“I’m here,” I said.
“But you’re not with me,” a bold statement. Tyler was always too thickheaded to know when to leave me alone back then.
I couldn’t help but to smile at his foolishness. “We’re not kids anymore, Tyler. And don’t say anything like that again, you sound stupid.” After seeing his pathetic smile of defeat, I continued, “So what have you been doing for the past three years?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Something completely off topic.
“About what? You leaving town and out of connection for good?”
He nodded. “My family is a respected and feared family on this island. Each and every one of us is required to go to the school that our family put a lot of their income in, St. Arkive. It’s a tradition.”
“Ah, so what you’re saying is that your family took you away from this place because there’s so much trouble that you’ve caused and that the school district here is terrible.”
“Pretty much,” he groaned. “I’m really sorry for that.”
“Are you here just to apologize? Because this is pretty pathetic. ‘I’m sorry I left you in this dump and went on to a better life.’”
Tyler shook, his eyes determined. “I want you to go to St. Arkive.”
“What are you? An advertiser recruiting new students?” I was unwavered.
He chuckled at my dry joke, but added, “Don’t you want to leave this place?”
Tyler, you live here for about three or four years and you’re saying that this place is an abomination? Oh, I loved to say that, but I couldn’t. I had agreed with him. “You’re right. I would love to get out of this place. But do you really think that I want to be with you?”
He bobbed his head like a child waiting for his prize. My face rested on the palm of my hand as I sighed at his stupidity. This made a silence between us. And guessed who broke it? Tyler stretched his arms out and within his hands laid an actual letter. He said, “Take it.”
So I did.
Then, he bowed to me, told me to have a good day, and left. He left me in the playground, just like before. Oh, déjà vu.
When I got tired of watching his figure become smaller and smaller, I went back home. My eyes kept at the letter. It was white, but squared. On the front, it said, “For Valiant.”
I entered my home, greeted my mother, and head upstairs to my room. The sun was setting, and darkness would soon cover my room. Flipping the light switch on and making my way to the table, I opened the letter in the gentlest manner I could. It looked like it could be reattached with no problem. I began to read. Astonishment overwhelmed me.