Outsider Syndrome | ✓

Chapter 14 - "Heavenly Upperclassman Hanai"

"Idiot!"

Any and all passersby halted in their tracks and gaped as I sprinted like my life depended on it. The blurring scenery behind my eyelids zeroed in on the individual ambling toward the school entrance.

Wasting no opportunity, and putting my long legs to use, I slide-tackled him. His legs hit my shoes, and he nosedived into the dirt.

"Ow! I'm killing you! Whoever did that, you're dead meat!"

Snarling, he leapt to his feet. I was up thereafter, brimming equal rage.

Anger at an all time high, nearby students gaping, it was luck alone that neither one of us jumped the other.

But, as if my hair had been yanked, my senses rushed back to me.

"Dammit, I'm not here to fight!"

"If you're not here to fight, why the hell did you tackle me?"

"Because I want to punch you! Badly!" I remarked. "What the hell are you thinking, giving Upperclassman Hanai your songs!"

That quelled his frustration in an instant. He gawked at me like he couldn't believe the words that came out of my mouth. Then, snapping his head left and right at listening ears, he yanked my wrist.

I was being dragged off before I realized what was going on.

When we arrived at a secluded portion of the school, he shoved my hand free. His following glower was the darkest I'd ever known.

"Who told you that?"

Momentarily discouraged, I sputtered for words. "Koshiba."

I expected an earful. About how I was being nosy, to forget it. Instead, he heaved a loud breath, threading his fingers through his hair and tossing strands over his eyes. "I left you for like, three minutes. Where did Keiko show up from? And why was she running her mouth?"

I was given reassurance. "So it's true?"

He didn't answer.

"She's getting an award for those songs, right?" I prodded. "Everyone thinks she's the writer of them. And you're just going to stand by and let her steal credit—"

"Of course not. I gave those songs to her. Have been for two years. I promised to write them on the condition she sing them."

"Then why is she getting all the credit?" I had to ask. "You should be getting that award!"

"I don't do it professionally so I don't need that," he said, this time with a scowl. "Besides, what's the point of writing songs if nobody can sing it?"

"You—"

"We went to karaoke together. You already know how tone-deaf I am."

My voice lodged in my throat. I faltered.

"Even so. . ."

"It's fine," he said. "Writing music has been a hobby of mine since I was little but it's not like I've ever imagined I'd get far. So, it's perfectly all right with me. I. . . want Upperclassman Hanai to sing them. With that new song I'm going to give her for the Music Festival, if she does make it and win an award, I'll be happy—"

My palm connected with skin. His cheek.

He yelped, floundering for his footing and grappling his face. "That hurt!"

"I don't care!" Without allowing him a fraction of a second, I seized and dangled him by the collar, glaring daggers at him. "Even if you're satisfied with this, I'm not! You worked your butt off for her and she's soaking up all this attention just because she has a great voice and a pretty face?"