She reads a passage from her book and looks at me, expectantly. I stare what I can only imagine as somewhat blankly but feign intrigued. I don't understand. Embarrassment and inadequacy washes over me underneath my skin unnoticed. Why don't I understand? Why don't I have anything to say? We are on two totally separate academic levels. My insides shrink into themselves, hiding in shame. I hope it doesn't flash across my face. My deepest insecurity. One day she will realize that I do not challenge her. That I am just below her, and there I will stay. She will become bored of my lack of response, my lack of intellect. She will reach for more and find nothing. She will search for something I cannot giver her.. and this plagues my anxious wanderer of a mind.
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