I knew this girl of course at least her name and face, just like everyone else in this school, she was Elena Vale from class 12- B, that class was filled with geniuses and popular kids and it was surprising to me that somehow segregating kids based on their grades and physical prowess was allowed without getting a complaint from a butt hurt parent whose little genius did not qualify. Among that class, which was already filled with people who stood out, there was Elena Vale, who somehow stood out even more; it had less to do with her straight-A grades and more to do with the fact that she looked like someone straight out of a Hollywood movie. Meanwhile, there I was, painfully mediocre. I doubted anyone outside my immediate family could pick me out of a lineup, which honestly wasn't a problem; it's not like I particularly enjoyed interacting with anyone at my school."
The silence in Room 2-B reminded me of the pin drop silence you have while taking a particularly difficult surprise test where even a small creaking of the chair will make other students give you awfully hideous looks, Mrs. Amelia had left approximately thirty seconds ago with a cheery "I'll leave you two to get acquainted!" with that mischievous expression similar to a child blabbering out cuss words even when they are told not to do so.
Elena hadn't looked up from her book, and I hadn't sat down.
This was fine. Totally fine. I was perfectly comfortable standing awkwardly near the door like some kind of furniture nobody wanted. Standing was good; standing meant I could leave at any moment. Not that I would, as Mrs. Amelia would probably hunt me down, but even the thought of it provided me with some kind of comfort.
Elena turned the page silently and I was busy deciding which one of the three chairs had the best optimal position from her for me to sit down on, if I sit on the chair too close to her it would make the situation a bit awkward for me, I mean it wasn't like we were acquainted or anything, if I sit on the chair a bit further away from her then it would seem like I was trying to avoid her and that I was too uncomfortable being near her, ideally the best place to sit in a situation like this would be the chair in between but that would reveal I'd thought about this way too much, which I had, obviously." Before I could make up my mind, she decided to speak up.
"Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to sit down?"
I nearly jumped. Elena still hadn't looked up from her book, which meant either she had excellent peripheral vision or she'd developed some kind of sixth sense for detecting social awkwardness; neither option was comforting in the slightest.
"I was considering my options," I said, which was technically true.
"Your options are limited. There are four chairs in this room. I'm occupying one. You can choose from the remaining three, or you can continue standing there like a piece of decorative furniture." She turned another page. "Though I'd argue furniture typically serves a purpose."
Ouch. Was everyone in this school required to take classes in psychological warfare, or was I just naturally talented at surrounding myself with people who enjoyed verbal combat?
I walked over to the chair furthest from hers, not because I was intimidated, but because I loved my personal space. I sat down and immediately regretted it because now I had no excuse not to engage in whatever passed for conversation in this disaster of a committee.
Elena closed her book with a soft thud and finally looked at me directly. Up close, her eyes were even more analytical than I'd initially thought.
"James, correct?"
"Correct."
"And you're here because you wrote an inflammatory course evaluation that got you volunteered into this committee."
"'Voluntarily volunteered' is redundant, I don't even know how you said that without your tongue slipping up."
"So is your evaluation, apparently, since the administration's been receiving similar complaints for years and doing nothing about them." She tilted her head slightly. "Which makes me wonder why you bothered."
That was a good question.
"The form asked for feedback," I said
"The form asks for feedback every year, most students write 'everything is fine' or leave it blank, but you wrote a manifesto." She leaned back in her chair with the kind of casual posture that suggested she was completely comfortable with uncomfortable conversations. "So either you're genuinely naive enough to believe that the school would actually care about what you had to write, or you just wanted attention."
"Or I was bored and had nothing better to do."
"Boredom doesn't produce paragraphs of systematic critique; boredom produces doodles in margins and on the last page of your notebooks." She picked up a piece of paper from her desk, which appeared to be her evaluation form. "I wrote paragraphs because I believed documentation of systemic issues was necessary for any potential change, however unlikely that is. What was your excuse?"
This girl was going to be a problem. Who even interrogates a stranger they have just met like this? It almost felt as if I had committed a grievous crime and was being investigated by the FBI, where my words would be used in the court of law to prosecute me. It was annoying to banter with someone you had just met.
"Enough about me lets talk about you, let me guess why you decided to join this club," I said, leaning back in my chair to match her posture because I was petty like that, "you volunteered for this committee because it looks good on college applications and lets you pretend you're making a difference while actually just padding your resume with extracurriculars."
Her cold persona showed a hint of irritation. I'd hit something good. If I were going to be psychologically dissected and interrogated, I might as well return the favor.
"I volunteered because functional systems require oversight and accountability," she said, her voice perfectly even. "If no one documents failures or proposes solutions, nothing improves. It's basic institutional theory."
"Right. And the fact that 'Student Feedback Committee Member' looks great on a college transcript is just a happy coincidence."
"I don't believe in coincidences, I believe in efficient resource allocation, and if an activity serves multiple purposes, that's called optimization."
"That's exactly what someone optimizing their resume would say."
"And deflecting criticism through cynicism is exactly what someone avoiding genuine engagement would do."
We stared at each other across the room. From an outsider's perspective. It probably looked dramatic: two students locked in a standoff. To be honest, it just felt exhausting to me. This was why I avoided people, especially popular girls like her. Every conversation felt like a political debate, and I was growing too tired to take a stand .
Elena broke eye contact first, picking up her book again. "This is getting us nowhere."
"First thing we've agreed on."
"We're going to have to work together whether we like it or not. Mrs. Amelia made that clear."
"Unfortunately."
"So we should establish ground rules." She conjured a notebook from God knows where and began writing on the first page; her handwriting was unnervingly perfect. "Rule one: We meet here every day after school as mandated."
"Do I get a say in these rules, or are you just dictating terms?"
"If you have suggestions that demonstrate more organizational capability than standing near the door for two minutes, I'm open to hearing them."
I didn't have any suggestions. Annoying.
"Fine. Rule one accepted. What's rule two?"
"Rule two: We maintain confidentiality regarding any student complaints or cases we handle. Privacy is essential for trust."
That was actually reasonable, which made it harder to argue against. "Agreed."
"Rule three: we divide responsibilities based on capability." She paused, looking me up and down with those judgmental eyes. "You handle whatever you're capable of handling. I'll handle everything requiring systematic analysis or detailed planning."
"So you're saying I'm incapable of systematic analysis?"
"I'm saying you spent the first two minutes of our meeting standing near the door having an internal crisis about whether to sit down, forgive me for being doubtful about your organizational skills."
"Maybe I was strategically assessing the room."
"You were having an anxiety response to a social situation and disguising it as calculated observation; it's not the same thing."
This girl was legitimately terrifying. She had no filter and would use anything to win an argument. I wouldn't be surprised if people can't handle her.
"Fine," I said, because arguing seemed pointless. "You handle the organized stuff, what do I handle?"
"Observation. You're clearly skilled at analyzing social dynamics from a distance, that's useful for understanding contexts systems can't account for."
Wait. Was that... a compliment? From her? That seemed unlikely.
"Are you saying I'm good at something?"
"I'm saying you have a specific skill set that could be complementary to systematic approaches if properly directed." She made a note in her notebook. "Don't let it go to your head."
Too late. My head was already constructing elaborate theories about what "complementary skill sets" might mean. This was dangerous; I needed to shut down whatever my brain was doing before it developed ideas above its station.
The door opened without warning, and both of us turned to look.
A guy stumbled in, he had light brown hair, slightly out of breath, carrying a convenience store bag, he looked between Elena and me with the kind of expression that suggested he'd walked into the wrong room but was too polite to back out immediately.
'Oh! Sorry, am I in the right place? Student Feedback Committee?'
Elena's expression didn't change. ''You're late."
'Right. Yeah. Sorry about that. I was-" he held up the bag like it explained everything. 'I brought snacks? Is that…. helpful?'
I looked at Elena. Elena looked at the snacks, but neither of us moved.
I honestly felt angry at myself for being too honest in that damn essay.