Philophobia || Shin Soukoku

9

(Atsushi's POV)

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"Nakajima, you'll need to get your grades up before the end of the semester if you don't want to fail." Mr. Fukuzawa's stare was piercing.

"Yes, I know." I looked down. I knew I had shitty grades, I knew I had to fix them, reminding me again isn't going to help with that.

He does mean well, though.

Maybe that would be the difference of today: not having terrible grades for once because my potential is so much higher than I represent. I doubted it, but it was worth hoping for.

I walked back to class without a single obstacle, no delinquents in the midst of skipping classes stopped to mess with me. Nothing. That was different too. The class was fine. Nothing significant happened, nothing unusual, aside from Twain draping himself over John and yelling cheesy pickup lines at him.

Thanks to my little chat with the principal I was a few minutes late, but at least I had an excuse. When I walked into my third hour classroom all I saw were annoying people and sappy couples that might as well break up the next day, a few loners (my kind) and the teacher's stare in my direction.

"And why are you turning up late, Nakajima?" His voice was like nails on a chalkboard to me. Annoying, kind of high pitched, and undesirable.

"I was talking to a teacher." I tried hard to keep my composure, but the pressure of thirty people who probably all hated me staring at my back really wasn't helping.

"Alright, get to your seat then." He nudged his head in a gesture to my seat in the middle of the room. To where I walked.

Class was bland. No other word could describe it better. No, more so, the whole day was bland! The only thong that somewhat stood out was that, instead of attacking me like a maniac, all that the little shit did at lunch was stare at me from a bench, look away for a few minutes, keep staring at me, adjust his tie, ect.. All of lunch continued on with the same thing. I knew he was looking at me, obviously. And he knew that I knew. The only times he would look away from me was when I looked back at him.

It was a little funny, actually; the second time he looked away he hit himself in the face with his fork by accident. It was absolutely hilarious, but all I did was let out a choking sound in an attempt not to laugh. Out of the corner of my eye, he went visibly red.

I know I reluctantly said he was mildly cute before, but this has entirely upped the ante.

Thanks, Akutagawa's fork.

Look at you go, thanking a fork. Also, you're blushing almost as much as him.

Screw off, Conscience.

You're whipped for him, man.

I refuse.

You can't refuse forever.

Just you watch.

I continued to indulge myself in the deliciousness that was cold spaghetti leftover from two days ago. I'd be lying if I said that I didn't somewhat stare at the black and white haired boy from time to time throughout the rest of the lunch period.

The only other thing about my day that stood out was at the very end of it. Let's recap. The bell signaling the end of the day rings loudly, and I follow the rest of my class into the crowd of hormone filled teenagers. I finally weave my way through and manage to make it to my locker. Whence I manage to open it after about 5 attempts, a small piece of paper falls down from the vent at the top of the door. I (somehow) manage to catch it before it hits the ground and turn it over to read it.