30_YAZU_30

Valentina Blue-Rose is a sixteen year old girl diagnosed with PCOS. As a result, she has developed immense weight gain-a characteristic which her peers and even family, acknowledge with disgust and disapproval. With one motive in mind (to finish high school in order to escape the small town of Crescent Towers) Valentina studies hard, whilst also trying to manage the constant bullying and torment of those around her.

However, upon crossing paths with Wyatt Hunter, a new student from Dubai, Blue-Rose soon discovers that there's more to life than remaining unnoticed, and living in accordance to society's standards. 
 
Hunter's support has offered her friendship, strength and the will to carry on. Despite the parental and social expectation, for the first time she craves to be an equal, striving for a good set of fiends, a healthy state of mind and in short, a 'normal' life.

There's only one question that remains: will Valentina's newfound confidence and the support of Wyatt, be able to overcome such an obstacle?

Blue-Rose

"The difference between the novice and the master is that the master has failed more times than the novice has tried." 


Koro Sensei, 'Assassination Classroom.'


Novice: a beginner or person who is inexperienced in certain situations.


Mint-green and lilac bikes swiftly drive on the dirt paths of the small town, as Wyatt and I turn the corner and proceed towards the end of our second lap. Clouds stretch across the skies like bleach-white ropes, the sun's light emits through them, while it dazzles on the glass surfaces. 


Wind breezes past our clothes, providing us with a sufficient amount of coolness and the heat in my checks significantly decreases, allowing my attention to be directed at the ache in my muscles or the lack of oxygen I'm able to respire. Running a few meters behind Wyatt, I come to a halt, resting my hands on my knees and bending over, in an attempt to regain my heart rate.


Realising that I'm not beside him, Wyatt jogs back, smiles and shakes his head in disbelief. He helps mr stand straight, giggling to himself at how quote on quote, 'dramatic' I am. He takes a sip of water, before taking out a spare one out of his bag and handing it to me.


Grateful, I mutter my thanks and appreciation as I drink the water. I sigh as it passes my throat and soothes the dryness in my mouth. After I finish, Wyatt slowly takes the bottle from me and discards it into the nearest recycling bin. 


"Would you like to sit down?" He quizzes with evident concern. "You look a bit pale."


"I'm fine," I say, brushing off his worry. "Just a bit tired."


Biting his lip and stroking his chin, Wyatt assess me, making a judgement on whether I'm telling the truth or not. Finally, he comes to the conclusion that I'm lying and that we better rest at the pale-pink marble fountain. Agreeing, we stagger towards it.


Sitting down, I feel much more at ease and I can tell Wyatt is too. He's happy knowing I'm in my comfort zone, which lets me know that he won't push me too hard but he'll push me hard enough to get me in the right shape of mind. Turning on my phone, I see that it's only two in the evening. I still have half an hour of this left.


"So," Wyatt begins, "what's the first stage of a warm up?"


I'm so distressed right now, that I honestly don't care if I get the answer right. We've been running around for an eternity and my foot hurts


"Girl, if this isn't over soon," I think, "just run along and go home!"


But then I think: "No, no more running!"


"Correct," he says. "And what is its purpose?"


I seriously forgot, but I will take a wild guess and say:


"To avoid the risk of injury and circulate blood and oxygen to the body," I answer in between pants.


"Correct again, Valentina. You're a very smart girl," Wyatt compliments.


"I know," I laugh whilst flicking my hair. However, I instantly regret it when Wyatt sends me a weird look. That weird look is then followed by a laugh and I can't help but laugh with him.


After the laughter has subsided, Wyatt becomes nervous, almost anxious. 


"I-I need to talk to you," he mumbles, scooting closer to me.


Frozen in place, I watch in surprise as Wyatt rubs my hand, then arm and then gradually makes his way to my face as he cups my cheeks in both hands.


Staring into my eyes, he sighs biting his lips and running his tongue along the bottom. Brushing his thumb against my lips, Wyatt then whispers in my ear:


"I know it was you who messaged me on Facebook."


Chapter 19