The next day Kyle asked me something while he was drawing me in the hallway―it was too noisy in the classroom―with an intense focus.

"Why did you give me the cake?"

"You seemed angry on numerous occasions, so I figured that it would make you feel better."

"... I hate sweets."

"Hmm, my apologies then. I didn't consider that possibility. Did you already eat it?" I thought everyone loved sweets.

His brown hair swayed as he gently shook his head. "I only took a bite."

"Alright, well I can take it back if you don't want it." I nonchalantly said when I glanced at him.

"No, it's fine. I gave it to my sister. I didn't want to take any chances." Did he think I poisoned it or something?

I let out a drawn out sigh. "Okay then." Sitting still was boring. I wanted to read an encyclopedia and maybe eat some words while I was at it. He continued to draw me swiftly and powerfully. I could tell that he was focused by the way he held his pencil tightly and by how quick his eyes moved, analyzing each trace with his intense gaze. The fire of curiosity once again lit up the lantern in my heart as my intrigue towards his art skills grew. I wanted to know what I was seen as in someone else's eyes, yet I was hesitant to show him mine.

Just then, Mister Abington appeared from the classroom. "How're you two doing?" He smiled at the both of us after seeing how serious we were taking the project.

I watched Kyle look at his drawing for a brief moment before turning the sketchbook towards the teacher. Mister Abington's eyes widened significantly once they landed on the page that was presented to him. "Kyle, this is wonderful! You're doing a good job. You really captured the lighting well." He then turned to me. "Ah, you can take a break for a moment. Would you mind showing me your progress?"

My muscles relaxed before he could finish his sentence. I moved my arms around and stretched my legs. "Are you sure you want to? It's not done and my shading is a little off."

He simply shook his head. "Anything's better than nothing." That's the thing-- was my drawing worth anything if no one could see it? People always relied on proof or evidence for everything nowadays, and I couldn't even give that. My words and my art seemed to have little worth then.

Kyle had shown Mister Abington his drawing, but what would happen if I showed him mine? Would it only appear as a blank page in his eyes even though I had worn my pencil into the paper with my feelings? While drawing Kyle I had abandoned my logic, instead relying on my heart. In a way, the drawing was for my own closure. I had to let them out somewhere, and paper seemed like the easiest place to lay them. Portraying my emotions through drawing was relieving even if there was a chance that I would be eating them soon after.

I was a little afraid that when I showed it to someone, it would disappear and become apart of the umbrella of words that hovered above me. Even if I couldn't write anymore, drawing was something that everyone was able to do. I didn't know how long I would be able to do that, though. If not showing it to anyone prolonged its existence, then so be it. However, wouldn't that be the same if I hadn't drawn it in the first place? No, it didn't matter if it disappeared in anyone else's eyes; as long as I knew that I drew it then I was fine.

Still, I wanted someone to be able to see my work and look just like how Mom did whenever I showed her my art; with awe, respect and happiness. It was satisfying, and now it was gone. But if that were the case, then why didn't it immediately disappear yesterday?

I reached down to pick up my notebook. I was Beethoven, and I was going to live on no matter what happened. Pages rustled as I flipped past my old art. I wondered if the homework that I had turned in before last month was still in my teacher's' office. Maybe it was thrown away, only thought of to be a stray paper that had wandered from its notebook bindings. My heart then tightened, making me look away from them when I handed the teacher my book.

I didn't bother looking to see his reaction because I was too preoccupied by the tsunami of questions that had crashed onto the previously tranquil beach of my mind. After a few moments of silence, a gasp was heard. Distractedly I returned my gaze to Mister Abington, only to be met with his grey eyes that glistened with oncoming tears. I guess it hadn't stayed after all.

"Ziv, this is amazing! Is this finished yet?" His voice slightly raised rang with excitement.

My words were never voiced, for I was too shocked that he could see it. I thought that no one would. I thought that it would disappear with my words.

Merely shaking my head, I asked the question that had been endlessly repeating in mind. "Y-You can see my art?"

He chuckled a little, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. "Of course I can! It's beautiful. You really have some talent for realism, Ziv."

Tingling heat flushed my cheeks as my vision blurred with tears of joy. "That's wonderful. Thank you, Mister Abington."

He nodded approvingly before turning to Kyle. "Both of you did a great job. Keep up the good work."

"Yes."

"Of course."

The teacher nodded once more before heading back into the classroom. When he left, Kyle held his hand out. "Show me."

"Show you what?" I inquired, though I had an inkling of an idea of what he was going to say next.

"Your drawing of me. I want to see it." There was a harshness in his tone that startled me. I wondered what made him so disheveled. Regardless, I didn't move. I wanted to show him when it was complete.

"I thought you wanted to show each other's when we were done?"

He gritted his teeth and stood from his chair. "That was then, this is now. Give it to me!"

"No, I don't want to!" I said, turning my body so that the notebook wasn't within his reach. Glancing at the door behind us, I wondered if the teacher was nearby. Alas, he was talking with some students and couldn't hear us as the door was soundproof and closed. Beads of sweat began to form on my forehead and my heart pumped a little faster. I stood out of the plastic chair and took a step back. "I'm sorry, when I'm finished I'll make sure to show you. But..." I was proud of my work, sure, but I didn't want to show it off.

"That doesn't matter! Just let me see!" He glared at me, coming closer whenever I stepped back. He seemed troubled, did something I said make him angry? Why was he so persistent with seeing my drawing? It was odd.

I shook my head. For some reason, I didn't want to show him. It felt like he wouldn't understand what I saw in him besides his physical features. It would've made him feel vulnerable, just like I had when I cried in front of him. Yet he continued to pester me about it. When I was backed against the wall, I slipped past him pressing the book against my back with one hand. "There's no need to rush, Kyle. I swear, you can see it later but now's just not a good time."

He looked down at his shoes in silence before chuckling and held up what looked like my sketchbook. "I don't care."

"Wha-" When did he take it from my hands?!

"Ah ah ah! Don't keep your mouth open little one, you might catch flies." He snickered before licking the tip of his finger and flipping through the pages nonchalantly. Nodding with acknowledgment, he commented, "Nice, nice. I wonder where mine is... ah, here it is!"

My heart sank when his wet finger landed on the paper. "Oh, this is good. Great. Much better than mine. You must've worked really hard on this huh, Ziv?"

"Yes, I did. Yours can't be that bad. The teacher said-"

"It doesn't matter. He liked yours more! That pisses me off!"

"Oh. Um, I'm sorry...?" I wasn't sure what else I was supposed to say. He wasn't making sense.

He looked up at me, his brown eyes resting on my lavender-esque ones. "Your apology means nothing if you don't feel guilty."

What was I supposed to feel guilty about? "I don't remember offending you."

"You did the moment you started drawing me. What is this? Teach said it was good, sure. But it's not me. This is worthless."

It was? I looked at my pale hands that were smeared with lead at the fingertips. What had I been drawing for, then?

Kyle hadn't noticed my inner conflict, instead continuing to rattle on. "Trash is worthless and that's what this is. Tell me Ziv, should I throw this away for you? It shouldn't be a problem; you could probably redraw this the right way by the deadline tomorrow."

I muttered something incoherent when he ripped the paper from the notebook.

"What was that?" He mocked before throwing the tattered book to the side. "I couldn't hear you. Speak up."

My lips pursed. "Even if it's trash to you, it's a treasure to me. It's the only thing I have left!"

"Hmmm. That's sweet," he laughed while scrutinizing the paper.

"What exactly do you want me to do? I can't apologize for drawing better than you. I'm sure that you could improve if you tried harder."

At that he whipped his head up. "You think I'm a joke? You think this is funny? Not everyone is a prodigy like you!"

"I'm not a prodigy! I was just making a suggestion―"

He waved his hand to interrupt me. "I don't need your suggestions."

"Okay, that's fine. But can you please give me back my drawing?" I took a step towards him and slowly reached for the paper. He eventually caught on, grabbing my hand and raising the paper up.

I reached my arms upwards in an attempt to retrieve my art from him, but Kyle held it higher than I could go. My fingertips couldn't even brush against the edges of the paper. "Don't rip it, please! It isn't trash!" I said, searching for any sign of mercy in his glowering ash brown eyes. I could already feel the water begin to blur my vision when he tore the top of the paper with a smirk.

"You shouldn't have gotten full of yourself, idiot. You always do this! Taking away the things I work hard for so easily! It's annoying!"

I didn't understand why he was doing this after we were getting along so well, but that seemed to just be a one sided belief on my part. Thinking that he wasn't the same Kyle who tried to intimidate me with words and criticized my existence was naive and foolish. Mom would've been disappointed.

It was troublesome and yet I did nothing but hold my tongue, because I had a sliver of hope that we could one day become friends. But how could I dare be friends with anyone if I wasn't... if I wasn't... normal. No one here knew what albinism was. No one accepted me for who I was, except for my family and maybe Abigail and Sophie.

The only remains of my work were taken away from me so easily. It was frustrating and saddening. He only volunteered to be my partner just to give me false hope before snatching it away in the end all for the sake of his entertainment. I sank to the floor in defeat after realizing that my pleas wouldn't reach him. I worked so hard on it. I was supposed to treasure it, and now it was gone.

My body trembled in irritation and grief at my own stupidity when my drawing that was now reduced to confetti shreds fell from his hands and fluttered over me.

"You fiend," I whispered with a broken cry, "that was the one thing that could've made me feel like I was normal."

"Ahh, that's right. You said something similar at lunch a while ago," he said, bringing a finger to his chin as if reminiscing the day. "But you've got it wrong Ziv; you were never normal." He ruffled my hair mockingly before walking away with a hop in his step.