Mom and Dad were right all those years ago: I truly am a burden.
Chapter Two
Wren
Ten Years Ago—Tenth Grade
I’m late. . . again.
My stomach is turning because I’m pretty sure Mom fed me something I wasn’t supposed to eat and because today we’ll be assigned our partners for the midterm history project. I don’t work well with other people. Most of the time, I end up having to miss a day during the week, and they get upset. Also, I’m too soft-spoken. It takes time for me to feel comfortable around others. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been in this class for four months and that I know everyone’s name. I’m the odd one out because I’m the quiet girl with no friends. They’ll only laugh at me.
They always do.
The warning bell rings. I take in a sharp inhale and slowly release it. With a silent prayer to whatever force is watching over me, I step into the fluorescent-lit hallway and speed walk the rest of the way to class.
Taking my seat in the last row, I open my notebook and keep my head down. My leg jostles restlessly, only growing worse when my peers giggle and whisper around me. There’s about a forty percent chance they’re talking about me, but that doesn’t stop my cheeks from burning. This is something I’ve spoken to my court-mandated therapist about. Not everyone is gossiping or laughing behind my back. I’m working on rewiring my brain, but it’s taking too long. I sink deeper in my chair and nearly sigh when Mr. Hansberry closes the door and the bell chimes.
“All right, let’s get settled. We have lots to go over in very little time.”
Mr. Hansberry is one of the few teachers who is sympathetic to my circumstance. It may be because of my natural interest in history. Or perhaps he’s just a decent person. I run into very few of those... so I’ll go with the first probability.
“The goal of this experiment is to place yourself in the shoes of the average American Revolutionary soldier. I want you to read, discover, and think. What would it be like to be a part of something that could change history? Would you be excited or terrified for yourself and your loved ones? Would you yearn for justice? That is for you and your partner to discover?—”
Cue the disgruntled groans . . .
“When I call your name, the next name that follows will be your partner for this assignment. When I finish, gather up and devise a plan.”
One by one, teams are paired. My leg shakes while a thousand thoughts run wild in my head. I would do better if I could work by myself. Why do we have to work in groups anyway? Maybe I could get Mom to write me a note. If I get her when she’s in one of her good moods. . .
“Wren Jacob.”
My attention shoots to the front of the class. Mr. Hansberry is twirling his pen between his fingers as he casually follows my name up with, “Theo Torres.”
I don’t stop my brows from creasing nor allow the whispers to bother me. For the first time in years, I can ignore the laughter and mumbling from the people around me. It doesn’t register that they’re calling me a freak because they’re calling him one too.
“Smart move, teach. Pair the weirdos together.”
“I didn’t know she was in this class.”
“She’s barely here and doesn’t talk.”
“He’s just as strange.”
“Silence,” Mr. Hansberry commands.
Theo Torres. Why doesn’t his name sound familiar? I thought I knew everyone in this school. I can’t see him from my seat, and I don’t want to make it evident that I’m looking for him. So, I wait until our teacher gives us the okay. Only then do I turn around and scrunch my lips together in deep thought when I see the only other person without a partner.
He’s wearing a formfitting black athletic long-sleeve shirt and baggy dark blue jeans. His skin is tan and free of blemishes, and his dark brown hair is long and curly. His eyes are cast down on his notebook, focusing on what he’s writing or doodling.
I hate this. Not only do I have to make the first move. I also have to introduce myself because we’ve never met. Did he transfer here while I was out last year? And how come I haven’t noticed him until today?
Desks screech as they move across the floor. Taking a deep breath, I gather my belongings, sling my bag over my shoulder, and approach him.
Just be cool,I tell myself as I close the distance.He’s just a person. You’re a person. We can relate to that. Be natural.
My eyes are planted on my white Adidas knockoffs when I near him. With my notebook close to my chest, for the first time ever, I speak without thinking. “Hi.”
Wow. So natural.
