Anatomy of a Misfit

That Time I'm Not Social

The next day it was my eyes that fascinated him. Again, I'm not sure why. They were like my hair; boring, dull, and brown.

"But think about it," he said while we waited for the lesson to start, "when you mix a bunch of different coloured paints together, you get brown. It must be the same with eyes. Yours are so many different colours at once, you just don't realize it 'cause you're too busy thinking they're not interesting. But they are!" His eyes, green like jungle vines, light up when he speaks, his passion feeding the fire. He looks so intrigued by his own statement, I can't help but laugh.

"What?" he says, still smiling. "It's true! Your eyes could be a combination of every colour in this room! They're anything but dull, my dear. They're one in a million."

I give him an exasperated look. "Brown eyes are nothing but the colour that was left over."

"If you keep thinking that, you'll never accept just how extraordinarily abnormal you are, and I mean that as a compliment."

I sigh, fed up with this conversation, but his words are still lingering in my head, bouncing off every corner and causing an echo in my mind.

Extraordinarily abnormal.

That doesn't even begin to cover it.

The lesson is over before I can comprehend it starting, and the loud sound of the bell pierces through my eardrum , pulling me out of my daydream.

I start to leave, but Artie starts talking to me before I can even get up.

"Hey, Ari? Wanna come over after school?" He looked so desperate for more of the little bits attention I'd been giving for the past two days; the attention we've both been missing.

I want to, but I'm too awkward to say yes.

"Um, sorry Artie," I can see the defeat already taking shape in his usually happy eyes, "I can't. Lots of homework. Maybe some other time."

I turn on my heel and walk away before he can reply.