lounging around the water fountain, or else ambling off to the canteen.
I feel like apologizing; but I’m tired of apologizing. “You have a sister?” I ask instead.
“Two of them,” Azel says, without looking at me. “Aisha’s too little to go to school here. Layla’s in the year below yours.”
“How do you know what year I’m in?” He must be a senior. There’s no way he’s a freshman; and I’m a junior, and he said…
“I’ve seen you around.”
His eyes are straight ahead, focused on the sliding doors. And then the doors slide open, and we step through them; and his eyes aren’t focused anywhere at all. And my face is hot—and my head—and I think, well, that happens, when you’re Frankenstein’s brain-damaged monster.
Hot, dry winds whip at my face. For a place called The Spit, we sure don’t see a lot of rain. Azel follows me past the 24/7 laundromat, past the faded, peeling banners that lost their relevance over the years. I wish Azel wouldn’t dog me, even if the matron ordered him to. I appreciate his help, but I feel like an invalid. An invalid wasting his time.
It occurs to me that I only hear one set of footsteps slapping the ground. The bustle and din of the ant colony fall into the backdrop of the city. I turn around to check on Azel.
He’s standing in one spot, still, silent, watching me with a pensive expression on his face. Soon as he notices he’s been caught, the expression clears.
“Oh, jeez.” I try to turn it into a joke. I try to smile. “What now?”
Azel doesn’t have the chance to answer me. The sky opens up in a torrent of rain.
Azel’s shoulders jerk. He honestly looks like a dog on the end of a leash.
“Go figure,” I say, a little weirded out myself. I tug the hood of my jacket over my head.
Azel must really hate the rain, because suddenly he’s determined to get away from it. He walks past me without so much as a word of explanation. He walks underneath the filthy, dusty overpass. He sits on the gutter, his sodden curls drooping down his back.
I contemplate walking home without him. A streak of lightning overhead changes my mind. I scuttle under the overpass. Cautiously, I sit beside Azel, the sounds of thunder and tires racing above us.
—But this is weird, isn’t it, because everybody knows The Spit doesn’t see rain. And to get caught in the rain with a stranger, no less—
“Where are you from?” I ask. Icebreaker.
“Oman. Arabian Desert.”
I realize I’ve never met anyone from another country—unless you count Mom and Dad. Mom and Dad. The thought of them sends pangs of longing coursing throughout my entirety. I try and push them from my mind.
“Do you miss it?” I miss them.
Azel lifts his shoulders in a halfhearted shrug. His eyes are a little distant. “They say you can never go home again.”
Don’t I know it.
The rain rages loudly outside our overpass. The city streets run slick. It’s funny how dim the day suddenly became. It looks like early evening, but it’s not even noon.
“Everybody knows,” Azel says quietly. “About you.”
In a city this size, they shouldn’t. But it’s always going to be there, I guess—that fascination with the macabre, that heartless curiosity that arbitrarily unites us as members of the same race. We’re all human. That makes us hideous. That makes us beautiful.
“So you pity me?” I ask. I can feel myself smiling. Maybe this is my routine now. I smile when I don’t mean it.
“Of course I pity you,” Azel says. “Are you going to tell me I shouldn’t? How can I help it?”
“Some people would say I’m lucky.” Lucky to have survived.
“Some people are idiots.”
The lights under the overpass are dim with dirt and dust. Azel’s hair frizzes as it dries. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. I can’t help but laugh.
“What?” he asks, cautious.
“You
I feel like apologizing; but I’m tired of apologizing. “You have a sister?” I ask instead.
“Two of them,” Azel says, without looking at me. “Aisha’s too little to go to school here. Layla’s in the year below yours.”
“How do you know what year I’m in?” He must be a senior. There’s no way he’s a freshman; and I’m a junior, and he said…
“I’ve seen you around.”
His eyes are straight ahead, focused on the sliding doors. And then the doors slide open, and we step through them; and his eyes aren’t focused anywhere at all. And my face is hot—and my head—and I think, well, that happens, when you’re Frankenstein’s brain-damaged monster.
Hot, dry winds whip at my face. For a place called The Spit, we sure don’t see a lot of rain. Azel follows me past the 24/7 laundromat, past the faded, peeling banners that lost their relevance over the years. I wish Azel wouldn’t dog me, even if the matron ordered him to. I appreciate his help, but I feel like an invalid. An invalid wasting his time.
It occurs to me that I only hear one set of footsteps slapping the ground. The bustle and din of the ant colony fall into the backdrop of the city. I turn around to check on Azel.
He’s standing in one spot, still, silent, watching me with a pensive expression on his face. Soon as he notices he’s been caught, the expression clears.
“Oh, jeez.” I try to turn it into a joke. I try to smile. “What now?”
Azel doesn’t have the chance to answer me. The sky opens up in a torrent of rain.
Azel’s shoulders jerk. He honestly looks like a dog on the end of a leash.
“Go figure,” I say, a little weirded out myself. I tug the hood of my jacket over my head.
Azel must really hate the rain, because suddenly he’s determined to get away from it. He walks past me without so much as a word of explanation. He walks underneath the filthy, dusty overpass. He sits on the gutter, his sodden curls drooping down his back.
I contemplate walking home without him. A streak of lightning overhead changes my mind. I scuttle under the overpass. Cautiously, I sit beside Azel, the sounds of thunder and tires racing above us.
—But this is weird, isn’t it, because everybody knows The Spit doesn’t see rain. And to get caught in the rain with a stranger, no less—
“Where are you from?” I ask. Icebreaker.
“Oman. Arabian Desert.”
I realize I’ve never met anyone from another country—unless you count Mom and Dad. Mom and Dad. The thought of them sends pangs of longing coursing throughout my entirety. I try and push them from my mind.
“Do you miss it?” I miss them.
Azel lifts his shoulders in a halfhearted shrug. His eyes are a little distant. “They say you can never go home again.”
Don’t I know it.
The rain rages loudly outside our overpass. The city streets run slick. It’s funny how dim the day suddenly became. It looks like early evening, but it’s not even noon.
“Everybody knows,” Azel says quietly. “About you.”
In a city this size, they shouldn’t. But it’s always going to be there, I guess—that fascination with the macabre, that heartless curiosity that arbitrarily unites us as members of the same race. We’re all human. That makes us hideous. That makes us beautiful.
“So you pity me?” I ask. I can feel myself smiling. Maybe this is my routine now. I smile when I don’t mean it.
“Of course I pity you,” Azel says. “Are you going to tell me I shouldn’t? How can I help it?”
“Some people would say I’m lucky.” Lucky to have survived.
“Some people are idiots.”
The lights under the overpass are dim with dirt and dust. Azel’s hair frizzes as it dries. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. I can’t help but laugh.
“What?” he asks, cautious.
“You
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