My mouth opened and closed before I settled on a reply. “That’s not possible, meathead.”
“Then how have I seen it?”
I stared at my hands. How was I supposed to explain my weirdness? He would run a mile. “Refracted light or some shit. I’m all… absent of colour. Maybe that does things in sunlight.”
“It was dark at the canal.” He studied me as though he searched for a trace of a lie. “And nobody’s told you before?”
I shrugged. “Nobody other than my parents.”
“You’re different.”
“Well, yeah, look at me.”
“Trust me. I have been.”
Something in his voice made me look at him. “Why?” My voice cracked.
“You know why.” He touched my hand. His was warm.
“Talk about different,” I said with a laugh because the intensity in his eyes made me feel as though something huge were about to happen. “Who’s warm in this weather?”
His lopsided smile put me back at ease. “Everyone’s different. Some differences are just more obvious than others.”
I chewed on my lip and stared at the school gates. I desperately wanted to go home, to my real home, where everything was safe and normal and predictable. “What’s so different about you?”
“Oh, lots of things.” He looked at me askance. “I was living with a bunch of kids and the oldest woman in the entire world when Nathan found me. I was maybe eleven, practically feral, had a stutter when I did talk, which wasn’t often. Even now, the words I think in my head just don’t come out the same. Anyway, back then, I couldn’t sleep in a bed. I had to learn what a fork was. Don’t assume my life is simple just because you think I’m a meathead.”
He was in a far-off place now, and the darkness in his gaze was both unsettling and attractive somehow.
I leaned into him cautiously. “But you’re happy now, right?”
He shed the old memories in a flash, his expression full of happiness and good humour. That’s what I liked about him. He was easy to be around, always in a good mood, never creepy or gross. And his freckles were cute. I was completely crushing on him.
“You don’t understand how happy I am living with Nathan and Perdita,” he said. “He came along and literally picked up me off a floor and took me away. He carried me to a hospital—long story—then took me home, gave me a bedroom and clothes, food I didn’t have to fight for, and even a birthday. I thought I would die in that place until he came. I owe him everything.”
“Not that I’m not glad, but he had to have been young. Wouldn’t it have been easier to let somebody else deal with it all?”
“He just wanted to make sure I was safe, but he couldn’t let anyone else take that responsibility. Perdita always says he feels too deeply, is too empathic.” He smiled warmly. “Not that she can talk. She never asked for any of this, but she’s done everything possible to make me feel like family. I’ll never forget what they’ve done for me.”
My throat ached from the sincerity in his voice. He’d had it rough then gotten his happy ending.
He cleared his throat. “So what’s your story?”
“Not as dramatic. My parents found me in an orphanage in Romania when I was a toddler and took me home as soon as they could. We’ve always been close, especially me and my dad. I always know they’re going to take my side, and I’ve no complaints. I love my parents.” But the need to know more about my biological parents grew every day.
“I’m glad they found you. We’re lucky, you and I.”
I knew that, but I still had too many pieces missing. “What would you do if your real parents showed up one day?”
“Nothing,” he said. “They couldn’t or wouldn’t take care of me. I don’t hate them. They’re just not real in my head.”
“Aren’t you worried about something genetic?” I whispered. “Like a sickness or… something, passed down from them?”
His gaze turned to steel. “Are you asking me something specific?”
I didn’t understand the change in atmosphere and shook my head. “Just thinking out loud.” I wasn’t about to tell the one person who had been nice to me that I might be mad or something.
Or something.