And They Were Roommates

1: Back At It Again At Krispy Kreme

Boys are dumbasses.

Dumbasses, I tell you. Dumbasses.

There are a few exceptions to this statement, for I am a boy and I am very much not a dumbass. In fact, I'd like to think that I'm very smart, but Bronwyn tells me that I'm the biggest dumbass that she's ever met. Except she didn't say dumbass. Bronwyn doesn't curse. She called me a dummy instead.

I can name a few boys off the top of my head that are dumbasses, like Jacob Portman, for instance. He always acts on instinct and can't take a joke.

Hugh Apiston is my sort-of-friend, but he's a dumbass, too. He's too busy pining over Fiona Fraunfeld to have much of a personality in my opinion, but then again, I don't know him all that well.

Millard Nullings isn't a dumbass. He just hangs out with dumbasses.

The biggest dumbass of them all is Horace Sumnusson. Horace Sumnusson, with his dumbass blond hair that doesn't even get messed up on windy days.  Horace Sumnusson, with his dumbass designer clothing.  Horace Sumnusson, with his dumbass piano lessons and his dumbass drama club and his dumbass laugh that sounds like a dying whale.

Horace Sumnusson is a dumbass, and a big one, at that.

I'm off to college, and I still have to see these fuckers every single day. They've been present in my life since I was fourteen, when I realized that I was different, and my parents sent me to Miss Wren's High School For Gifted Children.

Gifted children, that's what they called us. You may be wondering why all my classmates are dumbasses if we're supposedly gifted children. We're supposed to be able to solve difficult math equations without a calculator. We're supposed to be exceptionally good at reading graphs. We're supposed to be able to recite the middle names of the first ten United States presidents. We're supposed to have our noses always stuck in a book.

That's Millard Nullings. That's not me or Bronwyn Bruntley or Horace Sumnusson because gifted is just a word that the headmistress decided to use instead of peculiar. Millard's just incredibly smart, for he's got a curious mind and a brain that's bigger than all of ours combined. I'm fairly sure he could change the world someday, he could go on to be the doctor who cures cancer or some shit if they could only see him.

I know what's going to go through your mind. You'll feel pity for old Millard because you think we all ignore them, or that he's got no friends. You think his smarts go unrecognized, that we constantly put him down and tear his self esteem to shreds. You think I'm being poetic, choosing my words carefully to tug at your heartstrings. Poor Millard, he hasn't got any friends, you'll think. Poor Millard, he's all alone. Poor Millard, I'd just like to give him a hug!

You're all fools if you think I could be poetic. Bronwyn would laugh and exclaim, "Enoch O'Connor, using words to express his emotions and the pain of others? That's hilarious!"

Jacob would chuckle and shake his head. "Enoch O'Connor, sympathetic? He only cares about himself!"

Horace would smirk and raise an eyebrow. "Enoch O'Connor doesn't use words to express his feelings. He uses his fists and rash actions. Why else do you think we've been pushing him to go to anger management?"

When I said nobody can see Millard, I meant literally. He's invisible.

We're all strange like that. No, we're not all invisible, but we've got some strange talents. We're peculiar, though our boarding school passed us off as nothing more than gifted children. I suppose that it was so the normals wouldn't get suspicious, but I still wished we didn't have to hide.

I, Enoch O'Connor, could give the life of one thing to another, if I had the right materials.

Bronwyn Bruntley had the peculiarity of super strength.