Bill looked at me looking at people, and after class, he asked me what I was thinking about, and I told him.
He listened, and he nodded and made “affirmation” sounds. When I had finished, his face changed into a “serious talk” face.
“Do you always think this much, Charlie?” “Is that bad?” I just wanted someone to tell me the truth.
“Not necessarily. It’s just that sometimes people use thought to not participate in life.”
“Is that bad?” “Yes.” “I think I participate, though. Don’t you think I am?”
Well, are you dancing at these dances?” “I’m not a very good dancer.
Are you going on dates?
Well, I don’t have a car, and even if I did, I can’t drive because I’m fifteen, and anyway, I haven’t met a girl I like except for Sam,
but I am too young for her, and she would always have to drive, which I don’t think is fair.”
Bill smiled and continued asking me questions. Slowly, he got to “problems at home.”
And I told him about the boy who makes mix tapes hitting my sister
because my sister only told me not to tell mom or dad about it, so I figured I could tell Bill.
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