The boy stood up; blue eyes looking at each and every questioning face in the classroom.

"3.141592653589-"He mumbled, and despite being able to recite more digits of Pi, he stopped due to the demand of his teacher.

"That's enough. Thank you, Reid." The lady spoke, adjusting her cat-eyed glasses. The whole class burst to groups of whispers, everyone having someone to talk to while not at all being discreet when it comes to who they're chattering about; Reid Tucker. He could feel every head turning his way, every tongue curling the same way to say his name, and none does so to put him in a good light. The boy in question sat alone and quiet in his seat, nails digging into his palm as his eyes looked at the clock. If this was Matilda, he'd be able to move things via telekinetic powers, but Reid couldn't do much past hope that it could ever happen in real life.

Something broke his train of wishful thinking. "You're not smart, Tucker-"The girl beside him whispered with an annoyed look. "You're just sick. Something went wrong with your brain when you're born and now you don't forget. It doesn't make you clever." She continued, peeling chewed gum from under her seat to throw at the poor blonde's curly hair. "You're just broken."

------x

"Aaaaaaaand GOAL!" The soccer commentator exclaimed as the TV closed up on an athletic man stripping of his shirt and running on the field with a bright smile; tanned hands swinging the shirt above his head.

A beer bottle shattered after an angry man in his middle-age threw it on the floor.

"Fuck. Lydia, I just lost to that Munroe bastard again!" The gruff voice spoke from the same room as TV.

"Well, shit, Carlos. I told you not to put the whole five hundred as a bet-" A female voice replied from the same room; from the same couch, even. They're literally inches away from each other with only Reid in between, and yet the yelling is so loud that the neighbors might call the cops any second. If they did, it wouldn't be the first time it had happened.

Reid remained silent the entire time, his mind comprehending a much greater subject than scores on a soccer match. 'Mom, I got 100 on my math.' No, that wouldn't do. Does he just let them see the paper? His grip on the rolled up test sheet increased at the thought. 'Look, Dad- another hundred.' Would he really care this time? Well they should, his parents promised a trip to the World History Museum the next time Reid gets a hundred or close- which happens too often.

"Reid, fucking stop that please." Carlos spoke, his same shade of blue focused on the TV. The whites of his eyes are turning red, the veins swollen and his eyes dried and tired from the harmfully long hours spent not looking at anything but the TV.

Reid shrugged, shuffling uncomfortably in his seat. "I'm not doing anything, dad. I was just thinking-" He spoke in a meek voice.

"I think that's what your father meant." His mom replied, taking three unopened cans of beer from the stash conveniently placed near their feet and passing the other two to Reid and her husband.

"Right. Sorry." He spoke. "Mom, Dad? Do you remember you promised to take me to the museum if I got another hundred?"

The gruff man sighed, pressing the can against his lips as he chugged. "Why can't you be like a normal ten year old and ask for a toy car or something?" He spoke once the liquid enters his system.

"Your father's right. I don't wanna spend my afternoon in a museum." She spoke, doing the same with the can in her hand.

You're not clever, Tucker.

You're broken.

"But you promised." He whined, unrolling the paper to show to his parents. "Another hundred. It's my fifth time this term; Mom, dad- please."

Lydia threw her empty can on the coffee table with a loud chime, gritting her teeth before she slumps down on her spot. "We thought your teachers would've figured out how you cheated by now." She drawl under her breath. "Stop being so much like your dad."

Carlos coughed, sipping more of the beer as he proudly pats his fattening gut. "Your actual dad. That scrub left you and your mom to go to school and get some doctorate. Promised to come back, and where is he now? All he left is a loud-as-fuck kid and some worthless science junk."

"Those are his research papers- They're not junk, I've read them! He's smart and I want to be just like-"

"Reid Tucker!" Lydia spoke, her voice blaring louder than the television set. The boy closed his mouth, biting his lip as he wished to disappear. "Zip it. You'll fucking zip it and not say a word- or think- and we'll go to your stupid museum tomorrow."

------x

God forbid an innocent ten year old could go one day feeling happy.

Reid Tucker must admit; his family is far from perfect. Both of his parents are alcoholics; his mother, because of his biological father (or rather lack thereof), and Carlos- whenever he lost a gamble. None of them ever seemed to be proud that he's the best at spelling, or that he's top of the class, or the fact that his eidetic memory is a gift that many would like. Carlos found him obnoxious, since a ten year old memorizing encyclopedias surely looked like the kid had something to prove. Lydia found him intolerably similar to his genius father; the same man who left her for a better education and in general, a better life. Reid doesn't see what's wrong with wanting the best for one's self, but the boy does wish his father could see him now- he'll be proud of the outstanding scores he kept getting.

The only bad part about having an eidetic memory is that he's often discredited for 'not trying'. Like being skinny because of a fast metabolism. Well, maybe that's the only bad part- Reid needs a few things out of his head at times. Things he doesn't need to visualize; things that he wished he could just ignore without his brain overheating until it melts to slush.

Things that would be great if he couldn't hear them so clearly in his ears right now.

'You're not clever, Tucker.

You're broken.

Broken.'

He must be. Tucker would often donate his broken, useless things to the less fortunate every month. That way he wouldn't have to feel guilty about the fact that he's throwing them away, and whatever happens to them next is up to said less fortunate. Maybe that's why his parents left him in the museum- maybe that's why they promised to go in the first place. They want the broken, useless parts of their life gone. They both could just come back home and watch another rendition of sports without a care. For how can they be guilty if they weren't there to see Reid physically in danger? They wouldn't know- for all they know, their son is happily strolling down the rooms of a museum with the biggest cherubic smile; and that's how he'll be remembered.

What Reid remembered was the route back to the car. He could probably still make it now, and once they're reunited he could pretend like this never happened. He could also clearly remember the way back home complete with every stop signs and stores that they passed; every turn, every traffic light, every police station along the way had been memorized with little to no trouble, and could figure it out to draw a map if he focused hard enough. But he doesn't. He played it backwards in his head and paused the memory right before they left with his mother preparing breakfast and Carlos eating more than his share of heated leftovers- not perfect, but at least they hadn't yet betrayed him. This is good in a bad way. Despite having the ability to return home, he'd rather be lost than be in a house that's not a home; full of people who wanted him gone. No- he'd rather be free.

The sky began to darken and weep; its tears making the earth go wet and cold. Reid never understood the extent of his loneliness until now, despite the crowded streets. Nobody was smiling, and if they were it wasn't at him- he felt invisible. Everyone is so busy with themselves, only thinking about themselves but trying to appeal to everyone else. This couldn't be any more prevalent than now in this crowded street and through the eyes of a lost boy. He doesn't like it; having his fate as a certain uncertainty. He's been walking for so long that his soles are wearing thin, and yet he hasn't found a single place to stay. Maybe he was stupid not to come back chasing for his parents, but as of now he felt little regret over what he did. 'You're a smart boy, Reid. You'll figure it out.' The kid told himself, though lying is always harder when you know the truth.

'You're not clever, you're broken.'

He decided to rest on a nearby park bench where his feet still hang off its edge. He swung them in boredom, fingers in his mouth and teeth chewing on the skin without him noticing. He didn't even notice the slight blood that came from the corner of his ripped and bitten nail; the boy was too anxiously thinking. And he wasn't thinking because he wanted to, it was involuntary that he goes through everything he saw today in tedious detail.His mind is an engine, and it rarely ever rests.

"Hey, hey-" A concerned voice spoke as the taller teenager took a spot next to him. Curious eyes glared at his green ones, curiosity upon the yellowed bruise on his jaw and popped veins coloring his eyes. Hands of bruised knuckles were placed upon his own, slowly separating his gnawing teeth from the bleeding nails.

"Jesus, Kid- Anxious?" He began, the same hands now reaching for a cigarette and lighter from his flannel pocket. He lit one, pressing it between his lips and taking a swig before placing it in front of Reid's. "Try this. Calms you down."

Did he just offer a cigarette to an obviously underage boy? "Uh- But the level of chemicals and nicotine isn't safe for the body after long term exposure to the lungs." He spoke, watching the tip burn. He could hear it crackle, and then he could hear the man sighed. "And the addiction-" he couldn't finish.

"And vaccines are just weakened pathogen, that when injected in the wrong dose could make the pathogens mutate or even immune." He spoke calmly, taking his cigarette back and taking a long drag. "Adam by the way."

"I don't think I should say my name to a stranger," Reid spoke cautiously but with interest behind his eyes and itch on the tip of his tongue. He could make a friend.

"Oh come on, you know my name. We're not strangers. We're like that one clown in the sewer and that kid he tore the arms of." Adam joked, nudging the small boy. "Everyone starts out as strangers; Peter and Wendy, Shallow princesses and shallow princes, Jiminy and Pinnochio-" He listed, taking another drag that burns the tip backwards; quick. He blew the smoke out, away from the boy's face. "If it makes you trust me more, here; I'm Adam Roux and I'm an asshole. I light fires for fun- and not on buildings, metaphorical fires; which are worse-, I'm also currently hiding from other assholes in a beaten up flat, and about two minutes ago I just offered some little kid a smoke."

"That doesn't sound healthy-" he opened. He could picture everything in his head; all but one. "Jiminy? I've never watched Pinnochio." He mumbled after listening to Adam's very interestingly worded biography.

"Yeah, Jiminy Cricket. Fuck then if you don't get the reference. He's got a quote you know, Fate is kind something something." Adam threw away his cig on the ground before he stepped on it; Reid could hear the crackle as it died.

Fate is kind.

Tucker is not clever. Just broken.

Fate cant possibly maintain a singular characteristic throughout its entire existence; nothing remains constant. Despite that though, Reid could burn the quote to his memory and choose to believe in it. Fate could be kind, even to a boy discarded by his own guardians.

"Okay- I'm Jiminy Cricket and my parents left me. I'm scared, but I try not to be- I cant do the same with loneliness." He mumbled, welling eyes on his shoes.

Adam smiled. "Well then, Jiminy Cricket." He stood up, extending a hand for Reid to hold. "That's where I come in."

They walked hand in hand that night; and for as long as they remembered, that is a constant.

------x

Thanks so much to 'lets-twist-again' for naming a character in my book uvu

This chapter isn't as funny as the other ones are, but hopefully you enjoy it just the same.

:"3

Please comment your critiques and concerns since I love reading them- I want to improve and all that.