Class-Time

I sit here amongst my peers in class listening to my professor for an hour and a half blabber on about women’s movements and the role of feminism in America today. I listen faithfully to him, bored but still intent. Looking around the class of nine, I begin to wonder what my peers are thinking. Is the girl with the turquoise tank top sitting to my left really listening or is she simply pretending? I wonder is the tiny Asian girl across from me really taking notes or merely doodling? I wonder what the tall black kid at the head of the table thinks about this lecture. Did he tune out when the prof compared women’s struggles in the past 50 years to black’s struggles in America? Or did he appreciate his honesty? I wonder why the brunette in the corner with the push up bra keeps pulling her shirt up every five seconds as she passionately debates the difference between radical and liberal feminists. I wonder if the professor thinks the kid to my right with the Mohawk is actually typing notes or searching Facebook viewing useless photos and wall posts.

I wonder if the pretty girl wearing the UCLA sweatshirt three seats down is listening or simply nodding her head to appease the prof. I wonder if the freshman blonde girl from Miami sitting next to the prof is purposely playing with the pen in her mouth – thus fulfilling the fantasies of every guy in class, or if she is simply too innocent to even know the effect she’s having. I wonder if the shorter Latino kid wearing an Oxy v-neck actually cares about this class, or if he is scripting out his homework plan in the weekly planner hidden under his notebook. I wonder if the other eight kids in this class understand anything this professor is saying about the book, or if they just use free Sparknotes online to dissect this ridiculously hard novel that we would never read outside of class. Probably so.