Sapienophobia

Chapter 2

Pages of the calendar passed like leaves in the wind, and I had turned 10 before I knew it. Because Root had started formally going to school during the days of the week, I was left to my own devices for a couple of hours. I knew better than to enter Father's room and sully his medical tools so I got dressed to go play with the other village kids.

Root knew where to find me if I stayed out too long.

I made sure to bring my ball lest we grow tired of drawing in the dirt.

I doubt it mattered, though, they probably wouldn't have wanted to waste their time with someone like me.

I hadn't reached the first porch step when I spotted Root.

Why is he back so early?

His cheeks were a murky brown as if he had a fever. He was fogging up his glasses.

I was going to flatter him so he could patch my springed toy, but I would've rather not have had him vomit on it. I tossed it back into the house.

"Root, are you ok?" I approached cautiously.

He only just noticed me. He removed the hand that was covering his mouth. He was smiling.

"I-I am fine."

Bull.

He stuttered.

Root didn't stutter. Every sentence that left that genius' mouth was well thought over, drafted and redrafted, tweaked to perfection from its very vocabulary up to its execution.

Something's up.

I bounced my ball towards him to piss him off, to see if he'd react the same as he always did. He let it hit him, he didn't even try to swat it away with his textbooks or dodge it.

His school uniform was soiled with dirt.

He's not getting angry. Something's going on.

"You're going out to play, right?" He turned to pick up the ball I aimed at him and handed it back to me, brushing off the dirt.

"Have fun. If it gets too late, I'll come to get you so we can return home before Father," he repeated what I already knew.

He places a hand on my head. Like I was too young and innocent to understand what he was thinking.

It irritated me.

I will have fun.
Don't think that just because I'm listening to you that you're an adult.

I dug the balls of my feet into the dirt.

Whatever's going on with him can be figured out when I get back from playing.

I wriggled out of his grasp and broke off into a run.

Playing was the same old, same old, barely worth remembering.

I enjoyed exploring but I wasn't very good at it. I never knew where to look.

And I didn't enjoy the games I was good at. Makeshift tennis, with a line in the dirt made with a stick and dribbling my ball over and back, got boring quickly.

Tag was a common playtime resort; usually, the Anide that was considered the "least sightly" or in other words, most Anide-like, was chosen to be it.
It seldom was me, my ears were the most jagged, but they were short. Tills was here today so I knew she would be picked, her nose wasn't small nor were her ears curved.

I was good at playing in groups when I wasn't it. I never felt the need to stand out, and whatever failures the group shouldered could have blame shared. I was neither the leader nor the outcast, but I wouldn't admit to myself that I enjoyed it.