In a Warm Room

The loud laughter and playful insults were nothing but white noise as Everest Miller intently watched the small girl from across the crowded cafeteria. He was always a curious boy, so it was no surprise to the rest of the football team when they discovered him pushing the food around on his plate and staring at their school's biggest mystery. Enver Shey was oblivious to his stare, just as she always was. She sat alone, at a table in the far corner of the lunch hall, her small, button nose shoved into a book the same width as Everest's head. He took detailed mental notes on the way she never lost focus, even when her long hair would fall into her face and require her to brush it back behind her ear. He wanted to know what she was reading, and why she found it so interesting. He wanted to go up and ask her why she never ate lunch; ask why she sat alone when there were obviously people willing to sit with her. He was willing to sit with her. "Bro, just go over there and talk to her if you find her so fascinating." "I just don't understand." He blurted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "What's there to understand? Some people just like being alone." Jace muttered, shoveling more pizza into his mouth. "No one wants to be alone all day, everyday. She sits alone, she doesn't eat lunch, she barely even speaks..." "You sayin' that Colorado over there's a robot?" Marcus smirked. Everest scowled. He hated that nickname, and Marc knew it. Her name was Enver. Not Denver, and certainly not Colorado. "Enver is not a robot. She's not an alien, or a spy; she's just Enver. I don't know what you assholes have against her." "Damn, bro, chill." Caiden dragged out the word, clearly still feeling the effects of whatever the hell he had smoked before joining them. "If you're so in love with the girl, go sit with her—offer her a cupcake or somethin'." Everest sighed, once again knowing that he was all alone with his suspicions of Enver Shey, even though they all saw her—they saw what she did, how she acted. They knew exactly what he knew, but they somehow just didn't care. How could they not care? How could they not understand that something seriously wrong was going on? Enver Shey was not okay. "She doesn't like cupcakes," he murmured absently. "What?" Mike blurted. That's what interested him? "Who doesn't like cupcakes?" "Enver." "Does she like anything?" "Books." "Great!" Marc clapped him on the back. "I'm sure you've read one of those at some point; talk about that." He glowered at the basketball team's captain, trying to remember why he still sat with him. Because you're just like him. You're no better. You're sitting there, staring at the school's anomoly, just like he is. He wasn't. He tried to reason that this was a different kind of staring—that he didn't stare because she was a freak, but because she was beautiful. She was fascinating in every sense of the word, and she didn't even know it. However, staring was staring, he knew, and he instantly began to feel guilty. "It doesn't matter," Everest muttered, more to himself than any of his teammates. They heard him, though. Yet no one had any intention of comforting him when he gathered his lunch tray and rushed off.