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Show 77 His desk was jus.t a little to the side of Miss Petrov's, and watching her, he forgot to think about what he should write on the paper. Miss Petrov's head was bent over an open book, but she glanced up often to look at her students. On one of the glances Karl noticed her eyes -- they were either light brown or gray, he wasn't certain, but he studied them until he decided that the color was a mixture of both brown and gray. Her eyes tilted slightly upward at the outer edges, and were rimmed by dark, curved lashes, over cheekbones higher than ordinary. She wore her hair swept up, caught in a coil so thick it would have filled both Karl's hands. The brown hair swelled in full curves from her temples to her crown, and the hairline was edged by fine tendrils that shone dull gold in the light from the windows. Gradually drifting into a daydream, Karl wondered how the fine gold tendrils would feel if he should reach out and touch them, curl them around his fingers. Miss Petrov's eyes caught his and he flushed, dropping his stare to the yellow paper on his desk. "Sometimes I make up songs." Yulyona would be a wonderful name to build a song around, but the only word he could think of to rhyme with it was "dona." At mass the priest said, "Dona nobis pacem." Give us peace. All too soon Professor Dowling entered the room to teach algebra. Miss Petrov collected the students' papers and went to another room -- would she want to know all about the freshmen, too, and the juniors and seniors she would teach this year? Karl groaned when Mr. Dowling passed out the algebra books, and Mr. Dowling shot him an angry glance. |
