BNHA || white lie

11

You drag your way back to your school. Somehow, you feel a bit exhausted.

You check your phone. You have about 15 minutes left before lunch ends. CIHA is only a block away.

Maybe I should rest somewhere. Like a cafe or something, you think, and look around you. A certain restaurant catches your eye, the glass front and bright colors calling in customers.

Didn't she say. . .

You walk in. The smell of cooked meat hits you, and you welcome it. You haven't eaten lunch yet. Typically you don't eat this kind of food, but. . .

A group of girls squeals from beside you. You glance at them; they are pointing at you, phones up, snapping pictures. You sigh internally. This is why you liked to go further into the heart of LA, where the crowds were so large no one would notice a little hero like you in their midst. With a barely visible grimace you turn around to greet them, slipping into a happier facade.

All this trouble just for some food. Food you don't like for someone you don't like. Your smile twitches slightly. What are you even doing?

.

.

.

You slap the paper bag onto the table. "Here," you pant lightly. Your own bag is grasped tightly in your other hand, your blazer tossed carelessly over your arm. You didn't think you would have to sprint to escape the media.

"This. . .is for me?"

You frown slightly. "If you don't want it, that's fine. . .but you said you wanted to try some American food, right?"

Hagakure perks up. "You heard me?"

"Uh, yeah," you admit, flushing. What are you even doing?

Maybe you should have listened more closely to Hagakure when she said all of class 1-A sat at one table. Now you have twenty pairs of eyes boring into your form. That's forty eyes, you think, then curse at yourself for making yourself more nervous.

". . .It's just a burger," you mumble. "American food isn't all that good. But you wanted it and I heard that this restaurant makes good ones. So."

The girl in front of you brightens. "I didn't think you would get me anything!" she squeals happily. "Thank you so much! I knew you were a good person!"

"Not really," you mutter. "It's just. . ."

So much blood.

". . .I felt a little guilty, is all."

No one notices the fuming ash blond at the end of the table.

---------

"Today we'll be focusing on hero morals and values. I want all of you to form groups of four before I discuss your assignment for today." Chatter grows among your classmates as they begin to group up. Voices call out to each other, the occasional shout rising above the rest.

The contentment from this morning has long since faded away. Your mood only worsens when you realize you will be working on this project alone, as usual. No one was bold enough to ask the top student of CIHA, leagues above them, to join their group. It was almost like being picked last for a team--when the teacher took pity on the last couple of students patiently waiting to be called so they were just assigned to a group, not wanting them to go through the embarrassment of being last. It didn't matter in the end, because those last few were always ignored in the game anyways, no matter how hard they tried to help. Just because it happened all the time didn't mean it hurt any less when it did.