Red/Wolf (Working Title)

Chapter 8: Beautiful Girl Kenyon

Chapter 8: Kenyon

"Are you okay?"
"What the hell was that?" Liv angrily nudged me backwards, keeping me from coming any closer to her. Not that I wanted to, of course the fact that I would rather hug a cactus was an understatement. It seemed as if Liv was somehow determining to make my life a living hell. All I knew, was that it would be a long two weeks.
"Did I do something wrong Liv?"
"Seriously?" She put her hand on her hip. "You just stood there and let that wench say those awful things about me."
"What did you want me to do?" I asked calmly. I thought I had done enough going after her, to see if she was okay.
Just then, to my luck, the bell chimed telling the students to go back to class. I couldn't be more pleased that we did not share the same third period. I wondered if would have expected me to take her home, from school, if she was supposed to meet me after school, or on the way to the next period.
As I walked back to my next class, I suddenly began to wonder if all this was worth it. If I could just stay her wolf friend, that had its benefits, scraps from the one of the best restaurants in town, getting scratched behind the ears by the girl of my dreams, and just being near her. It seemed like I would always be closer as a wolf then I would ever be as a human.
As I got to my next class, my spirits lifted, when I reminded myself that this was the class that I shared with Sorrell. Her familiar scent enveloped me as I walked in the door, not because it was the strongest but the most familiar.
She was reading a book on the first row on the far end of the room of the room, she had not even looked up at me. I sat in the last row and just watched her.
"Piece of work huh?"
"Excuse me? Are you talking to me?" I almost didn't realize that someone was talking to me.
The skinny boy sitting next to me chuckled. "You'd better not let the teacher catch you staring at his daughter like that, he might fail you."
"You're joking right?"
"I hear her dad only lets her date football players." He continued
"Hey Sorrell!" He called. She didn't look up from her book. He looked back at me "That is going to be my wife, just you watch." He put out his hand. "I am Nick by the way."
I willingly shook his hand. For some reason I was not at all threatened by him. "I'm Kenyon."
"Looks like we are adversaries, my friend."
I let out a chuckle. "I guess we are."
"May the best man win." He made a gun with his hand and shot it in my direction.
Just then the teacher walked in. He was a short man with low cut hair that was graying and a bald spot in the center of his head. He wore a gray pants and blazer, over a white dress shirt with a black tie, and back loafers. He looked more like a college professor than a high school teacher.
I studied his face under the thick glasses with silver frames, and his grey goatee, the oval brown eyes, the fluffy cheeks, I was beginning to see the resemblance.
"Because we didn't get to have class because of the assembly yesterday, today we will do an introduction. What we will do is go around the room you will introduce yourself and tell the class who your favorite writer is. Who wants to start?"
No one's hand went up.
"I'll start. My name is Mr. Russell Garnett, and my favorite writer is Edgar Allan Poe. Sorrell, why don't you start?"
Sorrell said nothing.
"Sorrell, I believe I called on you."
I put my hand up.
"Yes, you in the back. "
Suddenly my nerves kicked in. I felt everyone eyes staring a whole in my face.
"Stand up, so everyone can see you."
I stood up and cleared my throat. "Um…I am Kenyon Phalan. My favorite writer is Langston Hughes."
"Very interesting! Would you mind reciting a poem?"
My heart was beating like a jack rabbit's. I glanced around the room at the entire class, every eye was on me, suddenly, my eyes found hers, and the words came almost by themselves.
"I could take the Harlem night
and wrap around you,
Take the neon lights and make a crown,
Take the Lenox Avenue busses,
Taxis, subways,
And for your love song tone their rumble down.
Take Harlem's heartbeat,
Make a drumbeat,
Put it on a record, let it whirl,
And while we listen to it play,
Dance with you till day-
Dance with you, my sweet brown Harlem girl."