TYLER LET OUT a deep sigh, checking his reflection in the mirror. He had on a blue and white striped polo shirt with his favorite black kakis, along with a brown belt and gray slip-ons. Sat upon his pretty, button nose, his usual black framed glasses.
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This was how normal high-schoolers dressed... right?
Tyler dismissed it with a shrugged. He was intelligent enough to know he would be pretty much be isolated from the rest of the kids—not that he cared. He already knew he was better than all of them, especially if they were all like that boy on the skateboard he bumped into almost a week ago.
A grimace laced his features, the thought of socializing with ignorant children crossing his mind. Tyler knew that he was going to be put into the junior class, and that everybody would be the same age, but he also already knew that he was both more mature and more intellectual than all of them.
"Tyler, your father and I leaving! We'll be back sometime this weekend!" his mother called from downstairs. "Okay, mother!" he answered, putting together his backpack as he heard the door slam.
This was nothing new to Tyler; he was used to be left alone for days on end. Both of his parents worked full time and often left him to care for himself. The boy was able to spend a week on his own by the age of eight, with nothing but the homework his mother assigned him and a debit card with his allowance for the week.
His mother always took credit for his IQ, but all she had ever done was throw textbooks at him and spit out problems and pages to finish. Tyler did all of the work himself, teaching himself calculus by the age of ten.
Tyler didn't really mind. The boy was fiercely independent; his total lack of dependence on others calmed him. Having been not only homeschooled but homeschooled by an overbearing parent who barely let him out of the house, he had no friends, so he instead turned to books.
Textbooks, novels, memoirs, biographies, you name it, Tyler had it. He loved books. Books never tried to trick you, he could read one again and again and again and the ending would never change. Books couldn't lie to him; books didn't feel or ask anything of him. That's why Tyler loved them.
Sighing, the brunette ran his fingers down the spine of one of his favorite books, The Giver, before smoothly sliding it into his bag alongside the rest of his supplies. He pulled his bag over his shoulder, heading into the kitchen to make himself breakfast.
It was only 6:15; he had plenty of time.
🌹
Tyler parked his car in the school parking lot, glancing at the time; it was now 7:15.
