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The annual ‘Arts and Literature’ week was around the corner at Eden Academy and the Cecile hall fourth-graders decided to put on a play. Well, their national language teacher, Mrs Wagner, decided to. Nothing big or extravagant like any of the drama club's productions, just a modest showing of an original play written by Mrs Wagner, who regularly used school productions as a springboard for her dream job as a playwright.
In an effort to get the entire class excited and involved in her play, Mrs Wagner decided to forgo holding auditions. Instead, she went around the classroom and asked every student to pick a role out of a hat. How was she supposed to know the repercussions of such a simple act on the class’ delicate ecosystem?
But Becky knew. She knew it from the moment Anya was cast as ‘the wife’.
Mrs Wagner explained her vision to the children who were not at all paying attention to her animated ramblings. When the bell rang, she quickly went around the room to distribute the script. “Oh, and don’t forget, we'll begin rehearsing next week. In the meantime, I want everyone to familiarise themselves with the script.”
As soon as Mrs Wagner left, George Glooman slid into the vacant seat next to Anya. He rested his head on his palm in an awkward pose that looked like it was straining his arm, before opening with, “You know, all my leading ladies fall in love with me.”
Anya gave him a long-suffering smile. “Is that right?”
Becky grimaced at his attempt to be suave. “That is a terrible pick-up line, Glooman. And not to mention, a lie.”
Unfortunately, for Anya, the role of ‘the husband’ had fallen to George. It was common knowledge amongst the fourth-graders of Cecile hall that George Glooman was more than a little melodramatic.
It was no surprise then, that George was a serial crusher. At the tender age of ten, he’d accumulated a long list of short-lived ex-crushes. And in true George Glooman fashion, he mourned the end of each one with a level of grief reserved only for couples processing the dissolution of a decades-long marriage.
He had crushed on most of the girls in their class (including Becky, but who could blame him) at some point already, so the laws of probability dictated that it was Anya’s turn to be the object of George’s desire.
“This isn’t graded, is it?” Anya asked.
“No! You can’t grade the thrill of being on stage! Or the way your body tingles at curtain call. Or the–”
Anya and Becky's indifferent expressions made George suddenly feel self-conscious. He quickly cleared his throat. “They do sometimes award stella to the best actors, if that’s what you’re interested in.”
“Oooh!” Anya’s eyes shone with interest and Becky noticed just how much George perked up at that.
“Have you ever heard of method acting?” he inquired.
While Anya shook her head, Becky rolled her eyes. She knew exactly what George was playing at with that question. It took a schemer to recognise another, and after all, who was a better schemer than her?
“It’s when you become the character, even when you’re not on stage,” George explained. “See, if you live and breathe your character, then your performance will definitely be stella worthy.”
“You were a tree in our last play,” Becky callously reminded him. “And no offence but you weren’t exactly ‘stella worthy’.”
George winced at her words and clutched his chest as if a dagger had pierced straight through his heart. “Well, Mrs Wagner said ‘There aren’t any small parts, only small actors’.”
As someone who enjoyed the theatre — both watching it and being in school plays — Becky didn’t appreciate his patronising tone. Before she could refute the idea that she was too uncultured to understand the importance of smaller roles, Anya piped up.
“So, how do I become my character?”
“Well, I’m glad you asked,” George said with a cunning smile and steepled fingers. “We’re playing a husband and wife, so obviously we have to act like a husband and wife.”
Anya looked at him skeptically. “Is it really that easy?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Then suddenly, Anya swivelled around and gazed up at Damian, who sat a few rows behind them. He’d been stewing in his seat since the roles were assigned. It was an open secret that the boy was absolutely smitten with her best friend and Becky imagined he harboured some not-so-pleasant feelings about George right about now, but that wasn’t exactly newsworthy. Damian would be jealous of a mannequin if it stood too close to Anya.
Becky watched with curiosity as Anya and Damian had what she’d dubbed, eye conversations. She assumed it was their way of flirting in a room full of people. They probably thought they were being discreet too, but not under her watchful eyes they weren’t.
Becky melted into her seat, sighing contentedly. A secret love language! It was so romantic, just like in her favourite period dramas, where a lady would use a fan to communicate her feelings to her lover.
Keeping with the romantic spirit, Becky began to formulate a plan of her own, right under Anya and George’s noses.
“You guys can’t be a married couple without a wedding,” Becky explained to the soon-to-be newlyweds. “I’m thinking... a small ceremony out near the fountain. The flowers in the gardens are in bloom too. It’ll be beautiful! And the weather is so lovely today, it’d be a shame not to.” She was more thinking out loud than anything else.
“You really think that's a good idea? It sounds like a lot of work,” Anya said.
Becky grabbed her best friend’s hands. “Just trust me, Anya. I can totally pull this together by lunch, okay?”
Anya squeezed Becky’s hands back in agreement. “Okay. For a stella star, I’ll do it,” she declared.
With Anya on board, Becky turned her attention to George, who remained suspicious of her sudden eagerness. If she wanted this thing to go well, then she needed him to believe she was fully on board with his union with Anya.
“Listen up, George. If you really want to be Anya's husband, then here's what you need to do at recess…”
At recess, Damian was busy studying hard. At least he was, until Ewen and Emile dragged him away from his favourite spot in the library and forced him outside, highlighting the importance of getting sunlight as an excuse for their heavy-handedness. While his eyes adjusted to the blinding sun, Damian hissed like some kind of pasty vampire, so… maybe they had a valid point.
The three of them found a picnic table to sit at, but it proved very difficult to study outside what with Ewen and Emile very loudly debating the existence of aliens (he was team Emile of course, there was no way aliens actually existed) and all the other kids in the playground screaming and laughing.
Too many distractions, he thought. How exactly was he supposed to concentrate with this racket? As Damian internally debated whether to go back to the library or just tell his friends to ‘shut up’, gasps and awws rang across the playground, drawing everyone’s attention.
“What’s happening?” Ewen wondered, just as Emile stood tall on the table to get a better view of the commotion
“It looks like… it’s George Glooman,” Emile reported back.
Damian frowned, closed his books and stood up, deciding to return to the quietude of the library and away from all this drama.
“So, what’s he done now?” Ewen asked.
“He’s on his knee, giving something to…” Emile craned his neck a little more. “To… to Forger!?”
Damian barely took three steps towards the library when he stopped dead in his tracks and turned around, suddenly very disinterested in being studious. “Wha– what did he give her?”
Both Ewen and Damian looked up at their friend perched on the table, waiting for his answer.
“I think it’s a…a ring!” Emile announced.
Ewen’s eyes widened. “What? A proposal? No way!” he said, semi-scandalised and joined Emile to stand on the table to gawk at Anya and George.
A terrible feeling took root in the pit of Damian’s stomach and as the crowd slowly dispersed, he could only stare at the scene unfolding in front of him. George with his cheesy smile and Anya waving her ringed hand around to the crowd’s delight.
Something in Damian’s chest shattered, and he was quickly consumed by an ache so profound he had to sit back down. Why would Anya ever say yes to that? Before today, the idea that Anya and George would ever get married was so far outside the realm of possibilities that Damian was left speechless. He slumped over on the table in deep, deep… well he wasn’t sure exactly.
That was a lie.
Damian was well aware that he felt some type of way about Anya and it frustrated him more than anything else. Everyone in his life fit neatly into their designated boxes. His family was — for better or for worse — his family. Ewen and Emile were his best friends. Even Becky Blackbell fell perfectly into the frenemies box. But Anya was impossible to place.
She certainly wasn’t his family yet. She was a friend of sorts, but not like Ewen and Emile were his friends. Anya could potentially be his frenemy, her antics certainly overqualified her, but placing her in the same category as Becky felt so wrong and not to mention nauseating.
So, somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, hidden away under lock and key, where her telepathy could never reach, he designated Anya to her own special category. The ‘friend, who on occasion, in the right light, I find pretty’ box. It was a mouthful but that was as much as he was willing to admit for now.
Damian couldn’t afford to wallow in the mire of his ‘heartbreak’. People would get suspicious. And God forbid, they might even start suspecting Anya of stealing his heart or something just as ridiculous, and that would be so embarrassing.
Some girls in their year walked by, discussing the surprise proposal.
“I can’t believe Anya Forger is getting married before me,” one lamented.
“Don’t feel too bad, it was a ring pop and also… it’s George,” another pointed out, attempting to cheer up her friend.
A ring pop?
Damian didn’t know much about all that mushy love junk but he knew for certain that a man was not supposed to propose with a piece of plastic bejewelled with candy!
What an awful cheapskate that George Glooman was. He couldn’t even do the bare minimum. And poor Anya was a commoner! She didn’t know any better, and now she was doomed to a life of dissatisfaction.
Vibrating with an anger he couldn’t quite place, Damian found his voice and came to life like a wind-up doll with way too much energy.
“Am I the only one who thinks this is absolutely insane?! Those two weirdos are a match made in hell! I-I mean, they’ll never last. No one actually believes this is going to last, right??? It's a candy ring for crying out loud! That’s cheap and— and not to mention, pathetic! And I don't even know what's more embarrassing: proposing with a candy ring or accepting it? Wh-why would she accept that? I DON'T GET IT!" Damian spat out in the space of one breath.
Ewen and Emile took one look at their visibly irate and flustered friend and immediately shut down their own discussion about the situation. They quickly climbed off the table and sat back down on either side of Damian. They had the gall to look at him — a Desmond! — pitifully.
“Are you okay, boss?”
Damian blushed profusely, feeling their eyes suffocating him with grave concern. “U-um, what? Why wouldn’t I be?” he muttered.
“Because, you know…?” Ewen made sure to tread carefully.
But Emile had no such regard. “Because you have a crush on her.” He pointed it out so nonchalantly, that it made Damian recoil and hop off the bench.
“No, I don’t! Th-that’s ridiculous. I have… the opposite of a crush on her! A… uh, a not crush.”
"A not crush?" Ewen said to himself under his breath.
Emile looked at Damian funny. “But, the other night, when we were having midnight snacks you said—”
“It doesn’t matter!” Damian squeaked. “Whatever I may or may not have said was only because you gave me so much candy!” He pointed an accusatory finger at Emile, then crossed his arms, wondering what it was about the middle of the night that made it so easy to confess secrets. “Plus, I was super sleepy… so it doesn’t count.”
Ewen and Emile saw through his pathetic attempt to save face.
“I mean it! I don’t like her,” he reiterated.
Ewen put his hands up in resignation. “If you say so.”
“Why would anyone want to marry George? Or Anya for that matter? They're both really weird,” Emile mused, and before Ewen could elbow him for dissing Damian’s ‘not crush’, Becky magically appeared to smack Emile upside the head.
“Ow!” he cried, smoothing out the hairs she knocked out of place.
“Don’t insult Anya! I think you’ll find George has excellent taste, wouldn't you agree, Damian?” she teased.
Damian grumbled to himself and decided to escape to the library before his face could get any redder.
Recess was followed by art class. The students were paired off and working on portraits of each other. Damian absentmindedly sketched Ewen’s face, all the while eyeing Anya as she drew her partner, George. It bothered Damian so much that she was sitting across from George and not him.
Any time there was a task that required a partner or group work, Anya would do everything in her power to work with him, without fail. Damian didn’t want to admit how much it stung that she didn’t even approach him this time. Although, he supposed being someone’s fiancee did change things now.
Damian’s face dropped and he stopped drawing for a moment. Was he even allowed to find her pretty anymore? Surely, it was ungentlemanlike to pine after someone’s fiancee… but he couldn’t help it. And it seemed like he wasn’t alone in thinking that. Now that she was engaged to be wed, more boys took an interest in Anya.
“She’s not that weird you know.”
“Yeah, she’s actually pretty cute.”
“And she can fight too, which is totally cool.”
Damian listened to his classmates fawn over Anya. Losers, he thought. He already knew all that, well before she was off the market. It wasn’t fair, George only took an interest in Anya because of that stupid Mrs Wagner and her stupid hat and the stupid luck of the draw. He didn’t really know Anya. Not like Damian did.
His mind kept circling around one question: why did Anya say yes to marrying George? Would Anya just marry anyone who asked her? Maybe that’s why she was always inviting herself to his house. To meet his family in the hopes that they'd get married one day? And he’d stupidly spurned her at every opportunity. Damian silently cursed himself.
"Okay, children. Pencils down," their art teacher said.
Ewen came around to see Damian's portrait of him and he was absolutely offended. “Is that what you think I look like? Like an angry banana?”
Damian tilted his head and judged his work. No one could deny that it had… the essence of Ewen.
“You know art has never been my strong suit.”
While the class packed up all the various pencils, markers and paints they used, Ewen and Emile discussed how much they looked forward to the dodgeball game in PE next period. Damian wished he could share their enthusiasm but he was certain nothing could lift his spirits and out of the doldrums. Especially not when the reason for his sour mood was approaching hand in hand.
That was another thing that annoyed Damian. The constant hand-holding everywhere they went. And what business did George have holding Anya's hand anyway? The way George swung her hand around so carelessly infuriated Damian. Anya's hand was small and delicate and fit perfectly in his and as much as Damian didn’t want to admit it, it was also a source of comfort he didn't want to share with anyone else.
“Hi, guys!” Anya greeted. “You've probably heard we’re getting married, we wanted to invite you to our wedding. It’s today at lunch!”
“That’s… nice,” Ewen said.
Damian locked eyes with Anya and thought, you're actually serious about this? Why?
Her pupils moved in affirmation and she turned her attention to Emile.
“Emile, would you like to be the o-fish-ant?”
He glanced at Damian, unsure whether to accept. Damian rolled his eyes and somehow Emile took that as approval.
“Uh, sure. I’d never done it before, but how hard could it be, right?”
George continued, “Oh, and Ewen, we want you to be the best man.”
“Best man? Oh wow. I’ll do it."
“Great! We’ll see you guys at the wedding then,” George said, and he and Anya began to walk away.
Damian blinked in confusion. Was this a joke? He’d deal with Ewen and Emile’s traitorous acceptance to this sham wedding later, but first, he wanted to know why he was being left out of said sham wedding.
“Hello!? What about me?” Damian demanded.
“What about you?” George repeated.
“Well… what’s my role?”
“Your role? You’re just a guest Sy-on boy,” Anya explained.
A mere guest!? Of all the things Anya had done or said to him, this was the most offensive.
“Everyone else gets to do something cool except me!”
“There are no more roles. Becky said this was the best way.”
Damian felt his entire body shivering with jealousy anger. “Fine. I didn’t want to go to your stupid wedding anyway.”
“Well, that’s perfect because we’re uninviting you,” George spat then ran behind Anya hoping not to invoke Damian’s wrath anymore. “We don’t need this kind of energy on our wedding day,” he whispered in her ear. “Let’s go, sweetheart.”
Damian watched as Anya was being dragged away and out of his life.
Wald hall vs Cecile hall in a classic game of dodgeball. Damian had been praying that Bill Watkins would take out George since the game began, but regrettably, it looked like the great Bazooka Bill was off his game today. That or George was just extremely lucky.
George scampered about the court practically attached to Anya’s hip, complimenting her evasion skills every time she dodged a ball.
“Great job, honey!”
Damian rolled his eyes. George had used up every term of endearment under the sun for Anya, words that Damian would never dare to use, not even in his mind. But all that told Damian was that George couldn’t even think of a nickname for her, just a bunch of generic placeholders. Granted, ‘stubby legs’ didn’t really evoke a romantic aura, and neither did ‘Sy-on boy’, but at least it was unique. It was their thing.
Anya briefly glanced in his direction, catching him staring. Between her flushed cheeks and meek smile, Damian just couldn't read her expression. Was it a cry for help? Did she need rescuing? She's probably tired from all the exertion, Damian told himself, or… she finally realised just how wrong George was for her but didn’t have the heart to back out of their wedding? Anya had called him a hero before once and he didn't exactly hate how it made him feel, so if that's what she needed — a hero — he could be that for her once again.
Someone from Wald hall launched a ball and aimed it squarely at George.
“Watch out, Mrs Glooman!” George yelled, before cowering behind Anya as she masterfully dodged the incoming ball while George escaped elimination by the skin of his teeth, again!
“Unbelievable,” Damian muttered under his breath. Mrs Glooman !? The more Damian pretended to be unbothered, the more it bothered him. It was a hellish loop he'd been stuck in since recess and it had reached its boiling point. If Bill wasn’t going to do it, then Damian would.
As if the universe was egging him on, a dodgeball came to a stop at his feet. He picked it up and with all the might his ten-year-old body could muster, he hurled the ball towards George. The ball boinked off George's empty head and he fell in dramatic fashion.
“Uh, nice shot…?” Emile didn’t quite understand his friend’s actions, but then, neither did Damian.
“Hey, man! You’re supposed to hit the other team,” George moaned, sprawled out on the court and pathetically rubbing the side of his head as if he’d been shot.
Damian bumbled around for an excuse. “It was an accident,” he settled on. Lately, Damian seemed to have a very casual relationship with the truth.
“That was not an accident!” George wailed, as some of their classmates tended to his side, including Anya.
Coach Bobby blew his whistle and the shrill sound drew everyone’s attention.
“Desmond! Time out for unsportsmanlike behaviour. Hit the benches,” he ordered.
Stomping off the court, Damian plopped himself and his all-consuming anger on the bench. He made the mistake of sitting near Becky.
“Oh ho ho, someone’s jealous,” she remarked, behind a sly hand, which failed to stifle her giggles.
“Get real. It… slipped out of my hand.”
“Keep telling yourself that, you might start to believe it.”
Damian rested his head on his palms, his elbow digging into his thighs. He didn’t miss the pitying look she directed his way. That was exactly what his day needed, for Becky Blackbell to feel sorry for him. He could feel her staring at him so intensely, he felt like he'd walked into a lion's den.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he snapped.
“Sorry, but you pelting Glooman with the dodgeball like that reminds me of when Antonio shot Maria’s betrothed. All because he couldn’t stand to watch her marry another man. It was so romantic! I guess jealousy makes people do crazy things in real life too.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Becky gaped at him. “Helloooo!? Berlint in Love,” she said.
Damian scoffed. “Well, firstly, I’m not jealous and secondly, your show is dumb!”
It wasn’t jealousy. It's not as if he wanted to be in George's position or anything. Nope. Not at all. He just liked order and structure and this wedding was going to mess with the status quo. He was just trying to look out for that idiot but she was making it so incredibly difficult. Becky couldn't have been more wrong. Honestly, he should laugh in her face, but he didn't.
“Out of curiosity, wh-what happened in the end?” Damian asked.
“Hmm?”
He let out a deep sigh and through gritted teeth mumbled, “Did Maria go through with the wedding or what?”
Becky's smirk was beyond smug, she shuffled closer to him on the bench and made herself comfortable by crossing her legs. “Wellllll… Antonio got thrown in jail so obviously Maria had no choice but to marry her betrothed. But Antonio was so in love with her that he broke out of his cell, crashed the wedding and confessed his feelings for her in front of everyone.”
Everyone? Damian’s eyes widened. “And then?” He held his breath. Why was he so invested in this?
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I’ll find out tonight when it airs.”
Damian's eyes drifted back to the court. “You’re the worst, you know that?”
“Blackbell, you’re back in,” Coach Bobby called.
“Ugh! Good chat! I hope I'll see you at the wedding, Antonio, ” she punctuated with a wink.
What a nightmare.
In the bathroom, Becky was getting Anya ready for her lunchtime wedding. She brushed Anya's hair out and styled it in a loose half-up and half-down manner. Anya felt surprisingly nervous, she was certain it wasn't because of the wedding but she was still queasy all the same.
Becky was too concentrated on removing Anya's horns to notice her unsettled nerves.
“I think Sy-on boy was upset that I didn’t give him a role in the wedding,” Anya blurted out.
“Trust me when I say it’s better this way,” Becky said, now extremely focused on fixing a tiara that she nicked from the drama department onto Anya's head.
“But, now he’s not coming...”
“I’m sure he’ll turn up. There's no way he'd miss your wedding.”
While Anya couldn’t exactly understand what Becky was getting at (her mind was awash with romantic and flowery visuals and she was bouncing around from thought to thought at such a breakneck speed that Anya didn’t even want to know about it any longer), she did know what her own motivations were. Stella star, stella star, stella star, she chanted in her head.
Becky worked with what she had. The fountain was a lively backdrop and the pale gravel path made for an excellent aisle. The pint-sized guests gathered on either side of the path on the lush green grass. Becky had run all around the campus to find the best assortment of flowers for Anya’s bouquet. She couldn't help but admire her handiwork.
The lovely kazoo rendition of ‘Here Comes the Bride’ was Bill's cue to begin walking Anya down the aisle.
“—speak now or forever hold your peace," Emile read off the cue cards Becky provided.
She couldn’t be happier. Everything was going smoothly.
“I object!”
Becky grinned from ear to ear. It looked like the guest of honour had arrived right on time.
“I object!”
Damian was a boy possessed. With the wind in his hair and growing conviction with each step, he had only one thing on his mind: to derail this wedding. It was the right thing to do, bringing back some sense of normalcy to this school.
As he approached Anya and George, Damian remained steadfast in his declaration, even amidst the awed gasps from the crowd.
“I thought you weren’t coming, boss?” Emile asked him.
“Well, I’m here now aren’t I?”
Damian's eyes were drawn to Anya, who looked completely stunned. Bathed in the sunlight, she sparkled in front of him. Damian was utterly captivated and momentarily distracted from his goals.
“Y-you guys cannot get married,” he spluttered.
“Stop causing a scene, Damian!” George hissed.
“No! This whole thing is ridiculous.”
“You are!”
“Did you even ask her father for her hand in marriage?” Damian posed to George, who became wide-eyed at the question.
“A-a-ah, we were just so in love it slipped our mind. Isn’t that right, darling?”
Damian continued to argue with George. Their back and forth devolved into well-thought-out arguments of "nuh-uh" and "uh-uh". With the two of them barking at each other like rabid dogs, it was no wonder that someone eventually stepped in.
“Everyone shut up!" Anya's scream cut through their petty argument. She caught the attention of everyone in the general vicinity but she was only focused on him. "You don't need to argue, it’s just a pretend wedding, Sy-on boy. You worry too much.”
“Pre-pre-pretend?! ” George hyperventilated.
“It was your idea! Plus, I can’t marry you for real. I’m only… uh, nine years old.” She shrugged. “I was just method acting like you suggested, Glooman!”
An act!? It was all an act? Damian would be overcome with relief if he hadn't just made a big deal about this whole thing. He was lucky there weren't any mirrors around so he couldn't be face to face with his embarrassment.
With the promise of a wedding ripped away from them at the last second, the other kids left to find better things to do. Damian took that as a cue to leave too. This was not his greatest hour and exactly the kind of cringe memory that would haunt him for the rest of his life. Then, he felt something or rather someone grab his blazer sleeve. It was Anya, looking more confused than she ever had in any classroom.
"Why did you do that?" she asked.
Damian swallowed and skipped straight over her question. "Uh, yeah... I’m sorry about that. About crashing your wedding,” he said, sheepishly.
She let out a ragged breath. “Nah, it’s fine. It was exhausting being George’s pretend wife all day. I’m-I'm glad you did it.”
Now it was Damian’s turn to pretend, to pretend like his heart wasn't rattling against his ribcage. “Just do me a favour and start using your brain. I’m not going to be there to object at all the weddings of the second-rate proposals you accept.” He drilled the side of her head with a finger, hammering home his point.
“I didn’t realise you cared so much,” Anya said, stepping away from him.
“I-I don’t.”
“But you just said—”
“I said this is the last time!”
“If you must know, I only did it so I could get a stella for best acting..." she said, before turning to him with her stupid trademark smirk. "But I fooled you, didn’t I? I’m a better actor than I thought.”
Damian was half-impressed with her tenacity and half-disturbed at the lengths that she was willing to go. “You’re more desperate for stellas than even me…” he said.
“Yes, I am. Now, if you'll excuse me, I should go thank George. I can't believe his advice actually worked,” she said, skipping over to him while he cursed the heavens for his failed marriage.
“Oh, cheer up,” Becky said, nudging Damian with an elbow. “I’m sure the next time Anya gets married you’ll be the one she says ‘I do’ to.”
"Sh-shut up. Oh my god! Do you ever just shut up!?" His cheeks burned fiercely and in a moment of weakness, he allowed himself to imagine such a scenario. Inside a church nestled in the Ostanian countryside, Anya stood opposite him at an altar. Only she was older, and somehow prettier. She wore a beautiful wedding gown, with long flowing hair under her veil. But she still had her signature bangs and they framed her face just right. This older Anya spoke the magic words, "I do," and then the older version of himself was prompted to kiss his new bride.
And that's when Damian realised his mistake. It was a careless mistake, considering Anya was a few feet away. She turned towards him, her face was flushed like he’d never seen before. There was no mistaking that she’d seen his self-indulgent daydreams, the most explicit he’d ever been about having a crush on her. They stared at each other like two red tomatoes until Damian felt his lungs burn from the lack of breathing.
“Uhh, just forget what you saw!” he wheezed, quickly pushing past her and George to try and escape that ever-suffocating feeling that plagued him for as long as he’d known Anya.
In the background, he heard Becky interrogate Anya.
“What’s he talking about? See what? What's there to see? We were all here. What did you see!?”
A future. One that he was slowly learning, he didn't hate so much.