But apparently he went back later and then beat the kid up with his own bike.
I’ve thought about that a lot over the years.
How he didn’t say a single word.
How he took care of me in his own way.
There were a lot of moments like that with Cassian.
Quiet moments where so much was said with silence.
I filled in that silence with my own naive hopes.
I know better now.
CHAPTER THREE
NINE YEARS OLD
• • •
He became part of my family.
We were inseparable.
As much as was possible considering we didn’t go to the same school. But we were in the same grade. Same age. I went to an embarrassingly proper, overpriced prep school that ran kindergarten through twelfth grade.
And my parents wondered why I was bullied.
Cassian went to public school.
But every day, after school, he came over.
We didn’t question it. It was just what happened. My mom and his mom would talk over the fence sometimes — not for long, but enough. His mom was quiet. Soft-spoken. She had the same eyes as him, that particular shade of blue that didn’t look real in direct sunlight. My mom liked her. I could tell.
I liked her too, in the way you like someone you don’t fully know yet but feel like you should. She always smiled when she saw me, but there was something careful underneath it.
Something held back, the way you hold yourself when there are layers and layers carefully placed over what everyone else saw.
I just thought she was shy.
• • •
Cassian would leave whenever it got dark.
But he always came back.
Sometimes without anyone else knowing.
My parents treated him like he was theirs too.
They’d yell at us when we were acting up — which was often — and then ruin it completely by smiling.
They couldn’t help it. Two giant softies who loved too loudly and never once apologized for it.
Cassian would get the same hugs from them that I did.
All of us huddled together.
