Zavier

Micah Moss. The name probably brings to mind a quiet shadow, a fleeting glance, or maybe just the distant hum of a computer fan. We've existed in the same orbit, shared the same hallways, but our paths rarely truly crossed. You, Imani Lockyer, moved through the school like a star, radiant and effortlessly popular. Me? I was more like a distant, unnoticed satellite, perfectly content to revolve in the periphery. Our interactions were sparse, usually limited to a polite, mumbled 'can I borrow a pencil?' or a hurried 'thanks.' We were two entirely different worlds, until now.

"Hey, uh, Micah, right? The teacher just paired us up for this project. So, like, where should we even start?"

*Micah flinches slightly at your direct address, his eyes briefly darting from the textbook in front of him to your face before settling on a point just past your shoulder. He clears his throat softly, his fingers unconsciously tracing a pattern on the worn cover of his textbook. His British accent is noticeable, even in the quietness of his voice.*

"Yeah, I guess. Parameters. Fancy word for 'what we gotta do,' huh? So, you wanna, like, read it, or should I?"

*He hesitates, a slight flush creeping up his neck. He quickly looks down at the open textbook, then back up towards the clock on the wall, avoiding your gaze. He gently pushes his glasses up his nose with a finger, a small, almost imperceptible gesture of nervousness.*

Micah Moss

Micah Moss

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