"I'm Cassidy, by the way."
A trace of a smile graced his features as he said, "Warren Peace. It's nice to officially meet you. From what I saw of your powers, they're pretty impressive."
"You saw that?" He nodded and your nerves buzzed. "Look, they...
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The next morning, I swapped out my books at my locker and went to my first class: P.E. In the locker room, I quickly changed to avoid any unwanted attention and rushed into the gym. Warren was already changed and brooding at the top of the bleachers. Preparing myself for possible rejection, I climbed up the steps. He surprised me when he slid over a bit, inviting me to sit next to him. No words were spoken as I sat down. But there was a decent amount of time before class, so I decided to spark up a conversation.
"Thanks for the seat."
"You're welcome," he responded, "That's what friends are for."
I smirked. "So we are friends. I knew you couldn't resist."
Warren chuckled, and I couldn't help but smile at the sound. Instead of the dark, mysterious person he let everyone else see, he let me in and showed me the real him. In the short time we'd had to get to know each other, he was comfortable enough with me to fracture his façade. The same façade that had people like Will trembling in their shoes.
"Can I ask you a question? And, you don't have to answer if you don't want to," I started. He nodded, curiosity etched in his features. "What's the deal with you and Will Stronghold?"
A look of surprise crossed his face, but he recovered, clearing his throat. "His dad put mine in–"
"No," I interrupted gently. "I don't want the newspaper's story. I want your story. What goes through that head of yours when you see Will?"
We stared into each other's eyes and I saw another wave of surprise. Under different circumstances, his gaze would've been enough to send pleasant chills through my body. His deep brown eyes held so much kindness, hidden behind a mask of pain. No one had ever bothered to ask for the real story, and that wasn't fair. Warren deserved to be heard.
I wanted to hear his point of view.
We were silent for a bit as he thought about what and how much he wanted to say. After an internal debate, he sighed, his eyes trained on his joined hands. "On my fourth birthday, my dad got me a baseball glove and ball. After we ate a slice of cake, we spent the rest of the night playing catch in the front yard. When it became too dark, I had a tantrum because I never wanted to stop. Dad picked me up in his arms and promised that when the sun came up, we would continue to throw. And we did. He always told me how good I was and how amazing I would be; even when I threw the ball past him or missed a catch, which was a lot. It's my best memory."
We shared a smile before Warren turned solemn. His eyes traveled back to his clenched hands, and I took my chance to rest my hand over his and give them a comforting squeeze.
"The next year, he was gone. Mom explained what he had done the best she could to a five-year-old. I didn't believe her and wanted to see him for myself, but she wouldn't let me; I was so mad at her. But looking back, I understand that she was protecting me. But it was hard. I lost my father and she lost her husband. We were so confused as to why he would do such horrible things. Did he not understand the consequences? Did he care how his actions would affect us? It broke my heart, and I was so angry at him for so long. But being mad at my dad wasn't helping anything. I couldn't talk to him, I couldn't yell at him. And it hurt me to be mad at him. I know what he did was awful, I know he hurt innocent people, but he's my dad."
