From an early age, Green can tell that there's something wrong with Leaf.
No — that isn't quite right. There isn't necessarily anything wrong with her, per se — but something off. Green has always been clever, and a driven boy, most definitely. His grandfather tells him so, and his teachers tell him so. His parents praise him for his grades over the phone and through their letters. Everyone says the same thing: hard worker, intelligent, just like Samuel when he was a boy. Green adores the praise; he basks in it, drinking up every word with a winning smile.
But Leaf — she's different. In that Green prides himself on his success, maintaining an impressive ego for an eleven-year old, Leaf is content to hide her brilliance. And she is — brilliant. Green would have to be a fool not to notice. She just catches on to things, like a Pidgey to flight; she's the first to understand their lessons; to tend to the Pokémon in the lab; to lead Growlithe to victory in a battle. By nature, she's docile, with a certain aloofness, too, but when it's just the two of them, he can see her thoughts, the way she thinks her way through problems like no one else, a mind that burns its way through an equation like dry wheat.
Her grades hit the high marks every time, even above his straight A's. He loves attention, the love and affection lavished upon him every time a conference comes about. Still, he envies the level of astonishment Leaf is regarded with by adults — bright, exceptional, a perfect child. She's drawn out of regular classes sometimes for additional lessons, activities to test her memory and riddles to prod at her wit. They're played off in the form of games; pictures to redraw; books to read; words to recall; stories with holes.
Green loves the idea. He begs her to share some of the lessons with him, treats them as though they're something precious.
"I don't know." She frowns, tugging at an ashy ruffle of hair and winding it around a slim finger. "They aren't that fun."
"C'mon," he persists, grabbing hold of her sleeve. Annoyed, she pushes him away, but he holds fast and only pulls her along as he sways to the side.
Leaf sighs, righting her posture and pursing her lips, delving back into her memory to recall one of the countless story problems she's been given. "Daniel and Donnell both went to the café and were served identical drinks. Daniel drank slowly, and Donnell drank quickly. Daniel died, but Donnell didn't." Patiently, she waits for Green to think of what to ask to narrow down his answer.
He takes about ten seconds to speak. "Was the drink warm?"
A slight smile quirks at the corner of her lips. "No."
"Was there ice in the cups?"
Her eyes flash pleasedly, and she nods.
Several more seconds pass, and finally, Green answers confidently, "The ice had poison in it, and when it melted it went into the rest of the drink."
"You got it," Leaf praises him, glancing at the clock hung on the school's face. "In a few minutes, as well."
Green can't resist asking. "How long did it take you?"
"About a minute, maybe." She tucks her hands behind her back, idly kicking at a stray woodchip. There are other kids shrieking with joy not thirty feet off, dribbling brightly-colored rubber balls and weaving between tall metal poles painted in bold shades of yellow and blue. She's never been too fond of the playground, in all its loudly-inhabited steel-bar glory.
"New record, then?"
Just a bit, her smile tightens. "Yeah." He knows from the crease of her brows that it's touchy (though, more and more things seem to be entering that category, anymore) and relents, ducking to the side to give her a grin.
"Records are for chumps. I'm still gonna beat you."
The lift of her cheeks couldn't be a more welcome sight. She shoves at his shoulder again, laughing with him when he stumbles, and her eyes light again. "I'll beat you back."
With the topic of her mind displaced, the two continue walking around the perimeter of the playground, jesting and exchanging jabs and punches. They return to their classroom after a few more minutes, sinking into their seats thankfully at the shade inside. The class start a new assignment, this time a mathematics worksheet, and she promptly gets to work, penciling in answers just faster than he does. When she finishes she leans back in her seat, pushing her pencil into the well at the front of her desk with the tip of her finger.
He's never really understood. Doesn't she want her family to be proud of her? They are — of course they are — but it seems obvious to him that it's not quite her family's pride she chases.
Yes; there's certainly something off about Leaf — but that's a secret Green is content to keep to himself.
a/n I'll have interludes every three chapters, most likely (if not more). I hope to start updating every week or two on this after things slow down, but I'm not sure how that will work; sometimes I'm not able to update for weeks at a time. it goes how it goes.