The Scars of Anatomy

13. Bad Liar

I walk down the empty hallway of the science building, whistling with my hands shoved in my pockets, passing the time between my classes by wandering around aimlessly.

Passing a classroom, I faintly hear an all too familiar soft voice.

I stop in my tracks, taking a step back to look through the small rectangular window in the door. Sure enough, Olivia is standing at the front of the classroom, talking to the students while writing on the whiteboard.

I walk closer, watching her teach a small group of students all sitting at lab benches. Microscopes line the table tops and the students mess around with them, observing different slides.

I hear Olivia's voice drift off and I swing my gaze back to her, watching her cap her dry erase marker. She turns around and her eyes meet mine through the widow. I grin as her eyes widen in surprise.

"What are you doing here?" she mouths discreetly, her head adorably tilting to the side in confusion.

I point to her class. "Who do you need me to rough up," I mouth, jokingly pounding my fist into my opposite palm. I remember her telling me about the immature freshman that gave her trouble last week.

Her eyes sparkle with humor as she fights to keep a stern face. Eventually, she cracks a smile, shaking her head before returning back to teaching her lab.

I take a seat on the bench adjacent from her door, waiting for her to finish up her lesson.

Twenty minutes later, the door to the classroom opens, students filing out with their white lab coats draped over their arms. I walk into the classroom when there are only a couple of stragglers left.

Olivia is at the whiteboard, erasing it. I walk up behind her and hop up onto her lab bench at the front of the room, taking a seat and letting my feet dangle a few inches above the floor. She glances at me over her shoulder, flashing me a smile before finishing up erasing the whiteboard.

When she's finished, she turns around and walks up next to me at the bench, her binder and papers scattered to my right.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, collecting her papers and neatly placing them into her binder.

I shrug. "I was walking down the hallway and thought I heard your beautiful voice. Stopped in my tracks and had to turn around to make sure it was you, and that no freshman was giving you shit."

She lets out a soft laugh, looking down and shaking her head. I can tell she's embarrassed by my compliment.

"So..." I drawl, cracking my knuckles. "Anybody's ass you need me to kick?" I joke.

"No," she emphasizes, shooting me a look before shrugging off her white lab coat and neatly folding it. "I don't need you to kick anyone's butt."

"Butt? What's the matter, Finch? Can't say ass?" I tease with a smirk.

She rolls her eyes, shoving her things neatly into her backpack.

"C'mon, say it," I urge playfully.

This time she laughs. "No."

"Aww, come on," I beg. "You can even use it in a different sentence, like, Bronx has a really nice a—ow!"

She gasps, playfully smacking me on the thigh, her jaw dropped and eyes wide with shock, as well as amusement.

"Alright, alright," I say, feigning hurt, rubbing my thigh where she hit me. "I won't make you say it now, but maybe that can be a part of our next bet."

"You'd have to get a perfect score in order for that to happen," she teases, slinging on her backpack and walking towards the door.

"It's not that hard to say, Finch! It's a fact," I call after her, hopping off the counter and lightly jogging to catch up to her.