"I'll wait for you outside."
Couldn't I have come up with something less threatening?
What am I supposed to say now? "Don't run, I'm not a debt collector."
Although… that could be my backup plan if college doesn't work out.
And the worst part is I'm here, leaning against the wall. Literally at the door.
My classmates look at me like I'm a weirdo.
Not that I care.
…
Here she comes.
"Hey, Vali," I said, just loud enough for her to hear.
She ignored me. Figures. I'm a weirdo in her eyes.
I walked faster, almost beside her, ignoring the fact that she's ignoring me.
"Hi, Vali. Can we talk?" I asked, still being ignored.
…
I'm literally walking next to her and she's still ignoring me.
I smiled slightly. Just for me.
"Vali Istan… Vali Istan."
She looked at me with that obvious "what is this idiot doing?" face.
"Vali Istan."
"What!"
Students nearby stopped.
She blushed.
So she can yell like that… interesting.
"Hm? I just said your name three times. Is that weird?"
Yes. Very weird.
"Yes, and very. It's unpleasant."
Heh.
"Unpleasant? Or are you afraid of changing?"
She looked at me, slightly surprised.
Just discovered that if I challenge her, she responds. Not nicely, but still.
Apparently, she's got a lot of pride.
"That's not how it works," she said, raising her voice a bit, then lowering it instantly.
She slipped.
"How doesn't it work?"
I said it almost mockingly. In my head.
"Nothing…"
So stubborn.
"That's what I wanted to talk about," I said, keeping pace. She walked fast.
"Talk about what?" she asked, avoiding eye contact.
Very stubborn.
"About yesterday. Your split personality," I said bluntly.
She stopped.
"Why would I talk about that with you? I don't even know you and… you're weird."
Ouch.
It hurts when a weirdo calls you weird.
"After yesterday, you're the last person who can call me weird."
Shit.
I said that out loud.
She frowned and walked faster.
This time, I didn't follow.
At this rate, we'd end up outside her house… and my skateboard's still in the locker.
I went back inside.
Checked my watch: 8 p.m.
Classes ended two hours ago. I spent the other two "resting"…
And by "resting" I mean I used the time, before heading to work, to exercise at the little park on the corner.
Grabbed my skateboard and headed toward the 24/7 minimarket where I work.
Kick.
Skating is therapeutic.
Kick.
Especially at night. Headlights and moonlight guiding me.
Kick.
They're the best—alongside silence and nighttime calm.
Kick.
I can't help but feel… alive.
Stopped.
Walked toward the sliding door, the one that beeps every time it detects someone.
A very annoying beep.
"Ah! Aito, you showed up at the perfect time," said a man with a belly, thick beard, and shoulder-length hair.
I looked to his right.
Darion?
He's wearing the store apron. Obviously working here.
But… wasn't he the son of a "prestigious family"?
He saw me too. His face says: "What's this guy doing here?"
"Daril?" I said.
"WHAT?! It's D-A-R-I-O-N. You should remember that," he said, annoyed.
"You two know each other?"
"Yes, Mr. Jeffrey. We're classmates at university."
He didn't say anything. Just clenched his jaw and looked away.
"Isn't that right, Dorian?"
He stared at me.
Never seen a face show irritation and disappointment at the same time.
"Then I don't need to introduce you," he said, slapping Darion's back.
Darion Loxwood, of the Loxwood family. Working the night shift at a minimarket. Interesting.
"Well, I'm off. My wife's gonna kill me if I'm not at our wedding in ten minutes. HAHAHA!"
…
He said that while leaving, laughing hysterically.
Ding.
The beep.
Door closed.
…
Awkward silence is…
Awkward.
No other way to say it.
Why isn't he moving? Is he waiting for me to speak? Why doesn't he say something?
"So… how's the weather?"
Well, I tried.
"WHAT?!" he snapped, irritated for no reason.
Ding.
The door beeped.
A customer. My salvation.
"Nothing, you handle it. I'll go change into my uniform," I said, heading to the back room.
That was intense. Intensely awkward.
I'll have to accept it: no more working alone. My peace is over.
I hear murmurs.
?
"You should learn to respect your elders, you stupid kid!" said a middle-aged man, raising his hand.
This isn't the 19th century.
I grabbed his hand.
"What's going on?" I asked calmly. "Sorry if my friend said something weird. I know he didn't mean it. Right?" I said, looking at Dorian.
I was gone for literally five minutes.
The old man struggled, trying to break free.
"What? No, this old guy's stupid. He asked where the drinks were, and the fridges are packed with them at the end of the aisle. How else was I supposed to answer?" he said like he was totally right.
And he is.
"Stupid?! I'll hit you! You—Let go! You're gonna break my hand!" he said, nearly panicking.
Fair. I loosened my grip.
"Oh, sorry, sir."
I let go.
The man staggered back.
Sniff.
Sniff.
Alcohol.
Just what we needed: a drunk old man.
"Listen, sir. There are cameras, and behind the counter there's a button that alerts the authorities. I don't think you want a drunken outburst to drain your bank account with a lawsuit. Do you?"
He looked worried.
Dorian watched, alert.
"N-no… I'll leave," he said, resigned, accepting his fate.
That was easy.
I walked to the fridge near the counter and grabbed a bottle of water.
Handed it to him.
"Go. Your wife's probably worried about you."
"Yes, old man, you should st—"
"You shut up. No one asked for your opinion," the man said before stumbling out the door.
Ding.
"I could've handled it," said Darion, avoiding my gaze.
"Sure. You were doing great."