Hunted

Act 24; Realize

On Tuesday morning, Noah woke up early to clear his table, organize his games, make his bed, and sweep his floor. At the last minute, he decided to dust the peripherals and ceilings, but the dust fell down so he had to sweep the floor again. He took a shower afterward but noticed how dusty the top of his ornaments were when he came back so he wiped each one down with a rag. Then he wiped his windows and monitor screens. He got dust on the floor again after that so he swept for the third time. Then he unmade his bed and threw the blankets in the wash basket. He laid new covers afterward.

He stepped back to admire his work. He was sweaty and tired and dustier than his room before he cleaned up. He breathed in the newly clean air that was his room and sighed in content.

He took another shower and was late for homeroom.

On Tuesday noon, Amelia had lunch in the Arts Department, specially delivered by a working student who worked at the school's coffee shop nearby. When she asked who it was from, the guy said it was compliments from one of the Heirs. Which one of the four, she wasn't told. She asked him to give them her thanks, then picked at her food without really relishing any of it, not even the organic breadfruit, the savory-looking chocolate cake, or the creamy steaming coffee.

Her mind went back to the conversation she had with Noah last night.

"You really talk a lot, don't you?" She said after a while of silence. They had been sitting silent on the bench they found for a while then, appreciating each other's company.

He looked startled at the news. "Really? I was just making conversation."

She shook her head. "I like how you talk. You've got nice diction." It was the best compliment she could fish for. She wasn't much when it came to appraising people, but she was sure about her judgement on Noah. She might have slipped in and out of his soliloquys, but that was only because she liked him. To a normal person, he might be able to reel them into what he wanted them to hear.

He looked thoughtful for a while. "No one's ever told me that before." He smiled sheepishly. "It's nice to hear."

"Why?" She asked, folding her hands on her lap. A breeze blew by and she felt her fingertips complain amidst the cold. She should have borrowed a pair of gloves, she thought.

He scratched his nape. "Usually, people tell me I stutter too much so they can't understand most of what I say. In fact, I've been blabbering the whole time I talked to you tonight."

She stared at him. "You don't blabber though. Not to me. Or at least, not when you tell stories."

He stared back, thinking over her words.

She felt herself unable to hold his stare and looked away. It was true though. In a normal conversation, Noah stuttered a lot, especially when he was embarrassed or in front of a crowd, she noticed, but when he was telling a story, especially about something he was passionate about, he had a good rhythm, pronouncing the words neatly and able to use the right transitions to keep a linear telling. She wondered why he never noticed it himself. Hadn't anyone heard him tell a story before?

"Hm." He said after a while, leaning back on the bench with his arms spread. "The last time I told stories like this was in front of my parents. And that was a long time ago." His eyes went distant, no longer to the starless night but somewhere else, somewhere she wasn't.

She gaped at him, the question came off hesitant. "Where are they now?"

"They're alive, don't worry." He said nonchalantly, which made her breathe lighter. She had been worried. "They're just not around is all. Most of the students in DDA have parents like mine so don't go thinking I'm a special case."