Stupid Little Blue Haired Boy (boyxboy)

eighteen.

sorry for the late upload.

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"Can you help me?" Timmy slides his seat closer to mine, the metal legs scratching across the library floor. "I don't understand what they're asking in number four."

I look over the problem. It's algebra, which used to make sense, but has long since faded into a string of letters and numbers that should never be combined. Justin could never grasp the way math just came to me.

"If you're so smart," he asked, "then why do you have such shit grades in that class?"

"Tell me, do I stay awake?"

Justin looked up at the clouds. "But you could. You could pass, or something. I mean, the one A could count for something big, ya know?"

"Like what? High expectations?"

"Lighten up." He tackled me to the floor. "It's not gonna hurt you."

I sat like that for a while, staring up at the crystal blue sky. When he crawled off, I sat in his lap, and pointed out how to solve for X.

"You have to divide, over here, you see? Because X needs to be by itself."

"But, why? Won't it get lonely?"

I glared at him. "Do you want my help or not?"

"Oh course, of course. Truce?"

"Whatever. X doesn't like people. He's an emo kid. People treat him like shit. As I was saying, you divide over here, and then on this side, because both sides have to be treated equal."

It was a miracle I got it through his thick skull enough for him to pass the test.

Timmy coughs and I check my watch. I've got therapy at four, which means leaving fifteen minutes for the walk there; twenty if it's raining. The sky's been clear for the last hour, but that doesn't mean it won't decide to dump buckets on my head the second I decide to walk outside. Better make it twenty.

"When do you gotta go?" Timmy's pencil makes its way into my hand. "Write it down."

I roll the wooden stick between my fingers. Three minutes is the product of my shaking hand, and the legibility is a miracle.

"Aw." Timmy pouts over at me. "So soon?"

"Sorry kid." I haven't told him about agreeing to therapy, just that I have an appointment. I don't want to get his hopes up, especially when I don't plan on continuing. The concept is my worst nightmare.

"Can I come over later?" Timmy asks. "I still need your help with this homework, and my parents aren't gonna be home until later. I get distracted when I'm by myself."

I shrug.

"Alright, cool! I'll see you later, Damian!" he says with a smile as I shove my books into my backpack, and stand. The chair legs catch in the unraveled carpeting.

Just as I thought, water starts to fall from the sky the instant I leave the library. I half expect Timmy to come running out into the rain, yelling that I forgot my eraser or something, but he doesn't, and looking over my shoulder every two seconds makes me look like more of an idiot with each turn.

When I know he's not coming, I flip my hood over my soaking hair and trudge along the sidewalk. His office is located on the main street; the little picture perfect lane so many tourists come searching for their dreams in. There's nothing magical about it. It's just a bunch of costume shops run by fat hippies and old people who have no other means to support themselves by.