heliosfae

"Get lost, retard!" 

He could try to explain to them that he wasn't a retard. That that word had a specific meaning that did not, in fact, apply to him. But they were eleven year old boys, and they didn't care. In fact, it would only make it worse. At least when they called him "swot" or "boff" it was sort of close to the truth. 

Something in the back of his head tried to point out that it was thinking like this that had got him here in the first place. That they might like him better if he wasn't always correcting them. If he didn't read so much. If he wasn't so smart, or if he hid the smart. He shook it off. He was pretty sure that being stupid was not the solution. They picked on Mark, too, who was kind of stupid. At least Mark was kind. He'd once seen him spend half an hour coaching a snail across a busy path, protecting it so it wouldn't get crushed. He'd suggested Mark pick it up and move it, but he'd just looked at him for a long time, and gone back to what he was doing. 

He walked far enough away that they'd ignore him and then turned to watch. They were playing soccer, in that cheerfully physical kind of boisterous way that he'd never mastered. He didn't like falling, or being knocked over. They seemed to revel in it. With screams of faux pain and collapsing on the grass. Legs kicked out from under and arms flung out, and a joy in movement and a lack of fear that he just couldn't fake. 

He sat, and opened up his book. The once and future king. His teacher had said it was too hard for him, but Mrs. Harris, the librarian, had just winked at him and told him to give it a try. He loved it. In moments he had forgotten the boys and their inaccurate insults and was engrossed. 

"What you reading?"

He glanced up. He couldn't see the speaker, who was standing right in the sun becoming no more than a silhouette.

"The Once and Future King," he replied.

The speaker flopped on the grass beside him, resolving itself from a silhouette into a girl wearing jeans and a My Little Pony shirt.

"Good," she said. "If it was Harry Potter, I'd have to not talk to you."

He'd read all the Harry Potter books. "What's wrong with Harry Potter?"

She rolled her eyes. "Nothing, really. I've read them, and they were ok. But haven't you noticed how suddenly everyone who's read it thinks they're a reader? Like, hello." She flicked her hair back from her face. "But they've never heard of anything that hasn't been turned into a movie."

He smirked. He had, in fact, noticed that.

"So what's your favourite book?" he asked.

She cocked her head to one side and gave it some thought. "The Blue Sword."

"I don't know it," he said. "Is it a girl book?"

She chuckled. "It's about a girl, but no, not the way you mean, all boys and make up and babysitter clubs. It's great."

She muttered something under her breath about how no one would tell Harry that girls didn't play soccer.

"I thought you didn't like Harry Potter?" he said.

She looked at him for a moment, then laughed. "I'll lend it to you," she said, ignoring his question.

She stood up. "I like you," she stated, matter of fact.

"Um. Thanks?" he responded, not really sure what to do with that. 

She rolled her eyes again. "Not like I want you to be my boyfriend like. Don't get any ideas. But we should be friends."

"OK," he said. She wasn't like anyone he'd met before, this girl with long legs who seemed to have a brain, and what's more like him for his. 

"Good. That's settled." She stuck her hand out. "I'm Georgie."

He took her hand. "Miles."

"Nice to meet you, Miles. See ya!"

And she was gone. Walking off into the sun. 

But he smiled to himself, and said what he hadn't. "I like you too, Georgie." 

He waited, taut, behind a tree at the edge of the meadow, listening, listening. Carefully. His being throbbed with tension, but he dare not move. He knew they were close, he could feel them, their eyes, their teeth. But he couldn't hear a thing. 

Not a thing. 

In a place like this, there should be noise. Birds, insects. All he could hear was the buzzing in his ears from listening hard, so hard, for anything in the silence. It's been snowing, he thought, desperately. That makes things quiet, right? 

He was not from a place where it snowed. He had heard this somewhere. He clung to this half remembered fact like a lifeline. The silence might mean nothing. Just snowfall, deadening, silent. 

Then he heard the sniffing. Snuffling. From somewhere close. Too close. He was already still, but he tensed, frozen, trying to look around without moving. 

Too close. But what do you do? They climb trees, he'd heard. Where'd he heard that? Somewhere. They do. They're not wolves, not really. Climbing a tree won't save him. Staying still won't save him. Running won't save him. Nothing. There's nothing. 

But you don't give up. Humans don't. That's how humans are. They fight. They run. They try. 

He stood, waiting. Taut. He heard them snuffle. He knew himself doomed. 

So he did what humans do. 

He prayed. 

Then he ran. 

So, I've heard there's this LJ Idol thing. Reckon I'll give it a whirl.