Thea hesitated for a second, then finally started walking, her limp more pronounced than mine. We walked in silence for a full block. It was the most awkward silence I’d ever been in, and that was saying sothing.
"You don’t have to do this," she said suddenly. She didn’t look at , just kept staring at the sidewalk ahead.
"I’m fine."
’Yeah, right,’ I thought. ’You look about as fine as I did after getting hit by a car.’
But I just said, "Okay."
My quiet agreent seed to piss her off more than arguing would have. She stopped dead in her tracks and turned on , her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and sothing else... hurt, maybe.
"No, it’s not okay," she said, her voice getting louder, a little shaky. "Why are you even here? What do you want?"
I just looked at her, saying nothing.
"Are you feeling guilty because you just stood there and watched? Is that it?" she accused, her voice cracking. "Are you trying to feel like a hero now to make up for it?"
The words were like little jabs, ant to push away. A week ago, it would have worked. I would have mumbled an apology and just left her there.
But I just looked at her. At her torn uniform, her bruised face. I didn’t bla her for being angry.
"No," I said quietly.
She kept going, like she hadn’t even heard , her voice getting more desperate. "Or is this so kind of pity project? You see the pathetic girl who got her ass kicked and you think you can swoop in and save her? You don’t know anything about ."
I waited until she ran out of breath. Her chest was heaving, and she was glaring at like she was daring to run.
"You’re right," I said finally, my voice still quiet. "I don’t know anything about you."
Her glare faltered, a flicker of confusion in her eyes.
"And yeah," I admitted, shrugging a little. "Maybe a part of feels guilty for not jumping in sooner. But that’s not why I’m here."
"Then why?"
I looked her straight in the eye. "Because leaving you alone felt wrong."
She just stared at , her mouth slightly open. The fight seed to drain out of her all at once, leaving her looking just... tired. Exhausted.
She didn’t say anything else. After a long mont, she just turned and started walking again.
We kept walking after that.
About five minutes went by like that, just the two of us walking, no talking.
"So," she finally spoke, though, it was really low. "What grade are you in?"
I glanced over at her. She was still looking straight ahead, her arms wrapped around herself. It was just a question, a simple one, like she was trying to find sothing normal to hold onto.
"Grade 10," I said. "You?"
"Grade 8."
My feet just stopped for a second. Grade 8. She was in her first year of high school. She was what, fourteen? And she was already dealing with this kind of crap.
The sick feeling in my stomach got worse. She was just a kid. I was only two years older, but it felt like a huge gap right now.
I started walking again, a little slower this ti. "That’s... I didn’t realize you were that young."
"I get that a lot," she said with a shrug that looked like it hurt. "Everyone thinks I’m older."
We were quiet again, but just for a second.
"What’s your favorite class?" she asked, another one of those simple, safe questions.
"History, I guess," I said. "It’s just... stories. It’s easy to rember."
"I hate history."
The corner of my mouth twitched. "Yeah? How co?"
"It’s just a bunch of dead guys and dates. It’s boring. I like art class, though."
"What do you draw?"
She tucked a strand of ssy hair behind her ear. "Just... stuff."
"I draw swords," I said. "And giant robots sotis. Badly."
That got a reaction. She looked over at , and for the first ti, the broken look in her eyes was replaced by a flicker of surprise. "Robots?"
"Yeah. So what kind of stuff do you draw?"
She looked away again, but her voice was a little less guarded. "Animals. Mostly birds."
We walked. The silence wasn’t as heavy anymore.
"What kind of birds?"
"Anything. I saw a blue jay in my backyard last week. I tried to draw it from mory but the head was all wrong."
"You need a reference," I said. "You can find good pictures online."
"I don’t have a computer," she said quietly. "Just my phone, and the screen is cracked."
’Damn.’
We turned a corner onto a street with smaller, older houses. They were all packed tightly together, with tiny patches of grass for front yards.
"The library has computers," I said. "With internet. You could use them."
She just gave a tiny nod, not looking at .
We walked past a house with a bunch of colorful pinwheels spinning in the breeze.
"I could show you," I said.
She stopped and looked at , her expression confused. "Show what?"
"The library. After school soti. I go there to read sotis when my apartnt is too loud." It was a lie. I hadn’t been to a library in years. The words just ca out.
She stared at for a long mont, like she was trying to see the trick. "Why?"
"I don’t know," I said honestly. "You like drawing birds. You should have a good picture to look at."
Her house was at the end of the block. It was small, with peeling blue paint and a crooked front step.
She stopped at the bottom of the walkway. "This is ."
"Ah." Is all I could manage to say.
She stood there for a second, her arms still wrapped around herself. Then she let them drop to her sides.
"Thanks," she said. "For, uh... walking."
"Yeah. No problem."
She gave one last look, a quick, unreadable glance, then turned and walked up the crooked step. The front door opened and she disappeared inside without looking back.
I stood there for a second. The street here was really quiet and I didn’t see anyone on the way here. Is it eve n safe for a kid to stay here?
’She likes to draw birds huh.’
Then I turned and started the long walk back to school to get my bag.
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