He picked up the letter between two fingers, as if it were a dead insect. He didn’t open it. He didn’t need to. Everyone knew the Class F girl was hopelessly, pathetically in love with him.
He looked up.
Because Kotoko Aihara didn’t know when to quit. And that, more than any love letter, was going to be the problem.
“You don’t need to.” He stood up, brushed off his uniform, and gathered his textbook. He didn’t even look at her as he added, “You’re loud. You’re clumsy. And your test scores are a natural disaster. Don’t write me again. It’s a waste of paper.”
The letter fluttered upward like a wounded dove. Kotoko’s arms pinwheeled. And with the grace of a falling tree, she pitched forward directly into Naoki Irie.
“No,” he said.