5. Victor Blackwood

I sat on the couch in my room, cereal bowl balanced on my lap, spoon clinking with every bite as Power Rangers played on the TV in front of me. My eyes didn't move from the screen—locked on Jason, the Red Ranger, moving like he owned every scene. Strong. Confident. In control.

So what if this was still my favorite show?

I don't care that Anne laughed when she caught me watching it once. Honestly, I liked that she saw it. She looked at me that day. Really looked. That was rare.

My notebook lay open beside me, worn and full of scribbles—page after page of notes I'd taken across countless rewatch sessions. Phrases repeated like mantras: Stand tall. Speak first. Smile like you already won.

Most guys my age had moved past this stuff years ago. Turned eighteen, and suddenly they thought they were too cool to enjoy anything unless it involved fake drinking games or standing in the corners of parties looking dead inside.

Idiots.

They just didn't get it like I did.

Red Ranger Jason wasn't some overacted kids' character. He was the blueprint. The only reason I had the confidence, the presence, the status I had now. Every personal win, every wink from a teacher, every flash of attention—I owed it to him.

Popular. Respected.

Mimicking Jason was the smartest decision I ever made.

The episode ended with its usual cheesy outro and bright theme music. I leaned back on the couch, smiling to myself as the credits rolled.

"Wish me luck today on getting Anne to fall for me, Rangers," I whispered.

It would be nice to have a team that loyal in real life. But for now, I already had a mission.

I shot off the couch, adrenaline kicking in like I was suiting up for battle. I sprinted to my closet, threw open the doors, and shoved aside clothes—jackets, shirts, old cleats—everything pushed away in a hurry.

At the very back, hidden and untouched, was my real sanctuary.

I dropped to my knees, heart pounding like it always did when I opened it. Carefully, I pulled back a pile of sweatshirts, the layers I used to hide it from my grandmother.

There it was.

Perfect.

A little altar. All Anne.

Notes I stole from her locker—easy enough once I memorized her combo. Trinkets I'd slipped from her bag when she wasn't looking. A baseball cap she left behind after that weird school assembly. A fork she used, of all things, I picked up after her dad's neighborhood barbecue. The keychain. Her Red Ranger keychain—though I stopped bringing it to school after I nearly got caught.

And in the middle of it all: the photo.

It was a little blurry, taken from a distance, but it didn't matter. She was smiling in it. Really smiling—bright, unguarded, like she didn't have a care in the world.

She only looked like that when she didn't know anyone was watching.

I knew. I was seven feet away.

I picked up the photo gently, almost reverently, and kissed it once.

"Today's the day real-life Anne falls for me," I whispered against the paper. "She didn't reject me when I said I like her. She just said she wasn't interested. That's not a 'no.' I just have to change her mind."

I slid the photo back into place, straightened the edge of one of the old notes, and carefully replaced the sweatshirts. Hidden again. Safe.

Ding!

My phone buzzed on the bed. I grabbed it immediately.

The tracker app lit up. Anne's dot was moving. She'd just left the house, headed toward the bus stop.

Perfect.

I grinned and shoved the phone in my pocket. If I hurried, I could catch her on the way—make it seem casual. Friendly. Maybe she'd look at me again.

And a look was all I needed. Though, obviously, more would be... incredible.

My feelings for Anne weren't random.

And they weren't just some crush.

There were moments—little ones—when we were younger, maybe sixth or seventh grade. She'd say something, and I'd feel the sting of it like a secret I hadn't said out loud. Because I hadn't said it. But she knew.

One time, she called out two of my "friends," joked about things they'd never told anyone. It turned into drama real fast. And I'd seen it happen with others too—she knew things. Knew them before anyone said anything.

No one noticed. No one paid enough attention to her to catch the pattern. But I did.

The moment that really sealed it was in seventh grade. I thought something cruel about her—just a flash of it, bitter and dumb—and she snapped at me like I'd screamed it in her face.

I tried to tell myself I'd been watching too many cartoons. Reading too much into it.

But the thought stuck. Burrowed in.

Maybe Anne could read minds.

Or maybe she just read people really, really well. But not like any other kid our age.

And once that thought rooted itself, it grew.

How could I not be drawn to her after that?

How could I not want her—or need her—when she was already living inside my head? She already knew my mind. I just had to get her to accept it.

"See you soon, Anne," I said quietly, grabbing my jacket and slipping out the door.

Let's see if today would finally be the day she looked at me and didn't look away.

***

"Hello!" I called, jogging up as I saw her step off the bus. She looked the same as always—annoyed with me. Her eyes narrowed instantly when she spotted me. That little frown was back, and God, those frowns were so cute. I would die for a clear picture of them. She didn't even know how beautiful she was when she was angry.

No one had ever resisted me before. I mean really resisted. But Anne? The more she pushed me away, the more thrilling this whole thing became. Her disinterest... it was practically sexy.

She looked unreal in the sunlight, like something ripped out of my favorite dream. Her black hair glinted with this soft sheen, her face glowing without even trying. One blue eye sharp, the other milky and mysterious—it made her look like a character from another world. Mine, specifically. She didn't need makeup or filters. She was perfect raw. Untouchable. Except by me.

"Good morning. How's your brother's keychain?" she said with that sly little smirk. She was teasing me. Teasing! Which had to mean we were closer now, right? Comfortable. Progress.

The mention of the keychain made my heart skip though. Shit. Was she going to tell someone?

"What terrible dark circles you have," she went on. "You've been up all night, haven't you? Or did you get up too early and see the live broadcast?"

I froze. Damn it. She knew. She knew. My Anne radar was real—there was no way she figured that out by accident.

"How did you know I'm a fan of waking up early?" I asked, feigning casual.

"I know you're a fan of lying," she muttered.

Ouch. Low blow. I wasn't a liar—I just cared too much. I put too much work into hiding things people wouldn't understand.

"If you think you can bother me just because I like children's television, think again," I huffed. "I don't like you enough to give into blackmail."

"I honestly don't give a shit how you live your life," she shrugged.

What the hell? So I'd been panicking over nothing? I actually snapped at her over a cartoon? That wasn't like me. I never cracked in front of people. But she did that to me. Only she could.

Then again... this was now our secret. Just between us.

Maybe that could work in my favor.

"Do you have any idea how important this is?" I asked, my voice more serious than I wanted it to be. "I can't really be myself because everyone already sees me one way. I've got no one to talk about this stuff with. Life has no chill, you know that. I just wanna sit down and enjoy watching it. What's wrong with that?"

"It's not that serious—"

"I know that!" I interrupted. "You know how it looks, though!"

"Just because those people who pretend to be your friends don't think it's acceptable?"

"I just enjoy it on my own. Don't make fun of me," I muttered. Her opinion mattered more than anyone's. I didn't want her to think I was some loser.

"Whatever. Sorry for teasing you," Anne said, rolling her eye. "It's just very unusual to have somebody following me around. Especially one that can easily lie like you."

"I wasn't lying, except about Power Rangers," I said.

Another lie.

I couldn't admit the rest. Not yet. Not the kiss. Not the years of watching. She clearly hated the kiss and that—God, that hurt. I'd been saving my first for her.

"Ugh, what do you even like about me anyway?" she asked.

I didn't even think—I just acted.

I grabbed her arm and pulled her off the sidewalk, away from the morning foot traffic. Past a row of benches, behind a thick patch of shrubs that created a wall between us and the rest of the world. No interruptions.

She yanked her arm back and stared at me like I'd grown another head. I didn't flinch.

"I know we haven't spoken until now," I began, "but I've been paying attention to you for a long time. You're amazing. I like everything. The way you walk like you don't care but you're always watching. You're smart, sharp, and you don't give a damn what people say. You can see through everyone. Almost like a mind reader. I used to think you could read minds. I still have a hunch."

Anne shifted uncomfortably, like she wasn't sure if I was complimenting her or interrogating her.

"Also... I love that you're real. You don't need anyone. But you could need me, if you let yourself."

"What?"

"I don't just want to kiss you," I said, my voice soft now, hypnotic. "I want to date you. No—more. I want it all. A house. A quiet life where no one bothers us. Just us. I've known you were it for me since we were kids."

I reached forward and took her chin in my fingers gently. "Once you stop fighting it, you'll know it too."

Anne stared at me like she was trying to reboot her brain. "Okay... uh... Victor, you need to chill the fuck out."

But she wasn't yelling.

She wasn't running.

She wasn't even angry.

She looked... nervous. Flustered.

I knew that look. I'd seen it in TV dramas, in manga panels, in that one romance movie my mom made me watch last summer. It was classic flustered love interest behavior.

She's overwhelmed by her feelings. She doesn't know how to handle them yet.

Adorable.

I pulled her into a hug, wrapping my arms around her like I was anchoring her in place. She didn't resist.

"I know I dropped it all on you at once," I said gently, whispering in her ear. "But what I said is real. So I'll wait for you to catch up. You don't have to be scared about taking your time. I'm not going anywhere. And we can take things slow. It's just... it's annoying when you run away from me."

A whistle blew somewhere near the school yard, sharp and distant. Probably the gym teacher trying to round up students.

It didn't matter. Right now, it was just me and Anne.

I pulled back from the hug, took her hands, and kissed them softly—one, then the other.

"See you inside, Anne," I said, stepping away. I gave her the space I knew she needed, the way a good boyfriend should. Patient. Loyal.

She was still frozen there as I walked away, not saying a word.

Grinning the whole way, I knew.

Today was the beginning.

She just didn't realize it yet.