His cheeks reddened whenever he spoke. His eyes would not hold anyone's gaze or attention for too long before averting to the side, to look at a dancing tree or a passing car, or down to the ground. Maybe it was because he had spotted a rock or a weed wriggling through the earth. Perhaps the weed reminded the boy of himself.
His clothes fit him loose. He was not particularly thin; he just wasn't the sort of boy to fill out his clothing. His shoes, however, were tight.
The teacher, with his whistle worn around his neck, allowed the boy to sit out while the rest of the class ran laps around the track. Whenever a student sped past the boy and yelled out a line of contempt at him, the teacher blared his whistle. He would later take the student aside and tell him it wasn't nice to pick on those with medical conditions. He lied and said the boy had asthma.
The boy's lungs were pink and perfect. His toes were squished and red.
On a stormy April afternoon, after power outages interrupted the school day, the teacher spotted the boy walking, dragging, along the side of the road. He pulled his car over and rolled down the window.
"Jasper, that's you?" The teacher waved. "Lemme give you a lift home."
The glare of the headlights blinded the boy's eyes.
"Hello, Coach Sumpter."
"Hello."
The boy looped the long sagging strap of his backpack around his fingers. It looked as if there was a boulder attached to his curving spine.
"Get in the car. It's about to pour."
"Okay."
They rode in the direction of the boy's house with the low hum of the radio between them. It was mostly static interspersed with the ehhhh-ehhhh-ehhhh of a tornado watch in their area. Coach Sumpter pulled into a convenience store just as the sky was set free.
"I need to get a few things. I'll be right back."
He left the car running and sprinted into the store. When he came back, he was soaked through. He had a half gallon of milk and sliced bread in a plastic bag along with some disposable razors. He lifted the bag up and onto the backseat. Some rain dripped off the bag onto the boy's shoulder.
There was another bag in his lap. He rustled it open. Two ice cream bars.
"I didn't know which one you'd like. You can choose."
The boy swallowed and shrugged. "I haven't had either of those. You can choose."
"Okay."
The man handed the boy the chocolate ice cream bar coated in extra chocolate and almonds.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
They finished their ice cream before they came to the boy's house. Coach Sumpter took the wrappers and wooden sticks and put them into the empty plastic bag.
"Have a good weekend, Jasper."
"You, too, Coach."
As he drove away from the boy's house, a thought nestled itself in the man's heavy mind. For one solid minute, the rain stopped. Steam sprouted from the asphalt.
No amount of water could drown that boy.
