Disclaimer: I own none of these characters. I'm just borrowing them for a good emotional romp.
Notes: This is the first of several vignettes I've been inspired to write after seeing NBK too many times to admit to in public. I keep finding myself wondering what must be going through Sam's mind in each of these various scenes, and wanting to explore what I think (or at least imagine) he's feeling. I'm also finding myself in the midst of a writing frenzy inspired by our dear Michael. I hope you enjoy these little stories�a collection I'll call "Sam's Thoughts" and I'd love to know what you think. ([email protected]) Enjoy! * * * Sam Coulson breathed a sigh of relief as he entered his classroom just as the bell rang. He'd made it. Not a bad feat considering he'd only woken up about a half hour ago. It had been a long night of arguing with Laura over everything under the sun. But he couldn't think about that now, he had a class to teach, young minds to stimulate. But not until he'd had his first cup of coffee for the day. He dropped his briefcase on the desk, perching precariously on the side of it, and proceeded to carefully remove the lid of the steaming beverage he held in his hand, lifting the cup to his nose for an appreciative sniff before sipping the hot liquid. He smiled as he felt the caffeine enter his system. Now he could start his day. He turned to his students with a smile, ready to begin class. The white feathery boa framing the neck of a face he'd never seen before caught his attention immediately. It took him a startled moment to realize she was new�simply because he was trying to assimilate the boa feathers, mixed with an icy white lipstick that made her lips look like a popsicle. His gaze finally focused on the face of the girl wearing the outrageous outfit. It was a pretty face, framed by soft blonde hair and a tentative, curious smile, aimed directly at him. He automatically found himself smiling back. Then his gaze moved to her eyes, and time seemed to stop. Her eyes held secrets. They were beautiful and soft, filled with curiosity, mixed with fear, shyness, and excitement. Eyes that caught and held his. Eyes that he suddenly realized he could get lost in. Eyes that seemed to know and understand more than the 17 years old he knew she had to be. He was intrigued, and a bit shocked at his response. After a moment, he realized he'd been staring and cleared his throat, breaking their gaze as he went to speak. He hoped his voice didn't sound as shocked as his body felt right now. "I don't think we've met before�I'm Sam�Coulson�the school has this thing about letting you guys call me Sam," he managed, hoping he didn't sound too stupid. He found himself in danger of losing himself in this girl again as she responded, her soft voice sending a strange thrill through his body. "I'm Josie�but I don't think the school would have a problem with you calling me that," she said with a smile, meeting his gaze again. For a moment, he let himself smile back, looking deep into those eyes. Then he realized what he was doing and forced himself to concentrate. "Well Josie, welcome to Shakespeare's "As You Like It," he said with a smile as he turned to write the word 'pastoral' on the black board. He sighed as he turned back around and asked the class for a definition, hoping against hope some student would take the challenge he'd put forth and contribute to the class. He hid his wince as one student proceeded to describe 'pasteurize' instead. Would he never get through to these kids? Didn't they even care? He looked desperately around the room again, hoping someone, anyone, would provide an answer. He almost sighed in relief when he saw Josie's hand go up. Good, she wasn't afraid to participate. He liked that. Maybe she'd surprise him. "Pastoral means set in the country. Originally seen in the Eclogues of Virgil. It's from the Latin 'pascere,' to graze." Then again, maybe she'd simply floor him. He stood there for a moment, simply staring at his new student. Had he heard right? Had she really described 'pastoral's' roots? In his class? At her age? He must have heard her wrong. But from the strange looks he could see the rest of his class giving her, he knew he'd heard right. "Are you sure you're 17?" was all he'd been able to get out, noticing offhandedly that she seemed to tense up at the remark, almost as if he'd hit a nerve. He pushed that thought aside as she proceeded, maybe too enthusiastically he realized later, to stress her age. Well, then again, maybe she just truly loved Shakespeare. He had a feeling Josie was going to become an intriguing part of his class. He refused to acknowledge the other thought that pushed it's way into his head as he got back into his lesson. That Josie was going to become an intriguing part of his life as well. * * * Next Installment