That means Felix is sixteen now-- and he died a month after his birthday. I swallow heavily, and my heart aches painfully in my chest.
“Then second grade rolled around,” Nolan continues, fortunately oblivious to my painful realization, “and that’s when Donovan and Connor joined our class. At eight, they were the ‘older kids’,” he adds finger quotes, “and were just as intimidating then, as they are now-- at least to everyone else.”
“What he means to say was Donovan scared the crap out of everyone, because he was even surlier than now,” Felix adds, earning a Donovan one finger salute of his own, but he simply grins back. “Like that, only as an eight year old.”
Kaleb makes a laugh/groan/sigh combination type noise, then says, “And the way Mrs. Smedley’s eyes would bug-out every time Donovan shared his expansive collection of curse words, we were all sure one day they’d fall out of her head.”
“Alright. Alright. I was a little shit. Move on,” Donovan grunts.
“Then there was Connor, who drove Mrs. Smedley crazy in a completely different way,” Nolan chuckles, “because he spoke even less then than he does now.”
I glance up at Connor surprised, and he shrugs his shoulders. Amusement dances in his eyes, illustrating that he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Not that it mattered,” Donovan comments. “Nolan fucking talked enough for both of them.”
“I had a lot to say as a child,” he replies, causing Donovan, Felix, and Kaleb to snort.
“You say that like it’s changed,” Kaleb chuckles, the sound a deep rumble in his chest.
Nolan looks aghast with a hand to his chest. “Oh no, the personified encyclopedia doesn’t get to accuse me of talking too much.”
“A well thought out and articulated answer is never too much,” he fires back, looking entertained by the characterization.
“Bullshit,” Donovan fake coughs into his fist.
A smile creeps across my lips as I listen to the guys tease and bicker with each other, and I feel a shared comradery with Connor-- who like me, appears to be enjoying the show. The tension from this morning seems to drain out of me, and despite the dreariness of the outside, I feel warm and safe tucked in this circle of friends. Without realizing it, my body relaxes into Connor’s, my head resting against his arm.
In response, he uses his right hand to pat me on the head, which I interpret to mean he doesn’t mind.
My lack of sleep is catching up with me. I cover my mouth as I yawn out, “Why were you two older than the other kids? Start school late?”
“Were there any words in that sentence?” Felix teases, his head skewed to the side to mimic me leaning.
I stick my tongue out at him, because I’m extremely mature.
“Held back a grade,” Connor answers to the top of my head, apparently having no trouble understanding my question.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Donovan square his shoulders and there’s a hard glint to his gaze, the only warning sign he seems to have right before he says something shocking in the most blunt way possible.
“Before Kaleb gets a chance to pussy foot around it,” Donovan opens as expected, and Kaleb drops his head and pinches the bridge of his nose, “my family died in a house fire, and I was sent to live with Kaleb’s family-- his parents were good friends of mine back in the day. I was homeschooled before that, and when I moved here, school said I didn’t know everything a third grader was supposed to, so they put me in second. There, story over.”
He looks at me with challenge, waiting for me to pity him, because that’s what people do when they learn your childhood is fucked up. I meet his gaze, and instead of offering platitudes, I say, “So it took you what-- a week to catch up?”
His whole body relaxes with my response. He smirks as he admits, “A month. I was a little shit that didn’t want to read. Hard to catch up that way.”
I nod, bits of my hair clinging to Connor’s shirt. It’s only when I sense the deep stillness inside Connor and the guarded concern from the others that I realize I may have shed light on a part of me that I wanted to stay hidden. Because only those that have experienced real trauma are unsurprised when they hear it from another. Do I have sympathy for his loss? Of course, I do-- but my understanding comes from a hard and jaded place where only pride keeps you moving.
Great job, Callie. Two awkward silences in less than fifteen minutes.
Pretending I don’t notice, I ask with forced brightness, “And that was it? Best friends forever?”
“Sort of,” Nolan continues the story, though not quite as theatrically. “Felix hung out with me and Connor at lunch and recess, then he’d hang out with Kaleb and Donovan after school.”
“It was video games that brought us all together,” Felix announces. “My parents bought me a Wii for Christmas, which had all of these multiplayer games-- so I invited everyone over to play.”
“At Christmas?” I ask.
“Yup,” he replies. “It was always the more the merrier with my parents-- probably because I was an only child and only Aunt Gertie could make it to any holiday celebrations. Anyway, everyone came over, parents included and we ate food and played games all day. It was awesome.”
