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"He's disturbing. To be honest, my dear, that's the word for it; disturbing." The teacher's voice prattled on and on in a high pitched whisper.
"The boy was caught with a young sparrow today, the poor thing must have fallen out of the tree, and he was examining it with a cold demeanor, so unlike a child it scared me. He then used a stick to open its mouth, and-"
Here she broke off, assumedly covering her mouth as her tones became more hysteric, in an attempt to calm herself.
"Well, our Jim is very curious is all. He's a good boy, just wants to know certain things other boys his age don't think about. Thank you for your concern, Mrs. Weat, but I think we'll do just fine without any 'outside help'"
Jim could almost hear his mother's fingers crooking in the air, her tone offended, but masked enough with sincerity that his idiot of a teacher simply sighed and leaned back, the creaking of the desk behind letting Jim know he would soon be going home.
"Well, if you're sure. Thank you for seeing me today. I'll see Jim tomorrow at school I suppose."
On the way home, as he held his mother's hand with feigned affection, Jim smiled at the dread he had heard in his teacher's voice.
To avoid these situations in the future, he decided, he would simply be more secretive about his little exploits. Yes, he nodded to himself; at least the weak-stomached Mrs. Weat had not seen what the sparrow had looked like once he was done with it.
He had hidden it behind some bushes and was excited to admire his handiwork the next day. Once they reached home, he silently finished the rudimentary homework and ate his dinner in silence. He dreamt of sparrows falling out of the sky with beaks wide open that night.
He walked to school alone. He doesn't know if this is because no one would like to walk with him, or because he would not like them to walk with him, but whichever it was, he was a solitary soul. He completed work alone, played alone and walked alone.
His bored eyes cast a dull look around the school yard as he waited for the morning bell, and he settled on an interesting exchange between the 'new' girl and a few of the older boys. Of course, the girl had been in their class for two years, but she was the last new girl to come, so until there was another one, she would always be just a little bit on the outside of every group.
Her name was Mary, or some such nonsense, Jim thought. She was a mousy thing, with long hair that covered her shoulders, and sometimes her eyes, who wore jumpers that hid everything about her, even her hands were engulfed in the giant sleeves.
Jim hadn't ever taken much notice of her; she was not of any interest, not being particularly clever or particularly stupid, at least not according to her grades, or participation in class.
She was being harassed by some of the older boys because they thought her clothes were funny. This happened almost every day to at least one poor year 6, so there was nothing interesting about that.
The other boy was pushing her, and pulling on her hair which was perfectly normal, boring behavior. The interesting part today however, was that she was not crying. Other girls, always sobbed when confronted by anything, especially cruelty by two older boys, she however, was silent.
She stood still and somber, her hair caught in the fist of the older boy with a long nose, and her ears being filled with the insults flipping off of the tongue of the one with his shirt untucked.
Jim moved silently closer, his presence undetectable by the idiots; he stood nearby, close enough now to overhear their words.
"Your dad's a bum. My dad saw him drinking till he fell off his stool down at the pub last night. He didn't even pay his tab. He's a poor bum who can't afford a proper daughter. Where'd he get you, in his bins one night? Obviously didn't get you off no mum, 'cause you haven't got any. Or, did he scare her away too?"
The other boy, the one with the long nose laughed and gave her hair a tug, pulling her face up to look at them. Jim smiled as he saw her eyes, they were brimming with tears, and she was just about to begin sobbing.
He could see it in the way her left eye twitched every time the boy let out a small snort. But, his grin diminished as a new thought dawned on him. Her eyes were not brimming with tears, but sheen of rage. She was furious, this timid field mouse, and she was about to bite the lion.
He leaned in closer to the trio as the boy speaking suddenly pushed her up against the trunk.
"What are you, daft? Are you mute, Deaf? Can't you talk back?"
She simply smiled up at him, a smile so thin and so dangerous that Jim couldn't help but mimic it. The other boy yanked at her hair again and she turned her eyes towards him, her demeanor darkening.
"Careful, mate you might pull it out." The other boy said, stepping back slightly, laughing a bit nervously as he noticed that the girl was still not crying.
"Nah, look, it ain't even hurting her." With that he gave an almighty tug, and she whipped her head back, leaving him with a fistful of her long brown hair, bits of blood clotted at the top.
The boy who'd been talking leapt back, "Mate you've done it now. Hurry shut her up before a teacher sees." They turned to quiet her screams to find that there were none. She simply stared at the one with the long nose. "Careful mate, you might tear it out." She said her tone even and quiet. The boys left quickly, hysterically muttering about the mad girl in the weird jumpers.
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Jim was annoyed. Molly Hooper had slipped his notice. No one slipped his notice, especially not quiet little girls with an odd amount of knowledge of dead things.
Jim had decided to walk Molly home and was wearing a fake smile as he slowly nudged her to talk about her interests, the ones she kept hidden from even her mother.
“And yesterday I found a lovely little sparrow in the bushes, nice and fresh. However, it was very odd.” Molly turned toward him, her high pitched prattle ceasing for a few seconds as she lowered her voice,
“It was completely inside out, it was very useful to see the inside bits without having to bring it home and use my knife.” Her eyes lit up, as Jim’s darkened. “Do you want to see my knife?”
Jim’s fists dug into his pockets as ideas he knew me shouldn’t act upon yet flashed through his mind.
“Can I stay and see Molly? That does sound like fun.” He ground out, sounding as sweet as when he lied to his mother.
Molly laughed and nudged his shoulder, “You talk weird when you’re lying. Have you ever noticed?”
Jim looked up, alarmed. “What?” He said laughing kind of slightly, his voice lilting a bit. Molly Just laughed again and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.
“My house is on the next street. Are you staying or not?” Jim nodded, following her into her house quietly, her previous comment still on his mind.
They entered an empty house and Molly explained that her mother normally got home late and her father barely got home at all. Jim smiled, all charm and grace, knowing he would have an opportunity to get to know Molly Hooper without fear of punishment.
“What did you mean I spoke oddly when I lie?” He said as nonchalantly as he could, sitting on a small stool near the center island in the kitchen.
“It’s the same kind of weird like now, when you’re super happy my parents aren’t home, and trying not to show it. And when I mentioned the sparrow, you tried to look grossed out but I could tell that you did that to the sparrow.”
Refusing to be shaken, Jim nodded as she gestured to two cups, asking if he’d like tea, burrowing away the oddness of such a young child enjoying the drink. He crossed his arms,
“And how did you know that?” she smiled as she set the kettle on the stove.
“I didn’t, but I do now.” She laughed at the furious look on his face, her back turning to him as she reached for the tea bags in the cabinet above her. Jim resigned himself to a brand new view of Miss Hooper.
“You said something about a knife?” He now spoke with no hint of his innocent voice, the one he’d been clinging to. Molly nodded, her smile widening as she ran upstairs, leaving the pot to boil. Jim followed suit, his hands clenched in a mixture of anger and excitement.
As he came up behind her at her doorway, he noticed her head still bled from where the boy had tugged too hard at her hair. He grabbed the hair near it and she flinched turning towards him.
“Still sore?” he asked, venom in his voice. She merely looked at him, confusion flashing across her features, until her eyes widened and her hand shot up, and snatched his own hair, gripping it tightly.
“Quite.” She chirped as she pulled upward, causing him to release her as she scampered into her bedroom and pulled a knife out from under her bed.
Jim growled and stood near her, trying to see if he could make her uncomfortable. She ran her finger along the edge of the knife absent-mindedly and babbled on about what she had accomplished with such an instrument.
Eventually Jim sighed. “Molly Hooper. You are the most boring interesting girl I have ever met.”
Her eyes flashed for just a second and the knife was thrown from her hand, embedding itself in the wall behind his head. She leaned in to retrieve it,
“Doesn’t that just scare you to death?”