Chapter Two - The Rich Dude
Siobhan
As I walked to the computer lab, I saw Harrod pacing the corridor. I knew who he was, everyone in the class did, but I doubted he knew who I was — it didn’t bother me, though. He hung out with the people who were his type, children of the government big shots, politicians and billionaires. I preferred keeping a low profile, but I knew who everyone was. Not that I’m shrewd or anything, I just think it’s safer that way, if you know what I mean. Girls are like that, they keep an eye on their surroundings and are well aware of everything happening around them. Well, some girls are.
“You must be Siobhan,” he said. He said it like Si-aw-bhun.
It sounded so ridiculous that I almost laughed out loud. I did laugh in my head, cackling boisterously. To him, I just nodded.
“Looks like we are partners in Programming,” he said, waving the list in the air. I wanted to take the list from his hands and read it myself, but I didn’t. I didn’t want him to know how I felt about being paired with him. For the time being, I didn’t know how I felt about it. I knew what my friend Lana would say: “He’s a catch.” She would have said it out loud if she were here, so I was glad she wasn’t. There was no point in looking at the list anyway. If he was mistaken, my partner would call me out or come get me anyway. There weren’t any other Si-aw-bhuns in my class, anyway.
I smiled tightly at him. He opened the door and went in, without holding it for me. Jerk! But then again, what was I expecting? I pushed open the door and joined him as he took a seat. I didn’t look at him, though. I’ll do that on Facebook on my way home. We are both in our class’ group on there.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’m a little under the weather. I don’t know how to do this.”
“Oh,” I said. That was all I could say, to be honest. I finally looked at him. He appeared a bit frowzy, which was indeed unusual for him. He was usually very well dressed, neat and dapper — a politician in the making. “We can do this later,” I said.
“Oh no, I don’t mean that. We have to sit through this class. I just…” he trailed off. I didn’t bother asking him to finish saying whatever he had to say. He was probably having a hangover.
“You should take an aspirin or two,” I said. “It helps with the hangover.”
He looked at me as if I were a clown. His cold blue eyes turned almost white and his pupils dilated, giving me goosebumps on my arms. “I don’t have a hangover,” he said. “I don’t drink on weekdays.”
He said it with such ferocity that I was caught off guard. “Sorry,” I mumbled.
“It’s alright.”
“Show me your notes,” I said, reaching for the journal in his lap, “and let me see what we have and where we are. I’ll draw the —”
He reached for his journal at the same time as I did, and for the briefest instant our hands touched — or my fingers touched his hand. His skin was burning.
“You have a fever,” I said. “Harrod, you need to go see a doctor.”
“I am fine,” he said.
“No, you are not!” I don’t know what happened, maybe my maternal instincts took over. He looked like such a beaten dog.
“Siawbhun, let it go,” he said, as I reached for his hand.
“No,” I stated sternly, and grabbed his hand. I picked up his bag, stuffed his things in it, and led him out.
“Siobhan,” the professor called out from behind.
“He’s burning, professor. I’m taking him to the doctor,” I said. He nodded his approval. Once we got outside, he stopped and turned to look at me.
“So, Shivon,” he said.
“That’s close,” I said. “Better than Siawbhun.”
“Why didn't you correct me?”
“I don’t really bother. Almost everyone gets it wrong. I only correct the ones who matter.”
“So I don’t matter,” he said, giving me half a smile.
“Of course you don’t,” I said, before I could think. “I mean…I don’t know you. I’m undecided.”
“What’s gonna help you decide?”
“Quit stalling,” I said. “You need to go see a doctor right now.”
“I just want to go home.”
“No, you need a doctor.”
“I’m fine,” he said, and walked off.
I stood by the window and watched him leave the main doors on the floor below. Light blue jeans, white tee-shirt, a black bag slung on his back. At the university gates, two men — dressed in black, wearing black shades — flanked him, and led him to the waiting car. There are two vans that accompany his car from front and back. All three vehicles have black tinted glasses. I know all this because I have seen him come and go several times. Like I said, I observe things. But I don’t know what or who is in the vans; their doors never open and the windows never roll down. But all of this is enough to suggest that he’s an important person, or his father is.
I think I’ll ask my mom about it. She knows so much stuff, I’m sure she’d know about this, too. She’s a senator in Congress, but she also worked as the Chief of Staff for the former President. Back then, I had the chance to get similar protocol, but my mother wanted me to have a ‘normal’ upbringing and I agreed with her. I didn’t want to attract too much attention to myself. I still don’t. If I get any attention of that sort, it will be because of myself, because of what I have done or achieved, not because I am linked to someone in a higher position.
I wonder what’s wrong with Harrod; I do hope he gets better soon. If I had his number, I would call him, but I don’t have it and I won’t ask anyone for it. A lot of girls ask his friends for his number under various pretenses, just as they do for the other guys in his group. I don’t want to appear clingy or attention hungry, or a gold-digger, as they call it. I know because I heard them talking in the cafeteria once, right after a girl asked for Timothy’s number.