black tie, silver pin) but I am one of the few who actually does.
Noah is one who does on days he has less bruises. Which I find kind of interesting. S uppose when he has less bruises, his father must be absent, so he has safe time to get his laundry done?
H ave no idea.
But I do wonder why he always wears white. Never seen him wearing anything else. (Except for my blue t-shirt, and it was mine, so it doesn’t count)
I’m trying to picture his closet, all white, hung up neatly. Then of course, I picture him standing in front of it, (without a shirt) humming and ha- ing (?) on what to wear.
And two weeks ago, he chose the white turtleneck.
The one he showed up at my house in; all covered in blood and dirt.
His father is always ruining his perfect white clothes.
G uess I have bleach at home, maybe I could wash them. Hmm.
A lso wonder where he goes every day. Or on weekends for that matter. Maybe he sleeps outside. But when summer’s over, he’ll freeze. That’s assuming he won’t have anywhere to go then.
It is my full intention to be a great friend to him. He needs one.
T hink it’ll be a difficult task. He’s too used to people hating him.
L ooked over to his desk, three seats behind me and one row over . The girl sitting in front of him had scooted unnecessarily close to the boy in front of her, who looked sort of annoyed by it.
S tood up decisively, grabbing my books and walking to her desk, and sm iled at her gently. “Excuse me.
She looked up at me, startled, “What?”
“If it’s not too much trouble, may I have your seat?”
“You want to sit here? Permanently?” She looked hopeful, glancing back at Noah, who was looking out the window with disinterest.
I nodded, keeping my smile firmly in place.
She stood up immediately, grabbing her bag and books and hurrying to my seat, looking back at me and Noah nervously, as if I would change my mind.
I did not, obviously, and placed my books on the desk, sliding the desk back to its original position and sitting down. There were three desks in front of me now, instead of none, so it was harder to see the board, but…
I would say the pros outweigh the cons here.
T urned around, staring at him through his thick curtains of black hair until he noticed and looked at me.
Why is it that every time I look at him I want to smile and cry at the exact same time?
Today, he has a bandage over his left eye, taped into place and pulling weirdly at his skin. He’s also wearing a bright white dress shirt, with one button undone.
Personally, I think it would look much better with two undone, but oh well. He looked me directly in the eyes; I could tell his mind was searching for something to say.
L eaned in closer, but not so close as to look awkward or suggestive , and said, “You’re welcome.”
He looked shocked for a second, then recovered, his mouth twitching into an awkward closed-mouth smile.
It seemed smiling was something he was wholly unused to too.
“So what happened to your eye? You didn’t have that bandage yesterday.”
“I get infections in this eye easily. It hurts to get light in it.”
“Ah, I gotcha. Do you have any antibiotics?”
“No, it usually goes away within a few days.”
C ould tell he was lying, there were bruises on his forehead and cheek, peeking out from underneath the bandages.
“You’re lying to me.” I said plainly.
“I am not. My eye is infected. How it came to be that way was not of consequence in this conversation.”
“Lies of omission are lies nevertheless.”
He stared at me evenly, “I have made a note of that and will be sure to not neglect full truths in the future.”
“So what happened?”
“I went home early. And he was there. On most days, he doesn’t return home until much later.”
“ So…?”
“I was punished for not attending school for the entirety of the day. It was to be expected. I did wrong.”
“You didn’t do wrong, you weren’t feeling well! That’s
Noah is one who does on days he has less bruises. Which I find kind of interesting. S uppose when he has less bruises, his father must be absent, so he has safe time to get his laundry done?
H ave no idea.
But I do wonder why he always wears white. Never seen him wearing anything else. (Except for my blue t-shirt, and it was mine, so it doesn’t count)
I’m trying to picture his closet, all white, hung up neatly. Then of course, I picture him standing in front of it, (without a shirt) humming and ha- ing (?) on what to wear.
And two weeks ago, he chose the white turtleneck.
The one he showed up at my house in; all covered in blood and dirt.
His father is always ruining his perfect white clothes.
G uess I have bleach at home, maybe I could wash them. Hmm.
A lso wonder where he goes every day. Or on weekends for that matter. Maybe he sleeps outside. But when summer’s over, he’ll freeze. That’s assuming he won’t have anywhere to go then.
It is my full intention to be a great friend to him. He needs one.
T hink it’ll be a difficult task. He’s too used to people hating him.
L ooked over to his desk, three seats behind me and one row over . The girl sitting in front of him had scooted unnecessarily close to the boy in front of her, who looked sort of annoyed by it.
S tood up decisively, grabbing my books and walking to her desk, and sm iled at her gently. “Excuse me.
She looked up at me, startled, “What?”
“If it’s not too much trouble, may I have your seat?”
“You want to sit here? Permanently?” She looked hopeful, glancing back at Noah, who was looking out the window with disinterest.
I nodded, keeping my smile firmly in place.
She stood up immediately, grabbing her bag and books and hurrying to my seat, looking back at me and Noah nervously, as if I would change my mind.
I did not, obviously, and placed my books on the desk, sliding the desk back to its original position and sitting down. There were three desks in front of me now, instead of none, so it was harder to see the board, but…
I would say the pros outweigh the cons here.
T urned around, staring at him through his thick curtains of black hair until he noticed and looked at me.
Why is it that every time I look at him I want to smile and cry at the exact same time?
Today, he has a bandage over his left eye, taped into place and pulling weirdly at his skin. He’s also wearing a bright white dress shirt, with one button undone.
Personally, I think it would look much better with two undone, but oh well. He looked me directly in the eyes; I could tell his mind was searching for something to say.
L eaned in closer, but not so close as to look awkward or suggestive , and said, “You’re welcome.”
He looked shocked for a second, then recovered, his mouth twitching into an awkward closed-mouth smile.
It seemed smiling was something he was wholly unused to too.
“So what happened to your eye? You didn’t have that bandage yesterday.”
“I get infections in this eye easily. It hurts to get light in it.”
“Ah, I gotcha. Do you have any antibiotics?”
“No, it usually goes away within a few days.”
C ould tell he was lying, there were bruises on his forehead and cheek, peeking out from underneath the bandages.
“You’re lying to me.” I said plainly.
“I am not. My eye is infected. How it came to be that way was not of consequence in this conversation.”
“Lies of omission are lies nevertheless.”
He stared at me evenly, “I have made a note of that and will be sure to not neglect full truths in the future.”
“So what happened?”
“I went home early. And he was there. On most days, he doesn’t return home until much later.”
“ So…?”
“I was punished for not attending school for the entirety of the day. It was to be expected. I did wrong.”
“You didn’t do wrong, you weren’t feeling well! That’s
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