Everyone chattered loudly as we waited for class to begin. A man about my age pushed his way into the empty seat beside me. He caught his bag on the door handle, bumped a girl in the head with his elbow, and slammed his books down with such force that everyone stopped talking for a moment to stare at him.
His skin was very pale. His eyes and hair were nearly black. Thick arching eyebrows overwhelmed his face in an almost frightening way. But his eyes seemed kind so I smiled at him politely before turning away.
A moment later I looked over my shoulder to find him staring at me. Instead of looking away quickly, he asked me, “What’s your name?” The question itself was friendly enough, but he said it with such severity and excited aggression that I was caught off guard. Several awkward moments passed before I responded, “I’m Amy.”
“I’m Jeremy.” His hand jutted out like a pocket knife and startled me, causing me to jump a little, before I realized he was looking for a handshake. I took it hesitantly.
“Nice to meet you Jeremy…”
I like this. My favorite line is "His hand jutted out like a pocket knife and startled me, causing me to jump a little, before I realized he was looking for a handshake." It speaks well both to the movement he made and to your state of mind.
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