Reece's Haven

29

"You showed me the beauty of living..."
– Nautica

❀❀❀

~ D O R O T H Y ~

January 1998

The doorbell rings the second the clock strikes six. I walk from the dining table to the front door. Opening the door, I see Reece. I guess he has just showered since his dark hair seems damp. He is wearing a dark grey hoodie and a pair of black shorts that reach just around his knees.

"Hey," he says, a bit breathless.

"Hi. Thanks for coming on time. Did you just come straight from practice?"

"Yes. Jogged here."

I wonder whether the dampness in his hair is actually sweat. But then again, it's too cold outside for him to sweat that much.

"Well, come on in."

I gesture for him to enter and walk into the kitchen before me. When he walks past me, I smell a whiff of cologne, and I nearly swoon.

Keyword: NEARLY.

I shut the door behind me and enter the kitchen. When we sit down on the chairs next to the dining table, we begin to discuss his weak areas in the topic and then start practicing some questions. While I wait for him to solve a question, I take out the book, Anchor, and begin to read it. When I finish reading the first three pages, Reece calls my name.

"What are you reading?"

"Anchor. It's the book that we're basing our play on," I reply.

I hand him the book and he examines it.

"Unfortunately, I got the lead female role, and I have to study this book inside out."

He nods his head, understanding.

"I never read it. That's cool though, that you got the lead female role. What's the story about?"

"I honestly just finished reading three pages so far."

"Oh ok. Anyway, I'm done," he says.

I bring his papers closer to me. As I scan through his solutions, I notice how some of his 3s are written backwards and how he mixes up some of his 6s and 9s. His writing style is pretty basic too, with a lot of words and numbers crossed out and with less spacing. Noticing my confusion, Reece puts my book on the table.

"Dysgraphia," I hear him say.

I lift my head and look at him, shocked.

"I never knew..."

"Mum and I found out just a few weeks after you left for the boarding school. It's a mild case. It was a lot worse when I was a kid."

"...What is it like?"

"Well," he begins, clearing his throat. "I can't put my thoughts into words clearly. It's like there's this barrier that's too stubborn to be budged. I try as hard as I can to push past it, but the only thing that comes out of it is a trickle of ideas and a terrible handwriting. It sucks and it's pretty annoying, but I'm used to it."

"What do you want to do after A Levels?" I ask, sitting back with crossed arms.

I don't understand why I'm craving to learn more about him.

"Study at university, hopefully," he replies. "Something in English."

"English?"

My heart warms at his choice.