Why Me?

Chapter Eight

"Does how he has been acting around you seem like an imagination conjured story? Because to me, it doesn't. Teachers don't stand all close to you, or brush your shoulder as they walk past, or lean on your desk and act like-"

"Enough," I quiet hissed at her, my eyes tearing up in frustration. Delilah opened her mouth to rebuttal, but I cut her off with a hand motion and a continuation of my speech. "l don't know what you want to get out of this little charade, but it's not helping anyone, including yourself.

So, shut up, mind your own business, and wake up because your weird little fantasy doesn't make any fucking sense."

With that, I scooped all my things together, grabbed my bag, and left the dumbfound, gaping, Delilah behind as I stormed from the room, slamming the door on my way out I hooked my thumb around my shoulder strap, my mind buzzing with thoughts about Delilah's accusations, Wyatt's words, and the past weeks that I've been here. I thought that I would be troubled with learning how to live on my own right now. This was fucking ridiculous!

The door slammed open and closed behind me, and someone hurried after me, a speed walk. I looked behind me just as Wyatt MacNeill pounced on me with his furious gaze. I backed up a little.

"What the hell are you doing? Storming out of class and slamming the door, disrupting your fellow students? You know, it's my job to make sure my students--

"Are safe and shit, yeah, I know," I growled back, making his eyes widen and then narrow. He came up close to me, making me back away and push him at the same time, his brow knitted, his lip snarling. "Don't stand so close! Delilah is already suspicious of you-"

"Wait, what do you mean?" he asked, confused and a bit scared.

"She thinks that you're some kind of creepy pervert of something like you have some kind of crush on me and you're always hitting on me," I said, feeling myself cool off, my tone more explanatory than furious. His face was red by this point, his eyes wide. He opened his mouth, closed it, cleared his throat, and opened it again.

"Did you tell her anyth-"

"Are you fucking kidding me!" I exclaimed at him, gesturing my hands wildly, and, thus, flinging my things everywhere. Guess who didn't give a shit? Me. "l am on your side! I'm trying to make sure that you don't get fired or I don't get kicked out! Now you are turning the tables on me like it's my fault?"

"Hey, you know I didn't mean it like that," he said, gesturing his hands and taking a step closer. I took a step back, feeling my eyes welling up.

"You know, I think you did," I said, turning and beginning to walk the other way.

He hurried up behind me and grabbed my hand. I turned to him, eyes widening, and glanced down at our hands before looking back up at him.

He stared back, his face still slightly red, his hand still gripping mine. His thumb gently stroked my knuckles, once, before he let go, awkwardly stepping back and putting his hands in his back pockets.

"Um, your books are still on the ground," he said.

I looked down, blushing, remembering how I had scattered my own books and papers everywhere. I sighed, flustered, and bent down, beginning to push all my things together into a pile. Wyatt sighed and knelt down too, his knees cracking. He grabbed my photography notebook and binder, tapping them together on the ground and holding them out to me. I tucked my hair behind my ear, looking up at him

and accepting my books, tucking my papers on top of them as I balanced them in my lap. I sighed, folding my hands together and looking at the ground.