He was only 18.
I spoke to him a few times and reached out in my own, odd way. I cleaned out his backpack and organized his homework and books. I gave him answers and explanations to assignments in class. I admired his smirky, half-smile that was just always...there.
He ran with a different crowd, but he was never obnoxious. Distracted, maybe, but quiet and respectful. That smile never left his face for long. He didn't question when I took his bag and rifled through it. He just smiled as I giggled and gave myself something to do, and the next day, he offered it to me.
On no significant day, I tore a small scrap of paper from my notebook an