The Little Of Oz Series

#Chapter5-03

#Chapter5-03

"Sometimes," I replied honestly. I think given the circumstances, I was beyond lying. "Not often though. Just when I'm feeling—blah!"

They felt best to use after a really bad day at school. There had been a boy in my year that liked to be so mean to me. He called me a freak. He made his friends play pranks on me and laugh at me. He teased me because I would run away and hide rather than engage in his torment, if I could, or would stutter my way through his insults if I couldn't. He had never hit me. I think he was too scared of Isaac to do that, but his words still hurt. Coming home after a day like that, breaking out the paci and letting my mind take me to a much happier place?

It was a feeling that just couldn't be described. Trying would be like comparing an adult who had never tried chocolate before in their whole, entire life finally getting to try a piece.

It was magical.

Well, it had felt magical until its safety and confidentiality had been compromised.

"Why?" He turned, pointing at the little heap of picture tiles that were printed with animal pictures. I played snap with them when I settled into a younger mindset. "Because they feel good? Because you like them?"

I found myself nodding. I found myself praying like anything that Isaac was still fast asleep and hadn't been woken up. It would have been beyond mortifying to have him walk in on this, too.

"I think I finally get it."

"Get what?" I questioned, head tilting.

"You." This time, the smile seemed almost nervous, but his tone held a smugness. "You're a Little, aren't you?"

A feather could have knocked me off my feet. I was that stunned that for a second, I could only blink. I hadn't expected somebody like Blake to know and understand what that word meant when put into that context.

It was the kind of thing that would have drawn a blank look from a lot of people.

"I didn't want to be like this," I whispered at last. Voice trembling, on the cusp of breaking, when he moved towards me, operating with deliberate slowness, as though to reassure me that I could have stepped away if I wanted to, he held his arms out in a hug offer. I accepted. "How did you — how did you know that?"

I had wanted to be a nice, normal boy that liked football and boobies, and shooting spitballs at the back of people's heads. I didn't want to be like this, like I was torn in two by two parts of me that had so often in the past battled for control.

I had just wanted to be somebody that my dad would have been proud to announce as his son, the way he would brag to people about Isaac and his accomplishments.

"I Googled it," he admitted, almost sheepishly. His arms were a protection that I wasn't even aware that I sought. They were strong and solid, as unmovable as the trees of the sss. "I thought about what I had seen, and then I thought about the way you act. I mean, you talk funny sometimes. You say words funny, and you act so much younger than you are. I remembered the way that you wanted to go to McDonald's and get a happy meal toy for your birthday instead of going to laser tag, or the places most teenage boys would want a party."

He pushed me back. Enough space was put between us that the place where our bodies had just joined could have fit another person between us.

"I looked it up. There were a lot of answers, not all of them good, but then I found that. It . . . fit? It would explain a lot, too, if you were."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize." Shaking his head, his frown was back. "I'm glad. I understand now and I'm so glad. You're like a brother to me, Oz. I worry about you the way that Isaac does. I know some of the kids at school can be d***s—" Which made me wince as I thought about the scenario with Jake, the mean bully boy, that I had refused to let Isaac know about because I just knew he would have been super mad "—and the thought of you going back without me or Eyes there to protect you next year had been bothering me a lot."

"You were worried about me?" For reasons I couldn't even begin to explain, that made me feel as special as when Isaac would ruffle my hair and tell me that I was his best pal. Maybe even more so. I hadn't even thought that was possible.

Eyebrows lifting, amusement shining in his eyes, he gave a small incline of his head. "You and your family have always been there for me. You and Isaac? You're my family in every way that matters. I care about you both more than anything else in this world."

"I thought you were going to be disgusted." Legs turning to jell-o, the floor became my butt's new best friend. Sitting helped with the urge to vomit, too.

"No." He gave a considering pause, his eyes sweeping the box of a room once more. "I found it unnerving at first. Intimidating, even, but the more I read, the more I allowed myself to accept that it wasn't as scary as I had made it seem, the more I'm glad that I didn't tell Isaac. I almost did."

I was glad, too. "So you don't think it's weird?"

"I thought it was weird at first. Wrong, even." I flinched at that but Blake continued.

"But then I looked it up. Tried my best to understand it from your point of view and realized that I was wrong. It's . . . different, but not —but not different in a bad kind of way." Blake frowned as he spoke, as though he were struggling to find the right words.

"I just wanted you to know that we're good, okay, odd bod? I won't tell Isaac and I still love you the same. Nothing changes. And if . . . I don't know, if you ever need anybody to talk to, I'm here for you. I can't promise to always understand but I can promise to always listen."

And with that, Blake left, patting me on the shoulder as he let himself out.

And all I could do was gawk after him, trying to convince myself that he really had just said that, and that it had all just really happened.