talking to his sister. She stood with her arms embracing her books and listened. Then, without speaking, she turned and walked away from him. He watched her a moment and headed in my direction. I deliberately walked a little slower, but he didn’t stop to walk with me. He passed me, but I heard him mumble, “Shouldn’t you be in your hive?”
“Very funny!” I shouted after him.
I glared at him across the aisle when I took my seat.
“Why are you so nasty?” I asked before Mr. Malamud began the class.
“Just comes to me naturally, I guess,” he said.
“Maybe we all need to be inoculated before we catch it,” I said.
He looked at me wryly and then gave me a much warmer smile.
I held my breath, expecting some sort of sarcastic comment to follow, but it didn’t come. He actually looked friendly for a few moments in English class. Throughout the day, I had noticed that aside from Gary, he rarely spoke to anyone. It wasn’t that the other boys had a lack of interest in him. I did see attempts being made to strike up conversations in the hallways and at lunch, but he either shrugged, shook his head, simply nodded, or replied in some monosyllabic way. His responses were quickly turning them all off.
In some ways, he reminded me of myself when I first entered the school. I was always afraid of getting into too many conversations, or long ones. The obvious fear was that I would reveal too many details about myself and damage the fiction Jordan had created about me, both for my benefit and for Kiera’s. I was somewhat shy as well, having not had any friends my age for some time and also being quite intimidated by these well-off students who probably wasted in one day what my mother and I had lived off for a week.
I couldn’t imagine why Ryder Garfield would be shy. Surely, because of his famous parents, he had been introduced to and often saw big movie stars. He was at fancy celebrations and award events. There was certainly nothing shy about his sister. What reminded me of myself was the way he seemed to be afraid that someone would discover who he really was, too.
Mr. Madeo gave us what he called a writing challenge midway through the period. He had different quotes from the remainder of Hamlet written on slips of paper and handed them out. Based on what we had done and learned so far, we were to interpret the quote and relate it to the rest of the play. I noticed it took Ryder only ten minutes to read his and write his answer. He glanced at me, and I looked up. As soon as I did so, he shifted his glance away.
“Too late,” I said.
He turned back. “Excuse me?”
“You were caught looking.”
He stared a moment, and then he shook his head and raised his hand.
“Yes, Ryder,” Mr. Madeo said.
“I’m done here. Can I hand it in and go to the restroom?”
“Done? You sure?”
“Yes.”
Mr. Madeo shrugged and picked up his paper. He glanced at it. “Man of few words?”
“I’ll say,” Shayne Peters quipped from the back of the classroom. Everyone laughed. Ryder’s face turned a shade of crimson.
“Okay,” Mr. Madeo said.
Ryder rose, scooped his book into his bag, and started out.
“Save me a seat!” Shayne shouted after him. Again, the class laughed.
I quickly finished the point I was making about my quote and raised my hand, too.
“Don’t tell me you need to go to the restroom, too,” Mr. Madeo said with a smile.
I nodded. He picked up my paper, glanced at it, and just nodded. I got up quickly.
“Don’t go to the same restroom,” Shayne shouted after me. The class started to titter again, but I stopped and looked at him.
“At least I know the difference,” I said.
There was a loud cheer, mostly from the other boys. Mr. Madeo called for silence, and I left.