True, the other boy usually prodded him about once every ten minutes or so, but this was getting a bit ridiculous, and St. John wasn't sure if it was because Pietro was just odd, or because he'd been pointedly ignoring the other boy for the last two hours rather than his usual returned smirks and crumpled notes. Pietro was poking him every. Five. Minutes.
And he didn't want to talk to Pietro, thankyouverymuch. If he was ignoring him, he was ignoring him for a reason.
Sulkily, he studied his pen as he busily wrote out something on precedents for strengthening the Federalist government. Fa la fa la fa la ... not listening ... Another quick tap against his back, this time with a pen by the feel of it, and he deliberately forced himself to stay still, every muscle going slack. Not going to listen to him. Not going to, because you're. not. that.
St. John wasn't sure what 'that' was, but he was sure he wasn't it.
He was starting to wish he'd never even looked at the downstairs computer after he'd gotten back last night. It would have been easier simply to come back upstairs and go straight to bed, flipping through new books, or perhaps packing, but ... but no, he'd had to go and look at the computer and check journals, and now his bad weekend had suddenly gotten much worse.
At least he had calculus after this class, he thought, not particularly finding much comfort there. Lunch could be skipped, as it was a waste of time, but ... European History and Chemistry were still there, hovering over his head, and he was certain Pietro would be able to find some way to corner him there, especially given the fact that they sat next to one another.
His stomach twisted sharply, and he stared down at the paper again, not quite sure why he was so upset.
Another poke from Pietro, and he twitched slightly. Please. Let. The. Bell. Ring. Now. He wasn't sure what he was going to do if it didn't, but ... there was going to be something involving fire alarms and lots of screaming. He didn't want to talk to Pietro now, and couldn't the other boy bloody understand that? The fact that he hadn't said a thing to the other boy all day might have been a pretty good clue ...
He wasn't going to talk to Pietro. Nope. And what was the other boy going to do, force him to talk? St. John could keep his mouth shut almost infinitely, and he was just ... going to proceed to do so, because it was a hell of a lot better than the alternative.
He was up and out of his seat quickly at the sound of the bell, bolting for the door and determinedly in the direction of calculus. At least he would have two hours without the other boy's constant attempts to get his attention.