird’s appearance now a highlight of his day.
Quickly finishing up my lunch, I bid the guys goodbye and stroll to the language arts building.
Once I’m inside, I immediately spot Olivia through the door of our classroom. She’s sitting at the same desk she was on Wednesday, her long hair curtaining the side of her face as she looks down at a piece of paper on top of her desk. The eraser at the end of her pencil is pressed to her bottom lip in concentration as her eyes scan the paper before she brings her pencil down to write.
I walk through the doorway of the classroom, claiming the empty seat next to her yet again. “’Sup, Finch?” I ask, shrugging off my backpack.
Her eyes lift to meet mine, her brows slightly pinching together and her head adorably tilting to the side in confusion. She looks over her left shoulder and then her right, trying to decide if I’m talking to her or somebody else. “Are you talking to me?” she asks, pointing to herself.
“Yeah, you,” I say, trying my best to smother the smile threatening to split my face.
The pinch between her brows smooths out and she sets her pencil down and sits up straighter in her seat, giving me her full attention. “Finch?” she asks, an intrigued smile tugging at her lips.
“Yeah,” I simply reply with a grin, stretching out my legs and leaning back in my seat, making myself more comfortable.
She props her elbow on her desk, resting her chin in the palm of her hand, looking at me expectantly. “Care to elaborate?”
My grin only grows. “Well,” I drawl, sitting up a bit, leaning toward her. “I learned a lot about birds today in my biology class—specifically finches. I learned they’re quiet, melodic, chirping little birds. They’re colorful, social, and they rarely migrate from home. I don’t know . . .” I trail off. “I guess they just made me think of you.”
Her eyes grow soft and one corner of her mouth tips up into a shy smile. She clears her throat, breaking eye contact, and I can detect a blush creeping onto her cheeks. “I’m guessing you have Professor Willford for biology?” she asks after composing herself.
“Yeah, how did you—”
“The man loves birds.” She laughs, tucking some hair behind her ear. “I had him a year ago, and trust me, this isn’t the last time you’ll hear all about birds.”
“Good to know.” I chuckle. “Come to think of it, the man kind of looks like a bird himself. Have you seen his nose?”
She brings her hand up to her mouth, trying to mask her giggle. “Stop it, Professor Willford is a really nice guy.”
“You’re not denying it,” I tease.
She stops laughing, smashing her lips together tightly to try to act serious, but it’s no use. She cracks, falling into another fit of giggles. “Okay, I’ll admit, he does kind of look like Nigel fromThe Wild Thornberrys.”
“Who?”
