But I’d study him and the hurt he carried. He’d distract himself just to take his mind off of it, and as a result, he was unusually brilliant. Brilliant in a way that brought attention to him when he didn’t want it.
I felt extremely protective of Aston, and it surfaced in me when he started school along my side. His genius would come to light, and he would be ostracised for it.
That was the day I had to choose: them, or us.
I chose us.
*
“Aston’s really weird,” Cindy said to me during the first week of school.
I followed her eyes to where he was sitting. On the ground, his back against the brick wall of the school, a book in his hands, his face buried in it. His legs were outstretched and crossed over the ankles. He was wearing khaki pants and a long sleeved sweater. He had definitely grown taller in the two years he’d been with us, but he wouldn’t fill out for another three.
“He’s just reading,” I replied defensively. “What’s so weird about that?”
“He doesn’t talk. The boys invited him to play baseball after school and he shook his head no.”
“So?”
“He’s not making friends, and he’s not even trying. That’s weird, Elise. The boys in his class say he just sits there, doesn’t laugh to everyone’s jokes, and doesn’t say anything unless Mrs Lloyd asks him something. Soon, the boys are going to turn against him, and they’ll pick on him for being weird. Maybe you should start telling him to chill out or something. Like, tell him to join in on the games and stuff. He’s not going to be liked if he spends all his lunch breaks reading books.” She then snickered, like it was so unbelievable for a person to be reading during lunch break.
I frowned at her. “Not everyone has to be the same, Cindy.”
She sighed. “I’m just saying. God, Elise. He’s cute, you know? He’s really, really cute. I’m only trying to help.”
He reads because he didn’t know how to for the longest time. I wanted to tell her that, but Cindy had no filter. She couldn’t keep a secret because secrets were juicy and she loved drama. I started to hate girls like that.
She drifted off to another group, and I stressed the next five minutes wondering what to do. I stared at the group of kids, laughing and playing and fitting in. Then my gaze wandered back to Aston, clutching his book, reading with concentrated eyes, alone. Should I have told him to put the book down and join the rest of us? How badly did I want him to fit in, to get along with kids, to be social and loose? Or should I leave him be?
Back and forth, my twelve-year-old mind raged with indecision. Finally, it clicked in place after I stared long enough at him and felt a stir in my chest.
I chose neither.
Instead, I left the others and approached him. He didn’t look at me once as I rested my back against the wall and slid down it. I sat next to him, shoulder against shoulder, gazing at his book.
“What are you reading?” I asked him. I looked back at his profile, at his razor straight nose, his full lips, his blond-white eyelashes and furrowed brow. My heart skipped a beat.
“Goosebumps,” Aston answered, flipping a page.
I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Another scary story, Aston?”
I saw the way his lip curved up just barely, and that heart of mine raced. I loved when I made him smile, even if it was a ghost of a smile. It meant I was doing something right. Aston was so intense and serious all the time, every smile was like a present.
“Why are you sitting here, El?” he replied with instead, turning his head in my direction and piercing me with those green eyes. When they connected to mine every time, I felt my heart race.
“Because I want to,” I told him honestly.
“You’ve got friends.”
“You’re my friend, and you’re better than them.”
He didn’t respond to that. His eyes searched mine, their depths pulling me under like a wave slamming me into the ocean. I didn’t like how muddled I felt with him. It was a constant struggle fighting against my feelings when he was around. After several moments, he looked away and stared at a page for some while. His eyes weren’t moving, so I knew he wasn’t reading. He fidgeted, bending the top corner of the page before muttering, “I know what your friend wanted.”
I was surprised. “What?”
“Your friend. Cindy.” He said her name slowly and bitterly. “I know what she wanted, Elise, and if you’re here to tell me to join the others, I’m not going to do it. I don’t…I don’t want to do it. I like being on my own.”
“I’m not here because of Cindy.”