Delved behind behind the cover of one of the hard-bound research texts, the young man paused for a moment before idly glancing up, the rest of his upper torso stunned into immobility as if questioning if this obnoxiously loud "hello" was directed towards him. For a moment he was sure she had merely done this out of error, but then again, what error could be made in a university library where silence was golden. The young woman that now appeared to him didn't seem at all sheepish about carrying her voice through the cavern of stocked shelves and occupied tables. In sheer embarrassment for her, he forced his eyes to return to Meadows and Hemmingway before anyone suspected the two aquaintances.
"Hey, I'm talking to you."
His irritation swelled up in his throat like a disgustingly bulbous wad of phlem. How uncouth could she be? She looked well-bred enough, clean cut and dressed considerably better than he. That in itself made him mentally kick himself for thinking he could be seen in broad daylight with a tie-dye Rolling Stones T-shirt and cut off jean shorts. What an idiot. More infuriatingly, he lifted his gaze, coldly meeting the other's and he laid down the heavy reference, cold and calculating.
"What.. is it," he whispered harshly, barely able to contain his irritation. He noticed two young freshman girls staring at them, quirking their eyebrows questioningly.
"Yeah, I thought that was you. I saw you last night."
She had short brunette hair and more notably a nosering that went through the cartilage between the two nostrils. It resembled (more than likely intentionally) of a Bull ring. His mother was always into the idea that peircing animals was inhumane. That aspect of her he seemed to like, on that note, just like siding with the Free Masons in opposition of the Catholic Church. In actuality, he wasn't siding with her at all, just her nose. He was lost in this for a few seconds before he registered to just what she was refering to.
"You were good. Kudos."
He knew where she had seen him. At the Opera House, affectionately named due to its placement in the old downtown entertainment district, boxing matches would be held every Friday night. It was a good, clean way to make a little cash on the side through bets. You got even more money if you fought. He gently touched the wrap around his ribs, faintly detectable from undernearth the cheap cotton. His entire abdomen was still terribly tender. It was a good thing he had a health plan, or otherwise he would have had to have blown all his winnings on hospital fees. It was a good investment to get one, he had tuition to pay afterall.
"Don't mention it. See you again Friday?"
"Yeah, I think so."
She didn't seem the type, now that he observed her as she turned to leave. Other than the nosering, she came off as a very normal, functioning member of society. That is what they called them now, wasn't it? "Functioning"? Some nineteen-something kid from a white-collar family willingly gets the crap kicked out of him on a regular basis. Does't sound too functional. But he had never questioned his super-hero system, the whole student-by-day and currently-standing-champion-by-night.
He watched her as she glided through the panel doors, wondering if her business suit was the same type his mother wears. You just can never tell with some people, I guess. He returned to Hemmingway.