OMG thirteen chappies already? This is gonna easily pass up Come Back as my most-chapters story. Come Back doesn't even really count, cause it's super short and kinda sucky. XD
I hope you enjoy! =D
IPOV
I plopped down into the chair outside the principal's office with practiced precision. Who knew how many times I had been sent here for my educational mishaps? All I knew was I had the route from each of my classes to this chair memorized completely. I could do it with my eyes closed!
Of course, that's not exactly a huge feat for me...
I felt the satisfied smile on my face melt into a scowl at the reminder of my disability. Way to go, Igs. Remind yourself of the thing you hate most about yourself! Great idea.
"Mr. Fields, Mrs. Nirzoa will see you now," the voice of Ms. Jean, the secretary, informed me. I nodded in reply, and stood up from the chair. As I walked towards the principal's office, I could feel her sad gaze on me. Ms Jean was a friend of my mom's, and I knew that she was upset I got in trouble yet again. I halted abruptly.
"Sorry," I muttered, not looking at her. Then, without another word, I pushed open the door in front of me and headed into the principal's lair.
"Ah, yes. Mr Fields. Please take a seat, there's a chair six steps in front of you." Mrs. Nirzoa's voice wafted towards me from the place I knew her chair was placed. I nodded curtly, and sat down in the chair she directed. I had known it was there, I complained internally. She doesn't have to treat me like a cripple.
There was a slight shifting of clothing, and I knew that the principal was sitting up in her chair. "So, Mr. Fields, what have you done to upset Ms Helms so much?" Mrs. Nirzoa's voice was mild, but there was a hint of a reproving tone in it.
"I allowed her to taste the quality of my paper airplane," I replied, sitting back comfortably in my chair.
There was a slight silence. "Iggy," Mrs. Nirzoa began gently. I cringed a bit. None of the teachers called me Iggy except for Mrs. Niota. All the others called me Mr. Fields or Jonathan, except for Mr. Tulney, who just called me Fields. "How are you feeling lately?" Mrs. Nirzoa finished, sounding worried.
I raised an eyebrow at her. "Umm, I feel fine," I told her, purposely making my voice sound skeptical and confused. "Why do you ask?"
There was more shifting of clothing. "Do you need to talk to someone?"
I sat up in my chair. "What are you talking about?" This conversation was getting suspicious...
"I have noticed that for the past week or so you've been gracing me with your presence more often than ever," Mrs. Nirzoa observed. I could just imagine her steepling her fingers on her desk like a stereotypical principal.
"And you love me for it," I replied sweetly, smiling winningly. Mrs. Nirzoa laughed softly, but continued nonetheless. Damn it. I was hoping I would distract her...
"And my observations have led me to think that you could use some help," Mrs. Nirzoa finished firmly. I remained silent, hoping she was joking. "Iggy, you could always talk to Mr. Reynolds," the principal suggested softly, naming the school guidance counseler. My fists clenched.
"I don't need help," I stated quietly, gritting my teeth. "Not from anyone."
"Iggy, I really think you should at least consider it," Mrs. Nirzoa insisted. She sounded concerned, but I brushed it off. I didn't need her concern. I wasn't some weakling.
"I don't need help, and I don't need to consider anything," I repeated, clenching my fists tighter.
"This is for your own good." Mrs. Nirzoa seemed in earnest. I simply shook my head.
"No," I replied bluntly. I started to get up out of the chair.
"Mr Fields, sit down now," Mrs. Nirzoa sounded deadly serious. We need to talk this ou-"
"No, we don't," I interrupted, glaring at the space I imagined the principal to be. "I'm fine. Just 'cause I'm blind doesn't mean I'm insane too."
"I never said you were insane, Iggy."
"Again with the 'Iggy'," I snapped before I could check myself. "Am I Mr. Fields to you? or Iggy? Because believe me, those are two very different people," I muttered. "I'm leaving." I started for the door, ready to just get out of the whole freaking school, when a hand grabbed my wrist.
"No you aren't," Mrs. Nirzoa told me evenly. "We're going to visit Mr. Reynolds."
"I'm not telling that shrink anything," I growled, trying to yank my wrist away.
"Then you aren't going to be a sophomore next year. I'll hold you back in freshman year if your behavior is unsatisfactory," Mrs. Nirzoa threatened quietly, her voice somewhat sad, but still firmly decisive.
"You wouldn't do that," I whispered, halting in my tracks. That would be awful- all of my friends moving up and leaving me behind in freshman year like an idiot.
"I can, and I will," Mrs. Nirzoa assured me. "Come, Iggy. Mr. Reynolds is waiting."
"Mmph," I grunted, thoroughly unhappy with this situation. I shoved the hand Mrs. Nirzoa wasn't holding hostage deep into my jacket pocket, clenching my fingers around the fabric.
There was no way I was spilling my heart out to a freaking THErapist.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
I was spilling my heart out to a freaking therapist.
How did this even happen? Mrs. Nirzoa had herded me down the hall into another room I had never had the misfortune to be in before. It sounded as if it was small, and I eventually had it mentally mapped out after I banged my knees against several chairs and cabinets.
And people wondered why I was so angsty.
"Ah, Mr. Fields. Sit here please." A male voice floated towards me from about five feet away. I yanked free of Mrs. Nirzoa's grasp and maneuvered confidently into a chair next to the voice. Take that, bloody principal. "Joan, I believe it would be best if I spoke with Mr. Fields in private."
"Of course, Richard," Mrs. Nirzoa replied immediately. Eww, did she have a thing for this school psychatrist? I did not need more scarring, thank you very much. Mercifully, Mrs. Nirzoa left quickly, leaving me alone with a THErapist. Oh, wait a minute. She left me alone with a THErapist! Lord have mercy on my poor, innocent soul.
The door clicked shut behind Mrs. Nirzoa, and there was a slight pause. Mr. Reynolds shuffled some papers on his desk, and I prepared myself for an onslaught of stupid questions. My mom had sent me to psychiatrists before, and each experience had not been pleasant in the least. You had to wonder how some of them even got through college.
"I'm glad she's gone," Mr. Reynolds said suddenly, sighing in relief. His chair creaked loudly, and I smirked.
"Me too, Mr. Reynolds," I agreed slowly. Maybe this guy wouldn't be horrible after all...
"Hey, would you mind if I called you Iggy? I think it's beneficial to your mental health," Mr. Reynolds drawled. I nodded.
"That would be fine, I guess. My mental health is far past saving though. Me and Fang spied on the teacher's lounge in seventh grade," I snickered, recalling the fond days of yore. Mr .Reynolds coughed, but it sounded suspiciously like he was hiding a laugh.
"Oh yes, that must have been very scarring. And since I'm calling you Iggy, you can call me Richard. It's only fair," he reasoned.
"Can I call you Richie?" I asked hopefully.
"Not under any circumstances," Richie, as he will now be known, replied promptly.
"Okay, Richie! What am I here for? Are you gonna delve into my mind or some crap like that?" I wondered aloud.
"Not anything that fancy," he denied, sounding shocked. "I'm just gonna chat with you and eat these donuts." There was a crinkle of plastic from Richie's direction, followed by an emphatic chewing sound. "Mmm, powdered," Richie murmured, sounding euphoric.
"Can I have a donut?" I asked.
"If you write me two pages on how you feel about your blindness, I'll give you the rest of the box," Richie offered. I narrowed my eyes at him, just for show.
"How many are left?" I demanded. I was not about to get ripped off. Donuts are serious business, especially powdered donuts.
"Eight."
"I'll write one page," I bargained.
"Two."
"Page and a half."
"Page and three-quarters."
"Fine. Give me a donut right now for writing inspiration," I grumbled, holding my hand out. Richie plopped a donut into my outstretched palm, the powder slipping between my fingers. I shoved it whole into my mouth, chewing slowly so I wouldn't choke. Mmm… Powdered donuts equals heaven.
While I was licking my fingers clean, Richie had apparently pulled out his laptop, because he set one down on my lap. "I trust you know how to type?" he asked, handing me a handwipe. I nodded, cleaning my fingers off quickly and placing them on the keyboard.
"Is it already on Word?" I asked, flexing my fingers.
"Yes. Everything is set. Tell me if you need something, I'll be right here." Richie's chair creaked again, and the chewing sounds resumed. I sat back in my chair, thinking about the situation. I had just been bribed with donuts to tell a therapist about what was bugging me. How low could I sink?
Well, they were freaking good donuts. And it sure beat history with Ms. Hell.
Oh crap, Max! She was gonna be pissed that I had gotten in trouble again. I swear, that girl was worse than Nudge, Gazzy, and Fang combined when it came to worrying about me. I had only known her for about two weeks, yet I felt like she was my mother. Max had a way of wedging herself into your life. I already couldn't imagine Cromwell without her.
Or Ella...
Undo thoughts! Undo thoughts! I didn't think that thought about Ella at all…
Hehe… Yeah… right…
"Are you gonna sit there and let your life story type itself, or are those fingers gonna fly? Cause I'm perfectly okay with eating the rest of these donuts by myself," Richie threatened. I blanched, and started my fingers on the keyboard. Richie's chair creaked. "That's better," he mumbled. I hid a smirk. As far as therapists went, Richie was a pretty cool guy.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
"Done," I yawned, lifting my fingers from the keys. I smirked as I mentally reviewed the essay. Sure, I went a little overboard on my emo emotions, but it was dang satisfying. And the last line gave me a sense of triumph. I took the laptop from my lap and held it up for Richie to take. He lifted it from my grasp, and handed me a box in return. I tore off the lid and dug my hand in to retrieve a donut. Mmm... Sure, I was pathetic for accepting powdered donuts as a bribe, but these were damn good donuts!
"I like this, Iggy," Richie murmured after awhile, breaking me out of my donut-induced reverie. "Its very fresh, very honest. Can I enter it in a writing competition?"
"Isn't that against the law or something?" I asked plaintively, still munching on my delicious donuts. "Is there something written somewhere that says you can't divulge private information of your clients in writing contests?"
"So now you're my client?" Richie asked, laughing.
I nodded. "Well, of course! Except instead of me paying you with money, you pay me with donuts!"
"I would prefer me getting money," Richie grumbled. I shook my head, taking another bite of my donut. "So we have five minutes left before lunch. What do you want to talk about?"
"Not my blindness, please. I just wrote a page and three quarters of emo sob story about it," I replied. "I'm getting sick of the subject, frankly."
"That's fine. How about girls? Any hot girls in freshman year?" Richie asked.
"I'm sure there are, but Fang refuses to describe them to me!" I sighed, running my hands through my hair. "He's such an annoying best friend."
"A guy who won't describe girls for his blind bestie? How tragic," Richie sympathized. I nodded mournfully.
"It's horrible," I agreed.
"What about those two new girls, Maximum and Ella? I've already had Ells in here for cussing out some girl because of a fight about good ol' JB." I smiled at the thought.
"JB? You mean Justin Bieber?" I clarified.
"The one and only," Richie confirmed. "Ella has some unsolved anger issues concerning him. I'd tell you, but I'm not particularly fond of reliving our conversation."
"I bet. Ella has a very colorful vocabulary," I muttered. Ella had hung out with me a few times in the past two weeks, and she was really cool. I had noticed, though, that she had the language of a sailor at her disposal, and used it freely. Whether she had dropped her ice cream or stubbed her toe, Ella Martinez had a word for every occasion. Unfortunately.
"She's a pretty funny girl," Richie remarked casually. "Easy on the eyes, too, if you don't mind my saying."
Some people may think it was creepy that I was discussing freshman girls with this school counseler, but I was not among their ranks. Girls were girls, and Richie comprehended this. Finally! Someone who understood me.
"Will you tell me what she looks like?" I implored. "Fang won't tell me, and I'm afraid to ask Gazzy in case he tells Fang."
"Sure," Richie agreed, laughing at my reasoning. "Ella has longish, wavy brown hair, and pretty tan skin. Her eyes are brown, and she's kinda short. She usually wears skinny jeans and fashionable stuff to school, and I noticed that she always wears a bracelet that says NEVER SAY NEVER I LOVE YOU JB."
"Worshipful fan girl," I muttered, smiling slightly. "Thanks, Richie. That's really helpful."
"Don't call me Richie," he said immediately.
"But I like Richie," I protested, smirking. "It makes you sound Italian!"
"Iggy, that doesn't even make sense. At all."
I shrugged. "You can't blame me for trying," I offered. Suddenly, the bell rang for lunch, and I stood up. "Well, thanks for the donuts, Richie. Our little chat was very enlightening."
"Glad to help, Iggy. I'll see you tomorrow at this time again. Mrs. Nirzoa orders it," Richie replied. I groaned dramatically, and Richie lobbed something at me. It felt like a pen when it hit my ear, but maybe that was just me. I yelped in pain, but Richie ignored me. "Act like that and I won't bring you donuts," Richie threatened ominously. "Now shoo! I'll see you tomorrow."
"Bye," I replied, leaving the room. I closed the door behind me and began to feel my way down the unfamiliar hallway. Once I made my way to the main hall, I relaxed and began to walk normally. This was mapped territory. I could handle myself here.
"IGGY!" a girl shrieked. I smiled as I recognized the voice, and braced myself as the owner barreled into me in a huge, domineering hug. I staggered back a step from the force, but held my ground sufficiently.
"Hey Ells," I greeted her, hugging her back. "'Sup?"
She giggled in reply, slowly unwrapping her arms from around me. I already missed her touch.
Aww, crap. I hoped I wasn't getting lovesick. That would be a first, since girls were never serious for me. Why should I be worried at all? I'm Iggy Fields. I can handle myself around the opposite gender perfectly well.
"Lunch is 'sup'! Let's go!" Ella grabbed my arm and started pulling me down the hallway, when a stern voice called me back.
"Mr. Fields! My office, please," Mrs. Nirzoa demanded, her voice icy. Ella released my arm quickly, stepping away from me. I rolled my eyes at her, and walked towards the sound of the principal's voice.
"Yeah Mrs. N?" I drawled, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my sweatshirt. "Did you miss me already?"
"We have more things to discuss," Mrs. Nirzoa hedged stiffly, setting off quickly down the hall. I followed her to her office, where I could sense other people inside.
"Who else joined the party?" I remarked casually, leaning against the wall. I didn't want to accidently sit on someone.
"Mr. Richards, Mr. Bowmin, and Mr. Jamison are present," Mrs. Nirzoa informed me. It sounded like she was shuffling files around on her desk, which was never a good sign.
So Gazzy, Matt, and Lucas were here. I wondered what we had done to be stuck in this office again. Gazzy and I were prank partners in crime, but we hadn't pulled off anything too spectacular lately. Why Matt and Lucas were in here was a mystery to me. They usually toed the line when it came to school rules.
"So why are we here?" I pried again. Someone kicked me, and I stifled a yelp.
"Shut it, Igs," Gazzy muttered. I guessed that he was the owner of the foot that had kicked me.
"You boys have been suspected of vandalizing school property," Mrs. Nirzoa accused, her voice deadly. "What do you have to say on the subject?"
Lucas sputtered for words, momentarily unable to speak, and Lucas and Gazzy were silent. I simply gawked in Mrs. Nirzoa's direction. "You think we vandalized school property?" I clarified.
"Yes. There is sufficient evidence that four boys did the work, and you and Mr. Richards don't exactly have a clean record."
"But what about Matt and Lucas? They have clean records!" Gazzy protested. Mrs. Nirzoa tapped her nails against her desk.
"I know," she replied wearily. "In fact, they have two of the most examplary records in the freshman year. But the initials MB and LJ were also uncovered in graffiti, and as Mr. Bowmin and Mr. Jamison are your friends, we assumed it could be them, however unlikely it might seem."
"Mrs. Nirzoa, I swear on my life that Matt and I were not involved in vandalism," Lucas told her seriously, sounding a tiny bit nervous. "My mom would kill me if I even tried to think about that."
"I am hoping evidence will be found against you two as culprits," Mrs. Nirzoa admitted secretively. Her voice hardened though, as she continued. "However, it looks as if Mr. Richards and Mr. Fields are already condemned."
"Wait, when was the vandalism even committed? What was the vandalism, even?" I asked. I needed to know these things. Blind guys get out of the loop easily.
"If you are the culprit, you are a very good actor, Mr. Fields," Mrs. Nirzoa commented. "And the vandalism and theft was committed in the English as a Second Language classroom. Several windows were broken, and five laptops used for video viewing were stolen."
"When did this happen? I didn't hear a thing about it," Gazzy insisted, sounding confused. I nodded in agreement. I was completely in the dark here.
"The crime occured last Friday, in the middle of the night," Mrs Nirzoa supplied.
"Oh, wait! I have an alibi!" Lucas realized, smiling triumphantly as he waved his hand to get Mrs. Nirzoa's attention.
"Alibi?" I snickered. Someone, I was assuming it was Gazzy, had the gall to kick me again. "Ow!" I whined, reaching down to clutch my shin.
"That is enough, Mr. Fields!" Mrs. Nirzoa snapped at me. "Carry on, Mr Jamison. What is your alibi?"
"Last Friday I was sleeping over at my cousin Jake's house, and Jake lives, like, two hours away from here," Lucas declared. "There's no way I could've done it without my aunt and uncle noticing."
"Very well then." Mrs. Nirzoa sounded somewhat relieved. "Then it must have been someone else."
"Hold on," Matt said suddenly, a wave of relief rushing into his voice. "I have an alibi too."
"Yes?" Mrs Nirzoa prompted, sounding hopeful. Matt and Lucas were more of the model student type, and it was obvious she didn't want them to be the criminals."
"Last Friday I was already in Los Angeles for a soccer tournament. My parents and I drove down right after school tryouts. I was there all weekend," Matt explained. "So I couldn't have gotten here and vandalized on Friday night. I was over six hours away from here, asleep in a Marriot hotel room."
"I see," Mrs. Nirzoa murmured, shuffling more files. "So you two are off the hook. But Mr Richards and Mr. Fields, I'm still apprehensive about you two."
"But Mrs. Nirzoa!" Gazzy protested. "We do jokes out in the open, where people can enjoy them. Iggy and I wouldn't do the underhanded kind of mischief."
"He's right," I agreed. "It's not half as fun. Girls aren't impressed by vandalism."
"Mr. Fields, that last comment was unnecessary." Mrs. Nirzoa'a voice was dry. "And however unlikely it may seem, it's still a possibility."
"Mrs N, if we did happen to be the culprits, what would happen?" I asked slowly. Yet another kick came in contact with my shin, but I didn't even flinch this time. Sadly, I was growing used to it.
"Then you would confess at once," Mrs Nirzoa replied sharply. "And you would be suspended."
"That's all? Well, I confess. We did it," I said airily, putting my hands up in front of me. "Lock me up, boss."
Three soccer players immediately booted me in the shins, two to my left and one to my right. I grunted on impact, but made no visible acknowledgement of the pain blossoming in my legs. Apparently my being blind wasn't good enough for my friends. They wanted me to be lame in both legs also. "Mr. Fields, this is serious. Do you honestly confess?" Mrs. Nirzoa asked solemnly.
"Sure," I replied agreeably. "If it gets me out of those therapy sessions."
"Excuse our dear friend, Mrs. Nirzoa," Lucas hastened to say, no doubt shooting me a death glare. "He's feeling off, has been for awhile, actually, and doesn't realize the consequences of what he's saying. As you know, Matt and I are definitely not guilty, and I'm pretty sure Gazzy and Iggy are also innocent. Iggy is just being silly. Right, Igs?" he confirmed. I nodded sullenly.
"Yeah, fine. Can't a guy have a little fun around here?" I grumbled, kicking my toe into the carpet.
There was a slight silence, and I could feel Mrs. Nirzoa's glare on me as she scrutinized her victims- err, beloved students. "Fine, I believe you. Mr. Jamison, that was an excellent speech. Mr. Fields, watch your mouth in the future. Now hurry along to your lunch, boys, and if you hear anything about the vandalism and theft, do not hesitate to inform the office. That is all."
"Thank you, Mrs. Nirzoa," Gazzy replied. He grabbed my arm and pulled me roughly from the office, Matt and Lucas following after us. "What was that?" Gazzy hissed at me, hurrying down the hallway. "Were you trying to get us suspended, Igs?"
I shrugged. "There's nothing great about this school, anyway," I reasoned.
"What about the soccer team?" Lucas reminded me harshly, sounding upset. "If we get suspended, we're kicked off the team, genius."
Oops. I had forgotten about that. No wonder they were being so sensitive about the whole affair. "Look, I'm sorry, but nothing happened! It's all cool," I insisted. Gazzy let go of my arm, and I could practically sense the angry vibes radiating off of him.
"You need to get your act together, Igs. What's up with you recently?" Gazzy demanded.
I didn't reply. Instead, I simply plastered a fake smile on my face and continued walking. The other guys didn't speak again until we hit the cafeteria, where they began mumbling among themselves again. I ignored their chatter, and navigated my way to the lunch table. I sat down at the end of the bench, sensing someone next to me. Who was it?
"Hi Iggy!" Ella chirped, nudging me gently with her elbow. "What'd you do to annoy the principal?"
"It's a long story," I replied honestly, feeling around in my lunch bag. My hand closed around a plastic bag full of thin, square things. I opened the bag and felt the texture between my fingers, then popped one in my mouth.
Just as quickly, I spat it out into my palm. I scowled at the slightly soggy cracker, crushing it in my hand before dropping it into the trash can behind me. Of course my mom had packed me those today. Ugh.
Wheat thins.
3POV
Richard Reynolds leaned back in his chair, studying the print out from his laptop. It was a harmless page and three quarters, black on white, neatly typed, with absolutely no grammar or spelling mistakes. Iggy Fields was truly amazing to handle his loss of sight so well. To the casual observer, this paper could have been typed by a perfectly normal student with twenty-twenty vision and a knack for essay writing. Instead, mischievous, impudent, blind Iggy Fields had written this paper. It was remarkable. Richard studied it again, mentally comparing the heart-tugging essay to his chat with the author. It didn't line up. How could the boy who had written this be so casual and playful? It was obvious he had some major inner turmoil, but it didn't show at all on the outside. For the fifth time, Richard reread Iggy's essay.
People didn't understand how insanely difficult it was for me just to live after I lost my eyesight. Sure, I was physically fully capable of living normally with my new blindness. I was more capable than some seeing people. In fact, I dealt oddly well with my loss of sight. It was like I had never needed my sight anyway. It had just been a simple convenience, a tool I had borrowed from someone else. And when the tool was taken back, I was devastated, but still perfectly capable. My doctor was amazed.
But sheer capability wasn't the only factor. I would never see my parents again. I would never be able to play video games unassisted. I would never be able to read. I would never play soccer, or basketball, or swim, or even watch the sunset. And I would never see my best friend's face again. Ever.
As anybody I knew could have informed anyone, I hadn't always been blind. Up until only three years ago, I could see perfectly well. Then, there had been The Accident. My mind had shut the horrible events out of my conscious thought, and now I couldn't even remember what had happened. Nobody else knew, so the cause of my own blindness was a mystery to me.. All I could recall was going to the local park with Fang, where we had commenced a serious game of hide and go seek. Fang had been It, and I was searching for a hiding place in the woods.
That was when it happened, I was sure of it.
Two strange men had appeared, and grabbed me. I struggled, but a single thirteen year old boy had no chance against those guys. After that all I could remember was paralyzing fear, and blinding pain.
A sardonic smile has just graced my face at the thought. How ironic. My only memory of the event that caused my blindness could only be described as a blinding pain. But, I digress.
Fang had eventually found us struggling, and somehow managed to fight those men off by himself. At the time, Fang had only been fourteen, but he was tall, fast, and strong for a fourteen-year-old. The men had managed to slash him with their knives twice, but Fang still drove them off. Then, he had somehow found the strength to half-carry me to help, even though he was quickly losing blood and I couldn't open my eyes at all. Even to this day I didn't know how he had done it. Fang was truly amazing sometimes.
Before The Accident, Fang had smiled a lot. He talked to me constantly, and laughed all the time. When he found out that I was permanently blind, something changed. My friends told me he didn't smile as often, and I knew he didn't talk half as much as he used to. Even laughing became a rarity. I missed the old Fang, and that was one of the main reasons that I hated my blindness. It took a part of my best friend away from me, and I didn't know if I would ever get it back again.
I wasn't the only one who was hurt by those men. Fang had been scarred too, literally and figuratively. He had the marks on his stomach to prove it.
I guessed that the reason I had been so worked up in the past week was... Max hadn't known I was blind, she hadn't figured it out for a few days. It hadn't even occurred to her at all until I finally spilled. If it was really that unnoticeable that I was blind, then I must be doing pretty well. I just didn't understand why Fang made me confess the truth. It wasn't as if it would hurt Max to think I was a normal kid. So why? Why did Fang make me confess my disability? I didn't know. And that was another reason to hate my being blind. I couldn't even look at him and figure out his thoughts, like I used to do constantly.
If I'm surly about being blind sometimes, I have a good reason. I haven't only lost my sight and some of my dignity, I've lost part of my best friend. And if I do say so myself, I do a pretty good job of being normal most of the time. My friends forget I'm blind sometimes. I do a great job of being normal, in fact.
So stick that in your juice box and suck on it.
Richard lay the papers down on his desk and leaned back in his chair, speculating over the interesting essay he had just read. That final line brought a smile to his lips after such a heart wrenching story. It also reminded him who the author of the essay was. Iggy was a good kid. He deserved his moping time. And Richard would do everything he could to help him through it.
That is, if Iggy would let him give his help.
Richard sighed in frustration. How would he get Iggy to agree to talk his problems out seriously? Somehow, he couldn't picture the goofball having a heart-to-heart with him. Then Richard remembered the hope he had, the thing he was sure would make Iggy open up to him.
There was always the bribe of powdered donuts.
Edited as of 2/10/12
XD I made this a longer chappie, to make up for the slightly suckish ones I've been churning out. I hope you enjoyed! Review and tell me how much you love Iggy's inner turmoil! You know you do. =P
~TMI~