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"I prefer to call it consistency," he muttered, hating that she was putting him on the spot. Yet he would never dare say a bad word to his mother. He loved and respected her, that affection only growing as he'd seen her care for his invalid father, wholly dedicating herself to his well-being.
His mother smiled.
"Of course you would," she chuckled, patting him lightly on the shoulder. "But I worry about her more than I ever worried about you."
His eyebrows shot up.
"I didn't know you worried about me."
"It took me a while to get used to your…peculiarities. I'm not saying this as a bad thing. You know exactly what I mean."
Cisco frowned.
It had taken a long time for his mother and father to get used to him and his patterns. As the eldest, it was his duty to continue the family legacy and take on the business. He'd never shied away from his responsibilities, but he'd also let everyone know that he was going to do things his way—which always meant anunorthodoxway.
Maybe he was obsessive—though he would only ever call himselfconsistent—about seeing things to the end. He liked to see the beginning, the middle and the end of a task, and heneverstrayed from course. Once decided, the plan would be enacted minutely.
Any deviation could prove fatal. To his carefully crafted plans, and to his extremely organized mind.
Yes, hewasobsessive about that.
Point A had to lead to point B and then to point C. If it ever happened that point A led to point C, mayhem would be unleashed and everyone knew tonotbe anywhere within Cisco's destructive path.
Fine, so he hadsomepeculiarities. But he didn't see what was so worrisome about his sister. So she had herownpeculiarities. He had to admit he sometimes saw himself in her and pitied her for it. As a male, he couldmakepeople accept his eccentricities. As a woman, she would be castigated for them.
"Her peculiarities aren't greater than mine," he told her evenly.
"She has no friends, Cisco. She doesn'twantto make any friends. Why, last time I was told she embarrassed her teacher in front of the entire class for suggesting she join her classmates for a project. She embarrassed an adult!" his mother exclaimed uneasily. "All day she's just…there. She loses herself in her music and sometimes I wonder if there's anything to her aside from that," she paused, pursing her lips. "She scares me sometimes," she whispered. "And I think she scares everyone else too."
"She's only nine, mamma. She's a child."
"You were nine once, too. And though you were a loner as well, people loved you. You had that little clique at school that always looked up to you," Elena laughed. "I can still remember them following you around everywhere and trying to be like you."
"You're remembering wrong, mamma. I didn't want anything to do with them. I just wanted to read my Descartes," he added dryly.
He could still picture those days. He'd always been more attracted by metaphysics, by principles of knowledge and scrutinizing an issue until he got to the root of it. He preferred abstract principles to the dreary reality he lived in.
From the moment he learned how to read, he eschewed the normal texts for kids his age, going for more difficult ones—so difficult, in fact, that everyone around him had reacted with equal awe and mockery. His peers, in particular, thought him condescending because he didn't want to engage in what he thought were inane, childish games. But there had also been those that had seen him ascool—those that tried to emulate him.
He'd never made an effort to be friends with them, but they'd followed him for so long that at some point he'd decided to allow them in his vicinity, sometimes even imparting some of his knowledge.
Yes, one might say he'd had a posse. But it had never been ofhismaking. It had simply…happened.
Yet Cisco could understand the parallel his mother was drawing.
Noelle went out of her way to keep her distance from people.
Cisco might not have been a regular kid, playing or engaging in the same activities as others. But he had, on occasion,pretendedto be normal.
He'd always known he was different from the rest, but he'd also sought to assimilate because he'd realized early on that different—other—made him stand out more than he wanted to. And if there was one thing he despised more than the slightest deviation in his schedule, it was having to explain himself.
Noelle was the opposite.
She didn't mind being different—she reveled in it. She didn't mind standing out like a sore thumb in a crowd. She just wanted to be alone.
Alone with her music.
So she did everything in her power to drive people away.
