Loving the Clouds

Chapter 7

It is almost amusing, how easily I've grown accustomed to this boy.

He occupies my thoughts when I'm awake and, though I can never remember my dreams, there is no doubt that he is present in them to. His features have been permanently ingrained in my memory, his quirks second nature. I feel as if my waking hours are spent trying to solve the mystery that is Everett Weston. Even unconsciously, I notice everything. From the way he walks, a sense of pride mixed with doubt, to the way he bites his lip when he is solving a difficult math problem, I see it. And with every seemingly innocent gesture, he shows more of his character. Of course, to the naked eye, it would make little difference. Again, it is funny how I notice these things.

Along with that, I find myself missing him. When he is not near, I long to see his cloud-grey eyes. When he is close enough to touch, I simply bask in his presence. He will only be gone a minute and I will be missing him terribly, wondering where he's going. Sometimes after school, I will sit on my bed and stare at my fan, wondering what he is doing right now. Does he think of me as much as I think of him? Such a naïve question, yet it still irritates me.

I see him again, the next day.

Worry was starting to pick at my mind when he did not show up for math class. He never misses math, it is a constant for him. Even when it is obvious in the set of his shoulders or the glint in his eyes that he is not in a good mood, he shows up nevertheless. I have always just taken it into routine, seeing him for and hour and a half each day, and not seeing him there bugs me. Something is wrong.

It is a half hour into my teacher's lesson when I excuse myself to go to the washroom. He gives me a look, but allows me to leave anyways. I almost jump out of my seat on the way to the door. The hallways, as suspected, are empty. This does not bother me, Everett never did hover in the halls when it was break unless it was to get stuff from his locker. Now that I think about, I don't recall seeing him around large crowds of students at any time. Curious.

But I shake the thought away quickly. I must find him. Dwelling on memories will do me no good.

Just then, as I am passing the windows to the south of the school, I catch a flash of colour in the corner of my eye. Freezing, I turn to the window and peer outside. The only structures that rest in the backyard of the building were stone picnic benches on a mossy stone path, a couple strides away from a thin stretch of forest. The silent courtyard is occupied by one sole individual, a boy with chocolate brown hair.

Relief washes over me, and I find the nearest set of doors. He sits with his back to the school, front facing the forest, leaning his torso against the edge of the stone table. Though he makes no move to greet me as I approach him, I see his eyes skim my way briefly before refocusing on the trees. I don't greet him either, dusting leaves off the bench before sitting down beside him. I look out at the forest as well, searching for whatever could possibly be holding his interest.

Finally, his eyes slide over to me. "Hello, Robin. It's a beautiful day today, isn't it."

It wasn't spoken as a question. I answer it anyways. "Yes, it is."

"It was a beautiful day then too," he says casually, bending down to pick a dandelion out of the grass, "I remember the sky, that day, not a single cloud tainting it. There was even a warm breeze, as I recall. It taunted me."

My body tenses, heart beating obnoxiously in my ears. A lurking feeling told me he wasn't talking about the sky anymore. His eyes had clouded over, a foreign emotion haunting his weary face. He looked bone-tired. It was hard not to reach over and wrap my arms around him.

"Tell me more about this day, Everett," I say quietly when he had trailed off.

He threaded the dandelion through his fingers slowly, mutely staring off into space. "Castor, my cousin, he didn't know what had happened. I saw him teasing the other guests with a frog when they paid their respects. He was my age, but he did not know. I was angry, but not at him. Do you know what that's like, to be alone? To not have a single person to talk to?"

His voice had dropped dangerously low, taking on a haunted undertone. I suppressed shivers. His eyes had grown so cold.

He goes silent, giving me time to think over his abstract question. I answer it with another question.

"Do you know what it's like to be oblivious?" My question catches him off guard as he turns sharply towards me, I continue, "To not have a worry in the world. To not have to worry about what you will do in the future. To have a perfect family and a perfect home. Because I do.

"But do you want to know something else? It's worse. Living the perfect life, surrounded by people, and yet I am alone. It's worse then isolation, because you're already in solitude."

His brows deepen into a grimace, "Two lonely strangers, you and I. How fitting."

Slowly, I lean my shoulder against his. Without hesitation, he presses against me, eyes fluttering close with a sigh. Catching sight of the dandelion still clutched in his fingers, I flick it away and lace my hand in his. Smiling, he gives my hand a squeeze as they settled on our touching knees. My eyes slip shut as well and I turn my face to the sunlight, basking in the heat.

"Everett," I murmur, "Would you like to eat lunch with me?"

He chuckles softly, shifting against me, "I would be honoured."

And so there I sat, hand entwined with Everett Weston, when the rush of students flooded out into the courtyard. We were all but ignored as we ate our lunches, the chatter of students a constant background noise. We did not talk after that, but we did not need to. It was a silent conversation, between him and I.

I was never comfortable with silence.

Yet today, I did not mind in the least.