Yellow Thorns (Thorns Duet 0.50)

But if you do reply, I’ll probably do a year’s worth of victory dances.

Just don’t get any ideas about what this is. I can only be your friend, Naomi.

If you go and fall in love with me, I’ll have no choice but to disappear.

And that’s just sad.

And unnecessary.

Impatiently waiting,

Akira

1

Naomi

Everyone harbors a secret.

Some are mundane; others are downright twisted.

Apparently, my whole existence falls under the latter, because my mom is keeping it hidden like it’s some sort of national intelligence.

Or maybe it’s international, considering where she came from.

I kick the pebbles in my way as I unhurriedly make my way to cheer practice.

Blackwood College is one gigantic building with an ancient feel to it. A few towers stand proudly at every corner as if they’re the watchdogs of this place—or that’s what I’ve thought ever since I enrolled here.

Once again, courtesy of my dear mama, who hasn’t only made sure I study in rich people’s private universities, but also that I play the part by cheering and being in the popular crowd.

Who even likes cheering in college? Certainly not me. I’d rather live my twenty-one-year-old life listening to hard rock and having as little contact with humans as physically possible, thank you very much.

I’m not an antisocial who thinks stepping over people is okay. I’m merely an asocial who likes to leave them alone in hopes they’ll do the same in return.

No luck thus far.

I stare up at the building whose walls I’m privileged to be within. A building that’s as ancient as this town, located on the outskirts of New York City. Old, corrupted money constructed what others consider a place of elite education

.

Well, maybe it is. Or maybe I’d appreciate it better if I didn’t have to wear tight, tiny clothes that reveal my belly and strain against my sports bra that I wear in a fruitless attempt to flatten my huge breasts. ‘Huge’ per the cheer captain’s words.

Why don’t I just quit? Excellent question.

The answer is simple and boring—Mom.

As much as I have a love-hate relationship with the woman who gave birth to me, I haven’t forgotten how much she struggled raising me on her own all these years. When I was young and depended on her, she worked several part-time jobs and barely slept to keep a roof over our heads. So when she begged me to make an effort about being in the cheer squad, I couldn’t shoot her down.

She just likes seeing me in the spotlight, I guess. She wants me to make it so we don’t give the racist pricks any chance to look down on us just because we’re of Asian heritage.

That’s the only reason I’m still part of this nightmare.

At least, I hope it is.

My footsteps are heavy at best as I shuffle through the entrance to the football field. Clear sky extends for as far as I can see and the early fall’s sun shines down on the terrain. Due to the great weather, the captain and our coach decided we’d practice our routines outside.

There’s some important home game at the end of this week between our football team, the Black Devils—stupid name, considering the only thing devilish about them is their uniforms—and their biggest rivals from New York.