There is something strange and lonely about beautiful people. Beautiful people that are beautiful without work, without effort. It’s something given.
With him, she could tell it never really felt like his to begin with. In his mind, and in his body, he was still the little boy that talked too much, the little boy that was too smart, the little boy whose brother was his best friend.
She kept seeing him as a teenage boy, sitting in class. He looked the same but fundamentally different, the youngness seeped through every part of him. He'd hidden that youngness now. She saw a giant cloud of silence that he wore like a cape.
Sometimes, when they sat at breakfast, that tremendous silence fell over her like weather. It was a silence she'd never known before. She watched his lips move, his smile, his teeth, the conductor at a noiseless opera scored by the first real thing, ever.
"You're the smartest person I've ever met."
She wasn't stupid, either, just disconnected. The silence had meaning. It mattered. She knew it.
Her life was about to change.
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