They're all conspiring against me. (Please just shoot me)

Somewhere post-8:15pmish. I bolt to my office, letting Joel know I'm headed to the end of the basketball game, and that I won't be giving him a ride home (he'll have to walk the 300 yards). I ditch my backpack in my office, and grab my jacket.

A confident zip up as I head down the stairs to the ground floor and out to the entrance of the T&M--less than half the distance to Joel's house. Have I timed this right? Have I missed everyone that had been congregating at the end of class?

No.

Eyes go saucer-like as she and Joel are 15 feet in front of me. Where are they headed? They're talking. Joel is going out of his way, keeping up with the conversation, she's obviously headed underneath the pavillion crossing--to the White lot via the tunnel. Where am I headed? Oh, God, I'm committed, they've seen me, and I'm going... the exact... same... place...

I hear Joel, "...I've noticed that Scott gets those kinds of assignments, and Car[cila] gets the female-type ones." Joel turns to see me, now a mere few feet away--she has turned as well. I'm now part of the conversation. Goddamned FEET.

Banter continues for at most 15 seconds as he peels off towards home for him. A 'goodnight' follows when he's about 20 feet away--a confident 'have a good night' from me. What the hell am I doing?

"So," she says, "it seems like the assignment..." I can't believe that I'm walking. Along. With her. Eerily familiar steps in the dark--a different cardinal direction, exiting a different class, and something else is different--I'm having a $%@*ing conversation with her. No, that's not bad, but it sure makes me feel about as awkward as (insert something here that's more awkward--I frickin' DARE you). Idle banter back and forth as our pace continues, approaching the tunnel. "It seems like an assignment for someone who has all the time in the world," she correctly surmises. I raise my hand confidently, not turning towards her--she laughs.

Another half minute of walking, more conversation about class and grades. Until then, it seemed mild-mannered. "So, are you almost done with your degree?" she questions. God, I can barely handle the voice, the casualness, the entire situation--3 years later and I'm still walking a couple feet away, but this time... talking... What could go wrong? (holy crap, don't answer that).

"2 more classes after this, and I'm done," says the dork.

"I suppose I'll be saying that in a few years if I'm lucky," she laughs.

"Lucky? That's a good one," the dork blurts, never having successfully not dished out sarcasm.

Her laugh continues. Continues to firmly embed itself in my auditory processing centers.

By this point, I've turned and have started bounding my way up stairs--she turns to me while still briskly walking... Perhaps a wave... "Have a good night," ends it from me. If she murmured anything, I was already half way up to the doors of the arena.

I still can't believe it.

That, along with straight-on eye contact, casual in-class banter-type words we had exchanged before class.

Does she know?

Does she remember?

Too much to consider--I have no clue about Thursday.

My subtle reconnaissance has given me facts which lead me to believe I'm destined to make at least one more ass out of myself. Ahh--that's how they get three-assed monkeys.

Je vous en prie... I pray of you. Shoot me.