Outsider Syndrome | ✓

Chapter 11 - "Two Hopeless Dorks"

"We shouldn't be here."

"Too late." Igarashi chucked the menu at my chest. He slid into the seat across from me. "We're eating 'til we're stuffed."

"At nine in the morning?"

"That a problem?"

I couldn't suppress a snort.

A huge grin poked into his cheeks, bringing a twinkle to his awe-inspiring green eyes.

"It's on me so order whatever you want. Desserts are fair game too."

"Is eating the solution to all your problems?"

"There's never been a single situation it hasn't helped. Now order before I change my mind."

I gnawed on my lower lip.

We'd ditched school twenty minutes ago. He led me through inconspicuous pathways and alleyways, slipping through the tiniest crevices, until finally arriving at a cafe reasonably far-off from campus. He hadn't asked what had gotten me down, though I'd argue he already knew.

He knew yet here he was cheering me up.

One moment he could be the most aggravating cockroach to walk the face of the planet and the next, shockingly considerate. Like two people crammed into a single—and very much tiny—body, I had no idea how to go about digesting it.

Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined I'd publicly break down into tears, let alone in front of the jerk I was sure would torment me to my last breath for it. Him dragging me to a cafe of all places to treat me was a bizarre spectacle as well.

By and by I sifted through the various breakfast and lunch commodities; even skipped ahead to the sweets section. Occasionally, I peered up to find Igarashi grinning widely to himself as he scanned his own menu. Wherever he went, whatever he did, he was blatantly obvious. He wore his emotions on his sleeve—something I wished to emulate.

I released the menu with an exaggerated breath. "I hate you."

He jolted. Whipped his head upward, jaw-slacked. "Hate me? Do you know how much I'm doing for you, woman?"

"Yep. And I hate it." My focus drifted out the open window, spilling warm beams of light against my face and neck. "You should've left me alone."

"I would've if I could. But you were begging for help. Sobbing on the floor like that."

I couldn't tell if I was blushing or if the heat of the sun was scalding my skin.

"I wouldn't have been on the floor if you hadn't blocked my way. Let me make myself clear: I neither asked for your help nor your sympathy."

"Don't you think it's a little late for this?" He pulled a face. "I don't offer to feed just anyone, you know."

I knew. The way he scarfed our meals the last time we went out to eat spoke volumes.

"Besides," he said, "as I said, it's common courtesy to accept people's kindness. So accept it."

Flatlining my mouth, I raked him over one last time. He beckoned I raise the menu a second time.

I didn't.

My mind was swirling. Bound by countless thoughts. Heart heavy like lead in my chest.

"You hate being indebted to me that much?"

"It's not that."

"Then what is it?"

I chewed the inside of my cheek.