I glance nervously across the room again. He doesn't notice. Good. I take a closer look; his head is bent forwards over the papers, avoiding eye contact. His brown hair falls forwards, shielding his eyes. Every once in a while he'll tug on his sleeve, trying to hid a bruise on his shoulder. He told the teachers he ran through the halls and hit a doorknob. We all know it was from another kid.
"Vincent?" the teacher asks. His head shoots up and I hastily look away. "Could you answer the question?"
"...What question?" he asks. Malicious chuckles and sneers resound. My turn to study my worksheet. I can feel the teacher glare around as the class quiets down. A sideways glance shows Vincent nervously rubbing his hands on his knees.
"Number three, please," she gently requests.
Vincent murmurs something. At the teacher's confused glance, he repeats louder, strained. "I didn't get it..."
"Stupid!"
"Frank!" our instructor snaps. The obnoxious kid behind me shrugs and leans back in his chair like he owns the world. He knows the teacher can't send him to the principle's office for anything less than a swear. Plus, he's an athlete, and athletes get the school trophies.
I glance back at Vincent. His head was down again, eyes once more hidden and still wiping his hands on his knees.
That's how it always was. Day in, day out, he'd take whatever was thrown at him and never say a word. No friends that seemed to care or stand up in his defense. Just a kid alone on the side of the classroom.
The bell rang for transitions and I hastily stood up, trying to shove spare papers into a folder. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Vincent rush past me, trying to get into the hallways before the other kids. I couldn't blame him.
Once I had switched my books and grabbed my brown-bag lunch, I scurried into the cafeteria. My friend waved me over, but something caught my eye, making me slow to a stand still. Vincent was sitting alone at the end of a table, and a few boys were standing around him. I couldn't hear them, but their sinister smirks told me enough. My feet carried me over on their own accord.
"How's that mark the doorknob gave you?" one of them sneered, rearing back his hand.
"Excuse me."
All of them turned to me, making me realize I had spoken. I swallowed hard and spoke again, this time more consciously.
"Could you please move over?" I asked the one directly in front of me. Questioningly, he moved over a step or two. Vincent was glancing up at me from behind his hair. With a nervous smile, I sat down at the seat across from him. The other boys just stared for a moment.
"Hey! You could have told me in advance about the table switch, you know!" My friend pushed her way through the boys and comically plopped her books down, making the whole table jump slightly. She began chattering on about her classes earlier in the day, and slowly the boys left with baffled looks.
When my friend paused to take a bite of her sandwich, I took the opportunity.
"I don't think we were properly introduced. What's your name?"
"Vincent," he replied quietly, "but my nickname's Vin."
"Vincent?" my friend asked, making me hold my breath. "I like that name! Weird you're not called Vince or something though. But Vin's so much more original!" Her motor mouth rand onwards, allowing me to breathe again. After a good ten minutes, she got up to buy a water bottle, leaving me and Vincent at the table.
"... So, um ... hope those boys didn't bother you," I awkwardly tried. "They're ... morons."
He shrugged. "Sticks and stones, I guess."
I grinned slightly, pulling a packet of Oreos out of my lunch bag. I offered him one, and hesitantly he accepted.
"Whoever said that," I said after taking a bite of my own, "is a complete idiot."