Chapter 7

"Instead of giving in, move forward."

Saitama, 'One Punch Man.'

I blush, disbelieving what I'm hearing. The room's expanding, the ceiling almost seems higher, the faint light from the window brightening. Everything is simpler, the complexity of the world fading away.

"You like me?" I stammer.

"Yeah," he says.

Blushing one more time, I smile, my heart thumping in my chest. I never thought that something like this would happen to me. Ever. To be honest, it's quite incredible to receive such attention from a boy.

"As a friend of course," he adds.

I literally feel my face drop.

"Wow, you just had to ruin the moment by making assumptions, didn't you Val?" I think, mentally face palming myself.

"Anyways," Wyatt continues, pulling dust covered chairs from one end of the room to the other, relentlessly scrapping them along the floor boards. "we need to talk."

Questionably, I raise my eyebrows, wondering what he means by those four words. From the movies, I can infer that this situation is never good. Yet, from Wyatt, I can infer that everything he has to offer and everything he does, is delivered in the name of kindness. Despite potentially and permanently ruining the rest of my self esteem, he has shown factors of loyalty by one: defending me against my classmates and two: keeping my special place a secret. Wait a minute, he has kept this place confidential, right?

I observe him, arranging the chairs into a seating position, brushing some of the dust off. Looking around, Wyatt spots a lamp and walks over to it.

"I wonder," he thinks aloud. "if this lamp works."

He pull the beaded string and soon enough, the lamp emits a soft, orange light.

I take this opportunity to ask my question.

"Are you sure no one knows about this place?" I quiz.

Chuckling, he answers with:

"If any staff member knew about this place, we wouldn't be here."

"What?"

"Think about it logically," Wyatt begins. "If anyone even suspected us being here, the door would've been locked. Meaning, we wouldn't be able to get in with such ease."

"Oh."

"Also," he goes on, "If anyone part of the school surmised that two students were here, they would've reported it and the principal might've sent for us if he found out."

"That makes sense..." I mumble.

"Finally, just to prove my point," Wyatt boasts, "if I suspected that someone knew about this place, I wouldn't have told you to meet me here, would I?"

"Okay, I get it!" I exclaim, annoyed.

"Good," he beams. "Now if your done with your interrogations..."

He takes out a white handkerchief and puts it on one of the crimson chairs.  Signalling for me to sit down, Wyatt says in what he thinks is a posh accent:

"M'lady."

Trying to stifle my laughter, I sit on the edge of the chair. Placing my hands on my lap and putting my bag on the floor, the boy in front of me sits down, smirking.

"Again, I'm surprised you came," he giggles.

I giggle along with him, aware of the fact that he's not getting to the point. He too realises this and decides it's time to tell the truth.

"I don't like the way people treat you," he states.

"Wyatt..." I protest.

"Let me finish," he interrupts, raising his hand.

I nod.

"Okay, say it."

He lets out a deep breath.

"I feel like you allow people to step all over you," he says. "I feel like you don't do anything to prevent or at least reduce the bullying. I know it's not your fault and I know you think that it's because of what you look but trust me, ever since day one I've been intrigued to get to know you, not because of your appearance but because you have an approachable personality, with a great sense of humour and overall, your sarcasm is just amusing," he smiles, presenting me with several reasons on why he thinks I'm great. I gush at his words as he continues.

"I want you to be more comfortable and yes, I know that's a little ironic when your literally sitting on a handkerchief, laying on a dust covered armchair, in a filthy room but I want you to be comfortable within yourself," he explains.

Then, he proceeds to gently grab my hands into his.

"Please, he whispers, "just be sincere when your feelings are hurt."

Turning my face away, I pull my hands from his.

"I'm leaving," I announce, already getting up.

"Val..."

"Bye Wyatt."

And with that, he's alone in the dimly lit room.

Do I feel bad?

Yes.

Do I think I did the right thing?

No.