▎. . . In which seven boys meet in the school counsellor's office every week and are given a group project to work on for the year.
UNDERGOING REWRITING
sidemen...
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"Why did you stay?" Mrs Shields had asked Simon on the second Monday morning, having sent Harry away for a paper register and finding this the perfect opportunity to ease into Simon Minter's mindset.
What a hard shell he was, a dark rose decorated with extra thorns, poisonous and unwelcoming. Frigid with the steely, steadfast determination to stay at arms' length from anyone nearby. Simon didn't want to hurt, nor did he want to be hurt, yet both of these conditions seemed to have eaten at him over the years.
She had expected Simon to be – in the kindest regard – ordinary. A classic rogue boy with sharp teeth and snappy remarks that forced tongue against cheek. But Simon was oh so clever, and could humbly talk through philosophy or mathematics for however long he wished to. It was crazy, and undoubtedly amazing, to simply watch Simon interact with people he really felt at home with.
Mrs Shields had also anticipated for Simon and Harry to repel like oil and water, when really they complimented each other grandly. They brought the best out in one another. Hell, Harry had gone to retrieve the register only because Simon chased him out the door, hosting a bright grin and poking gently into the younger's side.
"Alright, alright, I'm going! God, it's almost as if you don't want me around," Harry had shrilled out, hugging his arms and lingering at the door, trying his best to hide his vibrating smile.
"What makes you think that I do?" Simon had challenged mightily, coolly setting his shoulders back. Harry had raised his brows then – only for a moment – yet it had seemed to do just the trick. They communicated in some otherworldly language, one nobody else could translate.
And Mrs Shields felt like a fly stuck to the wall, camouflaged as she simply observed just how much brighter the room appeared to be as of lately.
So, as they sat together, in solitude, Simon shrugged and lifted his feet onto the opposing chair, crossing them at the ankle.
"For Harry."
If she knew she would get an answer so truthful, Mrs Shields wouldn't have called Simon in so early.
"Well, at the start it was for JJ, and for myself, but now... I feel like everything is for Harry, now."
She closed her notebook, sensing no illusions in the air. She ached to call for the cameras: this was one of those rare moments in history. Simon Minter was shedding his thorns, letting the crystal petals bloom.
