Chapter 2 - Spaceships

Sometimes I don’t notice things around me even when they’re right under my nose. Other times, I’m so perceptive that I can read a person’s smallest movement and deduce their feelings and mood in the moment.

I think it’s because I get lost in my thoughts a lot. I get bored so easily, that sometimes my thoughts are more interesting than the world around me.

School’s boring. I know all of the math that’s being taught, and I know how to read already. I can read British literature like Charles Dickens and Shakespeare, which most people my age can’t. I hate being stuck in first grade when I know I’m way more advanced than the other students.

It’s break time, and I’m thinking of this story I’m writing. A story about a lost empire and a princess who with her dragon saves her country from oblivion. There’s magic and romance and adventure. Something I crave on the day to day.

I’m writing in my notebook some ideas for magic spells that Princess Kate can use in her arsenal when a voice interrupts my thoughts.

“I didn’t know you went to my school.”

I look up and I see Mike. For some reason, he looks taller than I remembered, and his hair is a few shades blonder than before. Something that hasn’t changed though is that he’s holding a book in his hand again, and he’s looking at me with a furrow in his brow.

I can’t help but laugh. Unexpected surprises that catch me off guard have a way of doing that to me. And I didn’t expect this, not even from a mile away.

“Hey Mike! This must be Fate. I didn’t know you were in my class!”

Mike rolls his eyes, putting his hand on his hip.

“I lied, Sam. I saw you on the first day of class, but you haven’t noticed me until today.”

That’s somehow not surprising. As I said, I have tunnel vision most of the time.

“Well, it’s your fault for not talking to me.” I pout.

“You could have talked to me instead.”

“I would have, if I had noticed you.”

“I’m offended. How dare you for not noticing me? I’m only this good looking, the other girls are all over me. But you!”

I giggle. Our back and forth amuses me, and I’m not annoyed by his pontification for some reason. It’s somehow endearing and makes me like him a little bit more.

“What’s it like having girls all over you? Are they like cream cheese and you’re their bagel?”

I pop a Cheeto in my mouth and crunch it in my mouth. I love food analogies, and food puns, and food, in general. Cheetos are my favorite junk food, except I hate how I get cheese dust all over my fingers when I eat them. I have to wash my hands after eating a bunch or else I’ll get Cheeto dust all over my things.

Mike ignores my question, instead plopping his body on the striped cushion next to me.

Staring at me, he says, “How did we not talk until today, Sam?”

He’s really close to me, our faces inches away. His eyes are a startling emerald-green, cool and cutting. He’s never been this close to me before. I fidget a little, feeling nervous.

There’s this feeling burgeoning inside of me, a fire that’s lighting me up and sending heat throughout my body. It’s unfamiliar and unsettling, and I don’t like it.

I’m too young to be attracted to a boy. I’m only six years old, as my brother likes to remind me whenever I try to hang out with him and his friends. But I know intuitively that this is what attraction must feel like, from books and movies.

Teachers say I’m emotionally intelligent for my age. They tested my IQ and EQ for reasons unknown to me in the UK, and apparently my scores were off the charts. They told me not to tell the other kids. Why would I? Bragging would just make them hate me.

And out of anyone, I wouldn’t want Mike to hate me.

I look away and don’t answer his question, knowing it’s a rhetorical one. I bury my face in my book. I’m reading Harry Potter for the seventh time, and it gets better every time. I’m more interested in books and stories than talking to the stupid kids in my class who don’t share my vocabulary and who don’t get my jokes. Mike can’t be any different.

Mike takes my book away from me in a swift motion, flipping it to its cover. Scoffing, he says,

“Harry Potter? Juvenile. Ender’s Game’s way better.”

He shows me the cover of his book. I see Ender Wiggin in a space-ship, about to declare war on the aliens.

I smile in spite of myself. He’s rude like always, but I like that he’s so straightforward. And already we have another thing in common.

“Ender’s Game is amazing! Did you read the rest of the series?”
“Yeah. But the rest of the books aren’t as good as the first one.”

He flips through my book casually, glancing at me as if he was wondering if I would be upset. I shrug. I really don’t mind. I’ve had to learn how to compromise from living with my brother and having to share things with him.

That’s the great thing about having siblings. Besides not having to be alone.

We sit in silence for a moment as he flips through my book. The silence is somehow comfortable, not awkward like many silences can be. I didn’t feel the need to punctuate the air with words that were unnecessary, just to fill the void with my voice.

There was no void here.

Instead, there was a feeling of familiarity.

Handing my book back without a word, he flips open Ender’s Game.

Taking my book back, I look up at him.

“Do you write too? Stories, I mean?”

He looks at me, his eyes cool and green, and sits up straight.

“Yeah, I do sometimes. I’m in the middle of writing a novel. I’m having serious writer’s block though.”

I gape at him. Another thing we had in common.

“No way! I’m writing a book too!”

He smiles at me, his eyes twinkling.

“Really? What’s it about.”

I frown. I just met him, and I’m not going to divulge the secrets of my writing to someone I just met, even if he and I do share a common interest in writing.

“Secret. I’ll tell you later if we hang out more.”

He glares at me, his smile gone. Just like that, a light that lit up inside him when we started talking about writing went off, and he shut down. I regret saying that, but I can’t take it back now.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

Before I could apologize, he gets up and marches off to the other side of the room. He sits at a computer, eyes flaming, and starts typing. I wonder if he’s working on his book. And most probably, writing something negative about me.

I don’t get why he’s so offended. Just last weekend, he was acting all private about his book, and now he’s talking to me and acting like we’re best friends. I don’t have any best friends in this school, I usually talk to my older brother and his friends and hang out with them in my free time. But I wouldn’t call them my best friends, they’re way older than me.

Mike’s different from the other kids though. Smarter, for one. Not that many kids our age can read books like Harry Potter and Ender’s Game. I learned how to read when I was two years old, and I never looked back since.

And I don’t know that many kids my age who write, especially not novels.
But Mike does both, read and write. Just like me. And I believe him, he seemed like he was telling the truth.

I wished I got a chance to apologize. But Mike seems like he wants time alone to himself, and I’m busy processing what just happened.

I met someone who’s smart like me and reads and writes like me.

And I think we’re going to be friends.

Good ones.

I smile to myself and start doodling in my notebook. No, I’m not drawing a heart around Mike’s name and mine, that would be idiotic and stupid, something the other girls in my class would do.

I’m drawing a space-ship. And I’m thinking of a new story to write, a space adventure featuring two space cadets, a boy and a girl our age. Off to fight aliens and ace institutional tests to get ahead in life.

Maybe if we ever get to best friend level, I’ll let him read my story one day.

And maybe he’ll let me read his.

It starts with friendship. A friendship kindled by common interests, a feeling of camaraderie and mutual interest. Relationships take time to build, no matter how much you feel connected to each other in the first couple moments of meeting and talking. And I felt connected to him, which was something I noticed during each and every one of our conversations.

But trust takes time to build. We all have invisible wounds inflicted on us by the people we have met in our lives, scars that built up over time. And I had reservations about being friends with him, as he did with me.

But I knew deep down that we were going to be best friends.

I didn’t fall in love with him at first sight, but I had a feeling that grew stronger as our friendship grew stronger, it’s quite possible I’ll fall in love with him.

And I did.