Twenty-One: Silence.

“Surely silence can sometimes be the most eloquent reply.”

-Imam Ali

Friday was one of those rare school days, the kind where everyone is on the edge of their seats and teachers are smiling and there's a breathless, anticipatory feeling dangling in the air like mistletoe. It was always like this before break, when we could taste freedom on our tongues and the feeling was so wonderful that even the school Scrooges were smiling. Carson Myles even wished me happy holidays, and even though his exact words were, “Merry Christmas, twerp,” I still returned the greeting with a smile.

I was so happy by the end of the day, and I figured that the only thing that would make it better would be to see you. But you weren't going to be at the teashop; you'd texted me the night before to say that you had a club meeting then another performance and you wouldn't have time. Pathetically, I'd gotten to the point of dependency where not seeing you for a day gave m withdrawal-like effects, and I couldn't get you out of my head until I'd seen your smile. It was beginning to worry me a little, but I guess it was just the way things are when you really, really like someone.

Maybe it was the intoxicating feeling of the holidays, or the Disney movies we'd been watching in my classes throughout the day, but I suddenly wanted to be the knight in shining armor that you obviously didn't need, the prince who would sweep you off your feet. At the very least, I wanted to show up and surprise you after school.

Aunt Sheridan let me use her car, but she did give me a funny look because even though I have my license she knows how much I hate driving. Then, when I told her that I was going to see you, she got this misty-eyed expression and smiled and told me to drive safe.

Sometimes I don't understand women.

I got lost a couple of times, because I don't know anything on the other side of the bridge too well, but eventually I made it to Franklin and then I was parked in the student parking lot wondering what the hell to do with myself. Sometimes I don't really think things through, and my sister always tells me this is because I'm guided by my emotions which is something girls are apparently supposed to like. I hoped you would like the fact that I was climbing the front steps of your school in the chilly December wind, uninvited, and had no idea where I was supposed to go. Because I was lost, so I wasn't enjoying it all too much.

I figured that my best bet was to hang around out front and try not to look too awkward, even though that was basically impossible. Thankfully, it wasn't too crowded because school had been out for a while now, and you were only still there since your community service club was making shoe boxes to send to a shelter in the city. Only a few people passed me as I sat on the brick fence in front of the school, passing time, and they didn't seem to notice me. I was virtually invisible, and sometimes that's a good thing.

It's also a good thing that I'm not invisible to you, and you couldn't possibly understand how much warmer it made me feel (it was really cold), when I heard your voice, confused as it was, calling my name.

“Sam? What are you doing here?”

Then footsteps; your shoes slapping pavement, getting louder, and when I looked up there you were, cocooned in another terrible Christmas sweater with a giant scarf wrapped around your neck. Your freckle-dusted nose was red from the cold, but you were smiling and you looked like the perfect picture of winter.

I'd had all these things to say to you, but they all slipped from my mind when I saw you standing there. “I, um, just came to say hi,” I managed. “So...hi?”

You snorted. “My God, Sam, don't be so awkward.” I half-smiled as you stepped forward and linked your arm with mine, shifting your bag on your shoulder. “Regardless of why, I'm glad you came.”

“I can drive you home,” I offered.

The wind brushed your hair away from your face. “That would be really great.”

The student parking lot was around the side of the school, past the gym and the football field. It had all been empty on my way over, but now there were three kids, two guys and a girl, leaning against the outer gym wall with cigarettes between their fingertips. Their appearance, the looks on their faces, immediately set off a warning bell in my head, and it only intensified when you tensed beside me.

“Head up, Ellery,” I thought I heard you murmur.

The kids looked up just as we were passing, and you straightened and raised your chin beneath their gazes. The girl smirked, ugly and shark-like, and looked you up and down with the words, “Nice sweater, dork.”

I wanted to freeze, to turn on her and shout and hit her stupid friends for laughing at her comment. But you kept walking, so I forced myself to do the same. They were idiots, and they were everywhere and I had dealt with them myself. If they didn't bother you, I wouldn't let them bother me.

“Where ya going, Ellery?” one of the guys taunted. “Running away again? Didn't think you were as chicken as your little brother.” He made a chicken noise, and in my peripherals I saw him flapping his arms.

You stopped. Your arm slid away from mine, but I could plainly see the way you were vibrating with anger, your cheeks turning red and your arms becoming fists. And I could relate, because I wasn't even you and I felt the same way.

“You gonna just stand there?” the guy demanded. “If you've got a problem with us, why don't you come and tell us what it is? Or does pathetic weakness just run in your family?”

We both whirled around at the same time, but I spoke first. Shouted.

“He wasn't weak,” I spat, feeling my nails digging into the flesh of my palms. I was angry, so angry, because how dare that idiot insult your family when he didn't even know you, didn't know how wonderful you were.

“That right?” The boy tossed his cigarette to the ground, crushed it beneath the toe of his shoe. “Then why didn't he fight, huh? Why'd he go and take the easy way out?”

I couldn't see your face; I didn't want to. But I heard the complete fury in your voice as you snarled the bitter words, “You have no right to say that. You don't know anything.”

He snorted.

This wasn't okay. You were upset, and I couldn't stand it because people like you shouldn't ever be anything but happy, and I can't tell you how much I wanted to tear that boy to shreds right then and there, wipe that hideous grin off his face. I was seeing red, and it was scaring me, but I didn't try to quell it.

I wasn't thinking properly; I can't never do anything brave when I'm thinking properly. Every sliver of holiday spirit was gone as I strode over to that boy, leaning so casually against the wall, as if he hadn't just said such an awful thing. I wasn't myself as I reached out and grabbed the collar of his shirt, pinning him to the wall. I didn't know how to fight, but I towered over him and that was enough to send a flicker of fear through his eyes.

“You worthless piece of shit,” I growled, shaking him slightly. “It's pathetic trash like you that made her brother kill himself.”

He tried to laugh. “Come on, man. That little queer was the pathetic one, and we both know it.”

I gritted my teeth. “The only thing I know is that you don't have a brain, a heart, or a conscience. How the hell do you live with yourself?”

“Sam,” I heard you say. Your voice was hazy because it was coming through a thick red cloud. Anger. That was anger. I didn't think I'd ever been so angry before. I wanted that kid—the kid whose name I still don't know—to feel the same pain that you did. I wanted him to pay for what he said.

But then you said, “Sam, let him go,” and even though you still sounded angry you were calmer than me and this was what you wanted so I had to, for you. Slowly, very slowly, I uncurled my fingers from the boy's shirt. His friends had already run, and with the way he was backing away, he looked like he wanted to do the same. But he made time for one more comment, directed at you once again.

“Hey, wimp.” His voice was shaky. “Maybe try fighting your own battles next time.”

Then he turned, first walking away and then glancing over his shoulder and breaking into a sprint. I watched him until he disappeared around the corner of the building, and kept staring even after that, trying to calm down, until I felt your gloved hand on my arm.

When I turned to you, somehow, you were smiling.

“My hero,” you declared, your eyes shining.

I scratched my head, frowning. I hadn't meant to react that way to him; I just couldn't help it.

“Who was that?” I questioned.

You toed the ground, uncomfortable. “Just some idiot. It's not a big deal, really.” Then, quieter, “Happens all the time.”

I wondered about that as we headed for Aunt Sheridan's car, arm in arm again. I was silent, because I didn't think there was any proper way to really respond to that. We were both silent. But I didn't understand—I just didn't. I knew bullies, and I'd grown up around them. I just didn't understand why someone like you would ever be a victim. Was I the only one who saw you for who you really were?

I opened the passenger door for you, but when I climbed into the driver's seat, I didn't start the car. It was cold, but I just sat there and let the quiet wash over us and ran my head in circles, just wondering how. And you stared at your hands.

I didn't want to ask how they knew about your brother. Or when it started. Or why. I doubted you would want to answer. Questions help nothing, I know. Sometimes silence does. Sometimes it drives you mad, or course. But often it makes everything calm.

When you broke it, your voice was soft, placid. “Thank you, Sam,” you murmured. “For standing up for me. I meant what I said, about you being a hero. You're brave, and I don't think you realize that.” Your hand was on my arm, but I couldn't look at you.

I shrugged, embarrassed. I didn't think you needed a hero, not really, and I didn't think I was one. You should know that no matter what you think, I'm not brave, and I'm not strong. But I can pretend that I am, for you.

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A/N: i promise there will be lighter chapters soon, really