The Good Upclass

Chapter 2: Nice Meeting You, Joross

It happened so fast. 

The next thing Well had known was he's staring at his apartment's window pane, looking down at the parking lot outside the building searching for two great parents who he wished had never left. 

Cars of all types and colors were bugging the highways, like a colony of ants walking to and from their beloved anthill. It was a complete mess in the eyes of the boy. But despite the topsy-turviness happening under the sun, he was still able to spot the two apples of his eye-his Mom and Dad. 

He opened the door for her. She went in to sit. He smiled. She smiled. He held her hand. She blushed. He closed the door. She fastened her seat belt. He went to the driver's seat. She followed him with her eyes. Well was supposed to be there inside the car, with them, feeling the love in the air. But he missed this time. By the looks of it, the way the scene happened inside the car didn't really much answered the question if whether or not they will be longing for Well. They will, of course. But upon seeing what happened, he started to question himself, "How would I believe it?"

As the engine started and the car began to move, the lonely boy behind the rose gold curtains felt the dwelling of liquids on his eyes. He didn't wipe it. He let it rained down on his cheeks.

A soundless cry is always painful, but it gets more painful and painful when no one is there to wipe the tears out. The words were daggers stabbing him behind. But he reminded himself of one advice his father had told him when he got into a fight on his old school. "Loneliness and Sadness-they are twins. They are both killers. They kill those who have weak spots, those who have chosen to get drowned by their emotions. But how do we get away from them? It's easy, my Junior. You face them! You show them that you are more than just your emotions. You show them that you are brave. That you are the one who controls them and not the one who's being controlled by them. Sometimes in life, domination is the key to survive."

He only had to take a deep sigh to calm himself. After that, he pretended like nothing happened. 

Well spent the last forty-two minutes before twelve in emptying his suitcases, and arranging them to where he thought they belong. His apartment was huge, no doubts. He got a wide and clean kitchen, a dining room with a round table for six, an air-conditioned lounge with a flat screen television, a comfort room, and two bedrooms; one for the guest's and one for the master's. When he first entered to his room and had his first slouch on his comfy mattress, he felt like he was on the clouds. It wasn't the only thing impressive, though. He also got his very own bathroom inside, too. One that is larger than at the kitchen and had its own shower and bath tub. Now it's finally making sense why the hotel was named 'The Mansion.' 

It's time for lunch, and Well had timely felt his stomach cleaving to his backbone. His mom had packed him some biscuits and instant noodles before leaving their house, but he doesn't feel eating any of those especially on noon time when hunger could be at its highest degree. He couldn't just simply go out of his apartment and look for Jennifer, because that would really break some rules of the antisocial. 

Luckily, there came a knocking on the door-something that sprouted a flicker of hope to his starving belly. 

"The door's open. You can come in," Well said, deadpanned. 

"Hi!" greeted the hotel clerk as she faintheartedly walked past the semi-opened door. "My name's Patricia, and I was sent here by the hotel manager to assist you on your needs." She smiled, awkward and unsteady. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, not much." He lied as he averted his gaze to the blank and empty walls of the living room. "But..." 

The clerk shot her eyes towards the ceiling, waiting for Well to finish his statement. "Yes?"

"Could you at least tell me a place where I could eat my lunch?"

"The hotel's beanery is on the third floor, sir. But if you want to eat on fast-food restaurants, I know a few outside of the hotel. They are all a taxi away. The nearest is Mr. Burger, approximately five minutes off from here."

Well stretched his lips, cracking it a bit to say his response. "I'm fine with the beanery."

"Well, then. Follow me, Mr. Smith."

Walking behind the hotel clerk, Well buried his hands into the deep pockets of his corduroy pants. His head steadily bowed down, refusing to take a look at any of the huge paintings hanging on the wall of the hallways. He remained quiet until the elevator brought them up to the next floor.

The third floor was only divided into three different sections. The beanery, the cinema, and the market. When Well and the hotel clerk set free from the four-walled mechanized cage, redolence of popcorn and beef steak lingered in their noses like a Harry Potter spell that made them hypnotic enough to follow the hints in the air.

Well had only been able to speak when he found himself standing in front of 'The Mansion Beanery' full of hungry and craving people serving themselves some foods.

"Welcome to the Beanery, Mr. Smith," said the hotel clerk. "Is there anything else that you want?" she asked.

"No. I'm good. You can now leave me here." He smiled, signaling the woman to bid her goodbye. She walked back to the elevator and left Well standing still in front of the beanery.

The lone innocent boy, as unsociable as he was, had to convince himself first to do a staring contest with the frosted glass door of the hotel's beanery, before he could finally decide when to enter and what to eat inside. It might be a crazy idea for some, and for some it might seemed nonsensical, but for Well, it's a great way to gather all his courage before facing a massive number of people in a crowd at a place like this. 

"Proceed to the counter on three..." Well said nervously and on tenterhooks. "Alright. Three... Two... One."

In just a blink of an eye, a well-modulated voice of a beanery crew resonated in the ears of Well. "Happy Saturday, sir! May I take your order?" 

Well looked up, scanning through the list of menus on the board above. His heart was thumping so fast, enough to overtake the running Usain Bolt on an Olympic arena. "May I take three sticks of pork barbeque and a cup of garlic rice, please? And oh, I'd also like to have a large potato fries and a slice of blueberry cheesecake."

"Got it, sir. Any drinks?"

"An iced tea will do." Avoiding any eye contacts with the crews, Well survived the first step of his lunch—ordering. 

He maneuvered his way to the cashier section to pay his bills, when he noticed a guy about as tall and as young as him with too much worry on his face. Well didn't have any clue about what's going on with the guy next to him, but when he saw him spreading wide his empty and tatty wallet, he instantly knew what was wrong. 

"How much was that again?" The guy scratched his head. 

"A hundred and forty," answered the cashier. 

The guy in a tight spot scooped his hand into his pocket and pulled it back after at least three seconds. When he got everything that's found inside his pants' mini pouch, he moved his sweating palm in front of his face to have a look on it. A single stick of cigarette, a lighter, and six pennies. None of it was a bill, or let's say enough coins to pay for his check. "Shit," that's all he said. 

"I'll pay for it." Well inserted right off the bat after seeing the cashier's eyes rolling in disgust of the guy. "You use credit cards, yes?" He asked, raising a green card vertically with his two fingers. "Well, then, here's my card. I'll pay for my bill, and for his bill."

Just like that, the guy's problem was solved. A lot of things had occurred after that 'saving a stranger' scenario that happened on the paying section, and some of them was beyond their expectations. Well was able to get his order, and was able to spot a vacant table to sit on-with his new friend. 

"You are truly amazing! I am Joross." The guy in plain and white short sleeves offered his slender and veiny hand to Well. 

Well smiled, holding a spoon on his left and a fork on his right. He ignored Joross' attempt for a shake hands, and continued to dig in on his plate. "You can call me Well," he answered while champing. 

"You're the new tenant in the second floor's S-class apartment, right?" Joross excitedly asked, pulling his chair closer to lean on the table. 

"S-class? I don't know what you mean. But yeah, I'm living in one of the apartments at the second floor."

"What do you mean by 'what do you mean'? You are at room 018, aren't you? Don't tell me you're not aware you just got an S-class apartment?" He blabbered like he was only given five seconds to talk. His voice was so loud that it echoed inside the beanery, disturbing the people eating around them. 

"I am definitely not. It was my parents who booked me a room, but they haven't told me it was an S-class. They haven't even mentioned that there was an S-class." Well swallowed, unbothered. 

Joross backed off, banging his shoulders against the back of the chair. "You must be rich!" 

"You can say it without yelling," Well replied. 

"So, you really are rich? By the way, I am your neighbor, I live in apartment 016. It's not an S-class, for your information." 

"What's the difference? They're just both apartments." Well brushed his eyebrows together. 

Joross locked his arms on the back of his head. "Obviously, there's a lot to mention about the differences. But it will be easier showing them instead of telling them to you." 

"Sounds right."

"You better finish your meal so we can do apartment tours together." He grinned.

"I'm taking that as a friend request." Well winked, and when th e guy sitting in front of him winked back, he added, "By the way, nice meeting you, Joross."