When Dan’s gas mask arrived, he didn’t even open the box. He slung it over his shoulder and took it to school, knocking against his backpack as he walked. He kept it on the classroom floor next to his bag, the hard edges jutting into his shins whenever he shifted in his chair. Next to him in class, Dafna used the shiny reflection of her pencil case to dab lip-gloss on with her index finger. Dan tried to ignore the slow way she did this, how she tucked thick strands of hair behind her ears, the red imprints her denim shorts left on her thighs. As she was screwing the cap back onto her lip-gloss, she knocked her pencil case onto the floor. The pens clattered around Dan’s feet and some of the pupils lifted their heads from their graph paper with half-interest. The teacher turned away from the chalked circles on the board, their radiuses, circumferences, diameters, and glared. Her eyes roved over the stirring students, over the laboured rattling of the air conditioner, and rested on him.
“We’re all waiting for you,” she said.
Though he wanted to defend himself, Dan scraped his chair back. He could feel Dafna’s eyes on him as he fumbled for the pens on his hands and knees.
The next day, Dafna used highlighters to draw on her gas mask box. She twisted away from him when she was doing so, her arm shielding her words, whispering to Tali who sat opposite, giggling. Dan pretended not to notice when they...
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