Chapter 36

"Is there anything bothering you?" I ask Scott as he pointedly refuses to meet my gaze. He's been doing that for the past half an hour that we'd been walking in the road.

I decided that it would be best that we take the long road to school, which involved skipping the bus entirely and walking a long while.

It seemed he wasn't in too happy of a mood as he just kept on kicking stones like they were the main reason he was sad. "Do you think I'm stuck up?" He asks and I scrunch my face at the question. "What do you mean stuck up?" I ask back, and he shrugs his shoulders.

"You mean the fact that you're sometimes inconsiderate and act like a nasty thing crawled up your pants?" I ask. I can see his expression visibly drop and i almost start laughing until I realise he's actually serious. He looks hurt, like the description I'd given to him hit a raw chord.

I smile and hit him by the shoulders "Get that frown off your face. Those things are what make you, You. I don't think there's anyone who dosen't have issues. Everyone has that one bad habit they're trying so desperately to rid themselves of. Don't beat yourself up because of it" I say.

He looks up at me and I can see the faint hint of a smile playing on his lips.

"I'd that why you dressed like this today?" I ask and he shrugs. Normally Scott would dress like he was one of the teachers at school. He would have the whole outfit, but he'd just dress like a slightly fashion conscious teacher.

It seemed to tell people what they wanted to know about him. That he considered himself an intellectual and would rather the world also did too. He wanted people to know that what he lacked In terms of physical strength, he made up for it in terms of brainpower.

I don't think Scott has ever looked ugly, even when he had foolishly clung to the habit of dressing like a professor. His dressing today is different as much as its practically what every other kid his age is wearing. A peach blazer  and faded ash jeans. I can recognize the blazer good enough.

It was something my aunt had gotten him, she told us that peach was our mother's favourite colour. The fact seems to hit me and I feel a pang of shame as I realise I'd been thinking of myself all this while. Scott has also lost his parents as much as I'd also lost mine. We'd both lost our parents, and yet we'd never really talked about it.

The colour of the shirt on him scares me as I basically realise what he's wearing. These are our parent's favourite colours. From the ash, down to the peach, and the neon green. He's wearing what they loved and for some reason I go to his side and link his hand with mine.

He gives me an awry expression and I ignore him. He also needs some consolation.