Stifling a yawn, Fiona blearily reminded herself that she had another two hours left. And then ruined her perfectly good plan by looking at the neon clock that stubbornly refused to change past it's current reading of 5:27.
What had possesed her to take a night class?
Tap.
Oh right.
Tap. Tap..... Tap. Tap. .... Tap.
Twisting in her seat, she regarded Daisy Samuels who was currently attempting to relay some sort of message via morse code. Despite the fact that Fiona had repeatedly reminded Daisy that she did not speak sign language, morse code, or lips- Daisy continued to operate under the misunderstanding that just because Fiona's father was a goverement agent- she had been trained in various modes of communication.
That's why she was failing French. Because she was such a gifted linguist.
Giving a measured look over at the red headed, bespectacled Daisy, which clearly translated to Stop Your Damn Tapping! Fiona scribbled a word down before pushing the pad towards Daisy.
What??
Daisy rolled her eyes and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose with her left hand before grasping her own green pen and jotting underneath in a perfectly unreadable scrawl:
R U going to O'Connell's 2night?
Fiona shook her head slightly, signaling denial without drawing attention from the largely ignored professor at the front of the hall. He was currently discussing the French politics of the Napoleonic Consul but half of the class had their texts propped up to hide their cell phones and his voice carried a distinct tone of defeat as it echoed across the hall.
Daisy frowned, and scribbled some more.
Y not?
For a girl who was fluent in three different languages by the time she was sixteen, Daisy had a distinct habit of completely obliterating the English language. Blaming it on a mother who taught high school English classes, Daisy embraced slang, made up words, and the occasional foreign language if she could avoid using the King's English.
At the moment, Daisy was twisting her hands into a complicated array of shapes that obviously translated into something significant. Craning her neck to check behind her, Fiona found most of the upper rows staring in frank confusion at her friend's behavior. One young man elbowed his sleeping friend awake, pointing downwards at Daisy's silent conversation.
Fiona sighed and regarded her friend before leaning over and hissing. "You either want me to go fly a kite or to go set the eagles at the zoo free?"
Daisy's eyes narrowed dangerously behind her lens. She grabbed her pen and jotted down:
Shush!
"Seriously?" Fiona whispered, eyes meeting her friend's over the notepad. "You're flailing your arms around instead of whispering?"
"Miss Gallagher- am I interrupting you?"
Shit.
Daisy gave her a look which she could easily translate: Told Ya.
"Sorry Professor Carrins, it won't happen again," she apologized, heat flooding her cheeks. She heard a snicker behind her and wondered if the recent awakened frat strap was the source. Professor Carrins was infamous for being a stickler against noise. He had once thrown out an entire class from their exams when one person's cell phone had gone off. Every single student had to retake the class the following semester and he counted their attendance as part of their overall grade.
Daisy was looking pointedly at the front row, developing a sudden interested in the strangers and the back of their heads. Professor Carrins was staring balefully up at Fiona, eyebrows raised.
"See that it doesn't," he warned, turning back to the white board. Fiona sucked her lip in between her teeth. Great. Two weeks into the semester in a class of a hundred students and he had already memorized her name. Typical.
Tap. Tap....Tap....Tap. Tap. Tap.....Tap.
Fiona turned to offer her friend a very silent but clear message regarding two words that was easily expressed with the ease of one finger when she realized the tapping was not coming from Daisy but from above them.
Twisting slightly in her seat, Daisy was silently watching as the Frat Strap stared straight ahead, appearing obvious to their existence but silently tapping out what was clearly Morse code. His friend regarded him blankly for a second before shrugging and returning his attention to his text book. Or whatever he was hiding behind his text book.
Daisy grabbed the pen and translated.
He says u should come 2 O'Connell's. Happy Hour is until 9 2night.
Lifting a sandy eyebrow in response, Fiona scribbled her own message.
I'm pretty sure he's not interested in whether or not I come tonight.
Daisy blushed pink, her freckles popping in vivid contrast to the hue. She twisted her hand into a question mark.
Because, Fiona explained, I don't speak Morse code.
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