Ugly : clifford a.u

Spencer

 Turning to look at the boy sitting next to me I watched as he pulled off his sunglasses revealing two faded, milky greed eyes, just visible from beneath his drooping eyelids.

“I’m sorry.” I mumbled.

“Me too.” He replied, putting his glasses back on, “I’ll never get to see boobs, or rainbows, or Megan Fox.”

“I’m sorry.” I repeated.

“Don’t be.” He answered, “I can’t miss what I never had.”

Licking my lips nervously, I let my eyes wander down to the dog lying at his feet. Its tongue hanging from its mouth making it look like it was smiling up at me.

“So, Ugly.” The boy said suddenly, “Do you have a another name you like to go by, or do you parents really hate you so much they named you Ugly?”

“Spencer.” I said softly.

“Spencer, isn’t that typically a boy’s name?” he laughed.

“Isn’t knowing not to laugh at someone’s name typically something you learn in preschool?” I snapped.

“I wouldn’t know,” he answered, “I’ve never been.”

“You’ve never been to preschool?” I questioned.

“Nope,” he replied, “Or kindergarten, first grade, second grade, third grade, fourth grade, fifth grade, sixth….”

“Okay, I get it.” I interrupted.

“I’m homeschooled.” He informed me, “And before you ask, no. I don’t cheat, and yes, I wear my pajamas all day.”

“I wasn’t going to ask you either of those things actually.” I replied, “I’m home schooled too.”

“Really?” he asked, “Are you wearing a denim skirt?”

“No!” I said quickly.

“Are you rocking the butt length hair?”

“No.”

“I’m impressed.”

“I’m extremely underwhelmed.”

I watched as a smirk tugged at the corner of the boy’s lips.

“I’m Michael.” He said, “Michael G. Clifford.”

“What does the G stand for?” I questioned.

“God’s gift to mankind.” He answered without skipping a beat.

Disgusted, I rose to my feet.

“I’m kidding.” He laughed quickly, “It stands for Gordon.”

Figuring it was rude to walk away from a blind person mid conversation I sat back down.

“Are you still here?” he questioned, reaching forward until his hand landed on my chest.

“Is this your boob?” he asked sounding excited.

“Yes, it is.” I answered, “And I’d really appreciate it if you’d let go of it.”

Blushing, Michael pulled his hand away quickly.

“Sorry about that.” He apologized, “I was looking for your shoulder.”

“Sure you were.” I muttered.

Laughing, he reached down and scratched his dog between the ears.

“I’m sorry for what happened in there.” He said, sounding genuine, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”