Loving the Clouds

Chapter 3

I noticed something today.

He had no friends.

No, that was not true. He had one friend. Just one. A boy who was just slightly taller then him, with peppery brown hair cut short and yellowish green eyes. Like dead grass. He also had glasses. He seemed to be the only person the boy talked to. Whenever I happened to see him outside of class, he would be talking to the boy with pepper hair.

It wasn't that he was not friendly or anything, it just seemed that nobody was attempting to talk to him. They wouldn't give him the time of day. For this reason exactly is why he does not talk in class. He has no one to talk to, and no one will talk to him. He is a shadow among sunlight.

Something I do not miss is the looks thrown his way when he is eating his lunch alone. They are not mean looks, not at all. They are looks of pity. Sympathy, even. This rises my curiosity. He has a story.

I ask my friends this, a couple days after I saw him the first time in class. My closest friend, Jaclyn, is all empathy. Her face fills with a sad look as I ask. She tells me he is an orphan. That he lives with his aunt, uncle and cousin. Some accident had happened to his parents a year ago, Jaclyn did not know the details.

My heart feels heavy in my chest and I have to resist throwing a look his way. Death is a harsh thing. It grips onto your heart and fills it with pain. Sometimes, it ebbs away. Other times, it is a struggle to let it go. I couldn't begin to imagine what he went through and may be going through now. But I want to help him.

It is silly, I know, to want this for a boy I do not know. A boy with eyes like two storm clouds and hair like chocolate. A boy who stands in the rain so that he can taste the clouds. There is just something about him that draws me, catches my attention. He is different from other people in my school, so different. A puzzle piece that does not fit.

He has a story, a powerful one, and I am determined to figure it out.

*****

That was the same day that I first talked to him.

He walks the same path as me home from school. The bus whisks us to the end of our street and drops us off, leaving us to trek the rest of the way to our house. His house is across the street from mine, so we walk the same way. Most days, I will see him walking with his cousin, a tall blond boy, but today he is not.

I let him walk ahead of me, as I am a naturally slow walker anyways. He wears a baggy black spring jacket and a pair of sweatpants, hands tucked into his pockets. His toque covers his hair again, head bowed down to the ground, and I see the tufts sticking out. I believe he is not aware of it, and the thought makes me laugh. The only sound is the steady thump of his tattered runners against the cracked sidewalk, a beat I match my steps to, and the low whistle of the wind in the trees. Not a cloud stains the clear blue sky. I stare at it, as if looking for answers.

My eyes are too focused on the sky that I do not notice the wide crack in the pavement. The tip of my shoe catches in the crack and I go tumbling forward. My shoulder hits the sidewalk with a crack and pain flares up. A groan escapes my lips and I roll onto my back, hand reaching over to grip my shoulder. Luckily, all I feel is a bruise.

A soft voice speaks, "Are you alright?"

My eyes snap up and fix onto his cloud-blue ones, biting back a gasp. He jogs over to me and stares at me, eyes pinching in concern. He does not let me answer, and kneels down next to me to look at my shoulder. Just like I had found, he judges it to be a mere bruise, and tells me as much. Offering a hand, he hauls me to my feet.

"You should watch where you step next time," he says hesitantly, eyes roaming everywhere but me.

"I, um," I clear my throat, "I didn't see the crack."

His lips twitch up in a shadow of a smile, "Alright then. I guess I will see you around . . ."

He says that last bit with a sort of unspoken question hanging in the air, eyes searching mine. It is almost as if he is afraid I will ignore him, like the rest of the school. A flicker of an emotion I can't pinpoint crosses his cloud grey eyes.

I nod, "Yeah, probably. And, um, thank you."

He takes my thanks with a small nod before giving me a wave and walking on. I do not follow him. I stay rooted in my spot, watching him as each step takes him farther away. I replay the words in my head, it seemed too real. His voice was not deep, but it did not matter much to me. It sounded perfect. I closed my eyes and let out a sigh, calming my racing heart.

Five minutes later, I was walking into my house. My mother commented on the smile that was glued to my face, but there was no answer I could give. Cloud grey eyes filled my mind, and a voice that could only be described as perfect.