Simon lead me down the hallway and into his bedroom. It was enormous. Of course, I'd seen it before, but the size or it baffled me every time. It could fit a large bed, twice the size of mine, a cabinet, and had a closet. My room only fit my tiny bed and a few neatly folded piles of clothes. Simon's bedroom also had painted walls, while mine were a plain white. He had one red wall and three blue walls. If that weren't enough, he had a large window overlooking the forest. It was a great view, since he had the highest household in the building thanks to his father. My household was in the second story of the building next to his, and we shared the story with another household opposite us. Simon's family had the tenth story all to themselves. As always, I was in awe that someone as important as Simon chose to be friends with someone like me. I laid my school bag on his bed and sat down beside it.

"So what's on the agenda for tonight?" I joked. We never planned anything. 

"Actually, I have a plan." He said, surprisingly. "I want to show you our guest room later! Dad had it as an office, but he got promoted and had an office at the Agency now, so we turned the room into a spare room for get togethers and such." 

"Oh, awesome!" I remarked. 

"Right, and we have to give this thing a name." He remembered, referring to the dog which was now asleep at the foot of the bed. "It needs to be perfect!"

"How about Abernathy?" I offer, and his face lights up.

"That is perfect! Thanks!" 

"No problem. I've got a whole list of names that I want to use in my stories." I whisper. I'm not suppose to write, of course. Creating ideas and characters is the job of more important, richer people. But I just can't help it. When I have new ideas, I write them down immediately, then tell Simon. For some reason, I can never remember them without writing them down, and Simon never forgets anything. He's also the only person who knows that I write. 

"Alright. Abernathy!" He shouts in the direction of the dog, waking him up. The dog looked around for a few seconds. 

"Yes?" He asked, responding quickly.

"He already knows his name! He's intelligent, like you," I comment, without thinking. Simon's head jerked up and he stopped petting Abernathy.

"You think I'm intelligent?" He asked. It was a huge compliment to call someone intelligent nowadays, as most of us were considered as and created to be average. And I had said it without any thought at all.

"Well, yeah," I mumbled. "You're like... super smart. You're on a first name basis with the teachers at school, and you know they only pay attention to the smart kids."

"Thank you," he said gratefully. "I believe that everyone is intelligent in their own way. Intelligence is everywhere, yet people only seem to care about the intelligence of the mind."
I stood gaping at him for a long minute. His vocabulary and knowledge of language were vast, and he flaunted it. Not purposely or to impress, but almost as if it came naturally. Without his variation in words and long complex sentences, Simon wouldn't be... well, Simon. 

"I guess." Was all I managed to come up with as a reply. He chuckled. 

"Sorry. I find that I speak poetry or science when simplicity would serve just as well." He explained, then cringed. "See what I mean?" He smacked his forehead with an open palm. "Sometimes it's easy to see why everyone thinks I'm just the posh rich kid." 

"You're not, Si. Don't think like that. You're just well educated and know how to speak. Maybe they should just learn to read a dictionary." I say with hatred. I extremely disliked that the neighborhood kids bullied Simon so much. He didn't ask to be born rich, and he wasn't the reason they weren't. 

"Callie!" Simon hissed. "You can't say things that. What if someone had heard you?"

"I don't care if someone heard me! My little comment doesn't come close to all the bullying they've done to you. They never get punished. Why should I?" I say, raising my voice. 

"Because you're being so loud about it!" He chastised, grabbing my arm and effectively making me quiet down. We weren't supposed to have any physical contact besides the departing handshakes or to show affection, and I wondered why he was doing it now. "Just try to calm down. I can handle it. Mom and Dad still don't know about it so I'd appreciate it if you'd stay quieter when you bring it up." I looked up at him.

"Haven't they ever seen the bruises?" I wondered aloud. I knew they beat him up regularly, and he never came out of a fight looking good. Though the bullies avoided the face for obvious reasons. They didn't want to be caught. Not that it would matter; they were too rich.

"No. I'll be fine, Callie. Don't worry about them, they'll stop eventually." He replied, shaking his head and pulling on the ends of his long sleeves. He wasn't confident in that fact, and it was clear. 

"It's been years, Simon."

"Callie." He said simply, forcing me to look him in the eyes again. "I'm going to be fine. Don't worry about it."

"Just promise me you'll tell them if it gets worse."

"I promise." His voice shook when he said this, and I knew the instant he said it that it was a lie. He was the worst liar ever, and I knew it like the back of my hand... But I let it go. He didn't want me to worry about him, and I knew he did it to protect me from my anxiety. He always did. So this time, I let him believe he had fooled me.