After the Party

You made your way to the back of the school, near the garbage cans. You held the box of assorted litter tightly in your hands, careful not to drop it; you have had quite the challenge to pick up every piece of litter you can see on the way. The Christmas party for Year 2, Class 3, Ryonan High School had been fun, eventful. The cake, picked up from the local bakery down the road, was exquisite. You thought the pizza could've been less dry, and the soda a bit less stale, but for a party like this, you supposed you could let it slide.

Now, however, the presents have been exchanged, pictures have been taken, the karaoke machine have been exhausted beyond belief - you even thought that your class might've needed to pay extra if ever repairs needed to be done to the poor machine - and people were clearing up. Akira Sendoh had offered to help with the tidying of the party, dragging his friend Kicchou Fukuda along with him, so you decided to chip in and do the same.

As you walked to the back of the school, your shoes clicking on the school tiles, reflecting the fluorescent lights on the ceiling, you couldn't help but reminisce at the events that had taken place. You flash your thoughts upon the present you have been given - a box full of assorted art materials, and your grin widened. You flushed slightly at what your gift had been - a scrapbook filled with memories of the school year, and thought you could've done better than a measly notebook filled with pictures and notes. But... he, Kicchou Fukuda, didn't even seem to mind. If anything, he stared down at the cover of your gift, flipped through the pages with unreadable eyes, before finally looking at you and saying, "It's amazing" in that deep, husky voice of his.

Thump - thump.

You came to a halt, clutching the litter box tightly in your hands, your eyes focusing on the distant glow of the lampposts. Your breath caught up in your throat, and all of a sudden your mind flashed upon the way he accepted Akira's dare, the way he took the microphone from the karaoke machine's stand and raised it to his lips, the way he sang such a good rendition of "Sway" in a lazy, almost drawling, tone. You could still remember how almost everyone in the room stared at Ryonan's power forward, watching him sing with agape mouths and pointed fingers. You could've sworn you saw one of the girls pull out her phone and hurriedly record his performance.

But that wasn't what worried your mind; no, what muddled your thoughts was how he gazed at you the entire time with his hooded eyes. As if he was portraying something, as if he was trying to make you understand something.

Thump - thump.

You shook your head, feeling the blush creep onto your cheeks and ears. You resumed your walk to the garbage cans, picking your way through the throng of older and younger students going home and chatting and joking loudly as you passed.

Still, you couldn't deny the fact that you had an inkling as to what he was trying to tell you. The question is – why? Why you? Out of all the fans that had cheered his name during basketball games, out of all the students clambering around him whenever he and Akira passed the halls, he had to pick you. He had to pick the one whom he had only talked to a couple of times, the one that only watched his plays from afar.

But somehow, somehow, you knew that he liked you.