“Blue!”
There’s only one person on this earth who calls me that.
Three years ago, his voice used to be rough and low. Grumbling. I’m sure years must’ve matured it even more. Not that I care about it.
I don’t.
And neither do I care about what I saw last night. I think I made him up. It was a dream or something. A figment of my imagination.
Anyway, this voice is high and giggly, kind of cutesy. It belongs to my five-year-old neighbor, Arthur. We all call him Art and he calls me Blue.
So maybe there are two people who call me by that name.
I stop and turn around to find him running toward me. He has his backpack on his shoulders and he’s grinning at me.
I grin back. “Hey, big guy.”
Panting, he comes to a stop and I get down on my knees. He has blond hair and green eyes, and a perpetual cowlicky thing on the back of his head.
“Look!” He shows me his fist. “Did I do it right?”
I’ve been teaching him how to make a fist and, yup, he completely nailed it.
“It looks perfect.”
He beams. “Yay!”
Smiling, I pat at his cowlick. “You’re gonna destroy them.”
“You think?” he asks.
Art looks at me with such hope that my heart squeezes.
“Duh. Just don’t back down, okay? Always remember, we’re the underdogs. But contrary to what people think, underdogs are not weak. We fight back. In fact, we fight the hardest. People underestimate us and you know what, let them. That’s their biggest mistake. And don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise, my friend.”
He smiles and nods enthusiastically. “Okay!”
Art and I, we were destined to become friends. Like me, he’s an orphan too. Although his parents died when he was only two. Ever since then, he’s lived here on The Pleiades with his grandma, Doris, who’s also on the cleaning staff.
But other than that, the most important thing that links me to this five-year-old adorable and shy boy is the fact that we’re both the bullied. At least, I once was.
Art’s a little small for his age, so some kids at his school are giving him trouble for it. They push him around and threaten him, making him cry and turning school generally miserable.
Fuck them.
Bullies are cowards. They can’t stand on their own two feet so they hide behind empty threats. All they need to set them straight is a little pushback and I’ve been teaching Art how to do that. Since I have a little experience in that area.
We fist-pump and I stand. “I love you. I gotta run. But I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
He nods. “Is it pancake night?”
Since Doris is getting on in age, I help out with Art whenever I can. Tonight I’m babysitting him and since it’s Monday, we’re doing breakfast for dinner.
“You bet!”
After saying my goodbye, I’m running toward the main house where our daily meeting is going to start in about ten minutes.
Like last night, I punch in the code to the service entrance and get inside. Even from the top of the stairs, I can hear the hustle and bustle of the staff.