3
When I opened my eyes again, Elijah was
introducing himself on stage.
When the teacher tried to make us
seatmates,
I only hesitated for a moment before raising
my hand: “Teacher, I don’t want to.”
Yes, I was back in my freshman year.
The year Elijah fell for the girl who had bullied
him, Heather.
This time, I wouldn’t help him.
Elijah didn’t expect my words, his face
flushed.
Embarrassment and hurt flashed across his
face.
Not understanding my actions, the teacher
was stunned before calmly asking, “Why?”
Because I didn’t want any entanglement with
Elijah.
Nor any further involvement with this ingrate.
く
“I can read faces. He’s bad luck for me,” I
said, confidently lying, but without any
hesitation.
The teacher was speechless, scolding me for
being superstitious, but he still let him sit with
Heather, the school beauty.
As he walked over, I saw Heather roll her
eyes, dramatically moving her chair away,
spitting out three words: “Country bumpkin.”
At this point, Elijah was still living in a foster
home, but he worked part–time.
His circumstances were difficult, making him
seem malnourished and thinner than other
boys his age.
His clothes were faded, with visible patches
and outdated styles.
In my past life, he was my seatmate, with
Heather in front of us. When she called him a
“country bumpkin,”
I kicked her chair and told her to watch her
<
mouth.
Because I knew that once bullying started, if
no one stepped in, it would escalate.
At the time, I didn’t have feelings for Elijah. I
simply couldn’t stand him being bullied.
But this time.
Seeing Heather’s actions, I said nothing.
But I saw Elijah’s back stiffen.
I even felt like he wanted to look back at me.
I ignored it, focusing on my book.
