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I've never understood Simon.
There's something different about him from the others that just doesn’t make sense to me. He'll help a snobby classmate pick up his papers and give money to the poor, no matter how much change he has. I really don't understand it — why would you want to help these people if it doesn't benefit you in any way? It does sound a bit immoral to say, but I can't help the way I feel. I've felt this way my whole life. I've mostly gotten this from my parents, I think. They seem to not even bat an eye towards the sorrowful, as they think there are more important things in life they need to attend to.
One time, this classmate of Simon made fun of him relentlessly, calling him batty and such, and nobody batted an eye. Neither did I, as it was none of my business to join what was going on between them, even if I wanted to. One day, I'd been wandering through the halls at school, and I walked past an empty, dusty classroom, where I saw Simon. It looked like he'd been crying for quite some time — his eyes were as red as a blood moon. He looked at me sadly as he was crouched into a ball sitting on the ground, but I quickly went about my day and tried to pay little attention to it.
By lunchtime, Simon was already smiling like he was made of pure sunshine. For a pitiful boy, he seems to have a smile on his face quite often. Whether it’s the teacher announcing that we’ll be doing a study on his favourite book in class, or when he finally manages to kick the ball during soccer.
This same boy that has been teasing him drops all his papers as he's trying to sort them out and lets out an ear-churning yell in frustration. The whole class had gone silent and did nothing, except for Simon who was quick to be by his side to pick up and organize his papers. I don't understand if he wants to be liked, or if he truly wants to make other people's lives easier just because it's in his nature.
Even though I think some of the decisions he makes are stupid, I can't help but find myself admiring him. He's smart in the sense he could tell you were upset by a furrowed brow. I never understood how he can do it so easily, as I find it quite hard to do what he does. I lack understanding of how to cheer people up when they're discouraged. Whenever I try to, it seems to be no use. I'll usually just ask if they're okay at the most, and if they respond with no, the room will go dead silent and at the most I'll give them a pitiful stare.
I find myself to be arguing a lot with others recently, although I wouldn't call it arguing, just sharing my point. When it comes to apologizing for my wrongdoings after arguing, I'm not as sincere with it since I'm mostly in the right. It's hard to know anybody else's feelings when my mind is clouded with rage, too. My mother has been arguing with me a lot recently, about the smallest things, too. It's such a waste of time trying to get her to listen to me that it makes me sick. Maybe I was born angry, it seems I might have gotten it from my short tempered father or my easily annoyed mother.
I do have to give my mother some credit, though, because without her I would not have been put into this boarding school. It's fine here, aside from the fact there are certain boys that test my patience a bit too much. The school is vintage, it looks like the bricks are many years old. Inside it's a bit better, the building has long, wooden hallways with shining oak floors, and it smells of books and mildew. I've gotten used to the smell walking from class to class. Each classroom looks about the same, a small stuffy room with a few desks in order, surrounded by dusty chalkboards. Unexpectedly, I don't hate the school.
Every morning I head to choir practice at the church. It has several stained glass windows, which illuminate the building with a warm light-- it's sort of calming. I enjoy choir as much as other boys enjoy sports and being outside, and this is probably obvious by looking at my grades. I have an A+ in choir, along with being the choir captain. I enjoy my role as captain, as the boys do need someone to be in charge to handle their hot headed behaviour. It feels good being in control of them, and having people look up to me, I can admit that. Father Cyril said I’m what every student should strive to be.
"Jack?" Maurice says, and it snaps me back into reality. I look at the pleading expression on his pale, pointy face. "Can I have a bite of your food?"
"Haven't you got your own food?" I responded in annoyance. Maurice knows very well how to get on my nerves without even realising it— I guess it comes naturally to him to be such a nuisance.
"I already ate it. But I'm hungry, so you should spare some." Maurice says desperately while scruffing his black, shaggy hair.
"Maybe try packing more food, if you're really that desperate that you need to take other people's." Roger says jokingly while resting his face on his hand and poking at his food with his fork pointlessly. Roger is someone that I do respect a bit more, as he knows how to contain his emotions instead of vomiting them all over everyone. Maurice, on the other hand, can't relate to that. The littlest thing will tick him off— whether it's about something funny, sad, or something that makes him mad. He'll die laughing at something that is only slightly funny, so I guess you can say he feels things deeply. Whenever someone is testing his anger, he doesn't hesitate to insult them — or worst case even attack them. The other day, Simon had tried to approach our table, and Maurice didn't waste a second to ridicule him. It's not like he wanted to start a fight on purpose, I guess he mostly just finds any way to entertain himself whether it's playing football or calling someone batty and telling them to shove off.
I furrow my brows and look at Maurice staring at Roger with wide eyes and his jaw dropped.
"Do you see this? He just called me fat!" Maurice says while slamming his fists on the table, overreacting like usual.
"It's true, is it not?" Roger says with a devilish grin on his face. Though Roger can contain his emotions, he acts as some sort of a trigger for Maurice—somehow always finding a way to make him angry without even trying. He does entertain it, but he knows when to draw the line so as to not make a scene. He keeps Maurice in check, and when he bursts, he's so good with snapping him out of it that it's basically like he threw a bucket of ice water on him. Most of the time it's only if it benefits Roger. If Maurice is messing with someone random, and it isn’t causing a huge scene, he couldn't care less, such as what happened with Simon the other day when he tried to approach our table.
The bell suddenly rings, which signifies for us to go to our first period class. For mine, Roger's, and Maurice's case, we all have choir together. I'm not sure if I'm too glad to have a class with them, they can be a lot sometimes, but I'm okay with that. I manage to get by as the choir needs me, being the choir captain and all. Lots of the boys are looking up to me, so it's basically necessary that I'm there. I do enjoy choir, too. It's something that I study practically every day for hours on end, mastering the notes and songs that we're supposed to learn. I can't let Father Cyril down, the same goes for my parents who are waiting patiently at home for that shiny A+ on my report card. I usually don't question them as that's all they ever ask of me, just to bring home good grades.
The three of us walk to the dressing room to get prepped for choir. I comb my hair diligently so as to settle down loose hairs, and look presentable. Roger and Maurice do the same. As usual, we're the first ones there since I like being the first to get ready. Not only that, but it's my job to set a good example as the leader.
Maurice looks at himself in the mirror as if he's examining his own face. He then looks over at me. "Jack, why do you comb your hair back so much?" He says while pointing at my blonde hair. I couldn't tell if this was him being dumb as a rock again or if he was trying to pull some sort of joke on me.
"To look proper, why?" I respond to him while I pat down my choir cloak, straightening the creases.
Maurice suddenly lets out a whiny giggle. "What's so funny?" I respond, crossing my arms. I never understood how Maurice could laugh at everything so easily-- what was so funny about my combed hair?
"You just kind of look like—" He puts his hand on my head, patting it. "— an egg."
I lightly smack his hand away and he looks back at me in surprise— with a slight smile on his face, like he just saw something bewilderingly funny. "No I don't. Atleast I don't look like I just woke up." I respond in annoyance, trying to find the best comeback I could. Honestly, at this point I was just done with Maurice's behaviour. Sure— if I was in the mood for funny it would be hilarious, but I'm just about as tense as a stick right now trying to balance everything. With choir, grades, and sports it seems to be all catching up to me.
Maurice scoffs and leans along the side of the wall, tapping it and trying to make some sort of beat out of it. He really does find a way to entertain himself.
Suddenly, I feel a soft tap on my shoulder that sends a short wave of panic through my body and makes me jump. I turn around to see who it is, and there I see Simon. The first thing I noticed was the small grin on his face, and I quickly tried to pay little attention to it. I didn’t smile back. How could I, when the others were watching?
The main problem is, why was he tapping on my shoulder now? Did he not learn the other day how vile Roger and Maurice can be towards him? I don't understand Simon, he just doesn't seem to care what people think about him. "What do you want?" I respond rudely, breaking a sweat. Roger and Maurice give each other that look they always do when they feel like being menaces. Now was the worst time to come up to me, Simon.