Since I've never writtten a fanfic about Sticky, I figured I'd give his character a moment in the sun. Most likely, I will add more chapters. Thank you to felixfelicis29 and Kowalistair Fanatic for being so supportive and giving me great feedback. I love you guys! :D

And now, for the story...


Sticky stared at the page of his book. He had been staring at the same page for more than five minutes, which was completely out of character for Sticky, a boy who could visually devour a novel in three minutes flat. His thoughts were flying round and round his head, a tiring cycle of self-loathing, anger and hurt.

Sticky Washington knew about being hurt. It started when he became a young quiz champion. His few friends quickly excluded him, finding his superior intelligence to be intimidating. Then, after over-hearing his parents remark that they were, "better off without him," (though he knew now that this wasn't true) and running away, Sticky had had his share of pain. His deepest inner fear was something that only the Mr. Curtain's Whisperer had detected. He was afraid of not being wanted. This fear sometimes smothered all other emotion, leaving Sticky to bury his bespectacled nose in a book, just for distraction. He envied Reynie's quiet confidence, Kate's perpetual optimism, and even Constance's honesty. If only he himself possessed any of those traits. Sticky found himself to be nervous, pompous, preoccupied, and dreadfully lacking in self-esteem. It wouldn't do. Somehow or another, he would have to find a way to break through the layers of aching, stinging sadness, and become all that he wished to be.

Sticky set his book aside, and swung his legs over the edge of his bed. Directly opposite him, a mirror was suspended on the wall. He studied his reflection for a minute, then glared fiercely at himself. At least then, he appeared less vulnerable. Taking his glasses from his nose, Sticky attempted to pop in his dreaded contact lenses. They were scratchy and uncomfortable. Besides, Sticky was no longer able to give his spectacles a quick polish in times of fear or anxiety.

But resolutely slipping his wire-rimmed spectacles into a desk drawer, Sticky strode to his door, and marched into the empty hallway. The house was still, and it seemed that his parents had gone across the street to Mr. Benedict's house. Deciding to do the same, Sticky arrived at the front door of Mr. Benedict's house moments later, panting slightly.

After asking of his friends' whereabouts, he clambered up the stairs to Constance's bedroom. Laughter floated along the corridor, often broken by exuberant voices. Sticky paused outside Constance's room, listening.

"Good gravy! That's the best joke I've ever heard!" giggled Kate, her voice slightly muffled due to the solid wood door separating her and Sticky.

"I beg to differ," sniffed Constance. "I could have made a better joke about my shower drain."

"Oh, be quiet," said Kate.

Sticky thought he heard Reynie chuckle.

"Don't listen to Connie girl, Reynie," advised Kate. "It was a hilarious joke. I mean, none of us are that witty. Especially not Sticky. He can't even make Mr. Benedict laugh."

Sticky stiffened, and felt as though any self-confidence he'd had left, had just been shattered. Stepping away from the closed door, Sticky mentally berated himself. He knew he should just walk in and forget everything Kate had said. He knew he shouldn't make it worse for himself by hanging around and eavesdropping; that it would only make it painful.

But a small part of his mind almost—needed—to confirm the dreaded suspicion that he really wasn't wanted. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy of the worst sort.

His morose reverie was cut short as he heard Constance say, "Someone's outside the door."

"Who?" pressed Kate.

Sticky reached for the doorknob, his palms slippery.

"Just me," he called out.

And he opened the door.


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-Spark Writer-