He opens his good eye. "What do you want, Willow?"
I sit next to him. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he grits out.
"Did he break anything this time?" I question.
Wyatt's jaw tics. He sarcastically mumbles, "Nope. I'm super lucky today."
I stay quiet, staring at his fist.
"Is there something else you need?" he asks.
I lean against the wall. "No."
"Then why are you still sitting here?" he questions, turning his head toward me.
Hazel's right. Wyatt's cute.
A warm flush floods me. It's sudden, chaotic, and seems to rewire me.
"Why are you staring at me like that?"
"I-I'm not," I stutter, my breath stumbling, two breaths behind every heartbeat.
What is happening?
"I don't need your pity, Willow."
The giddiness disappears. I put my hand on his forearm, confessing, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I just feel bad for you."
"Well, don't," he barks.
Tension builds, full of silence and suffering, which seems almost appropriate due to Wyatt's situation.
I take my hand off his arm and return to leaning against the wall. I ask, "Why did you go there?"
"I wanted my stuff."
"Why didn't you take Jagger?"
"I already explained this to your dad. I don't need to explain myself to a kid," he sneers, spitting the last word like it tastes rotten in his mouth.
Hurt fills me. I snap back, "I'm not a kid."
"You are."
"I'm a freshman, and you're a senior. We're practically the same age," I argue.
He scoffs. "I'm eighteen next week, and graduating in three. I'm a man, and you're..." He glances over at me.
My heart slams into my rib cage. "I'm what?"
He turns and rests his head against the wall again, closing his eyes. He finishes, "You're a girl with everything. Go enjoy it, and stop fussing over me."
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I can't deny his statement. I am lucky.
He doesn't move, and neither do I.
