ten leagues beyond the wide world's end

[MJ]

He really ought to have known better.
Reading while walking was one thing inside the halls of Florence's, where he knew the territory, could navigate thoughtlessly from any corner of the widespread building. Even the garden- it might have taken him a while to figure out the maze, but there was no real danger there, only a heightening sense of annoyance.
But getting lost in a forest because he was too busy reading Oscar Wilde?
That was just stupid.

Jon stared at the trees around him with growing bewilderment, eyes wide like a frightened animal behind glass lenses. It was a wonder he hadn't stumbled over a root and killed himself already, because he had no idea what one did in the woods, or what animals lived there, or how likely it was he'd be devoured by wolves.

His hair was loose and dangling, collar opened and sleeves rolled up. He'd been dressed for a casual evening on the lawn, and just how his feet had taken him here Jon wasn't sure. Hugging the book to his chest like a security blanket, the skinny youth turned in a slow circle. All the foliage looked alike to his city-bred eyes.

Recalling some half-forgotten novel, he closed his eyes shut and tried instead to listen for something- a warning growl, maybe, or the hoped-for din of civilization. Then Jon stiffened, turning about sharply with a look of blatant disbelief of his features. That wasn't- surely he couldn't be hearing- cymbals?

He took slow steps in that direction, his steps loud and crackling in the underbrush and nearly drowning out the foreign music. The smell of smoke and cooking fires drifted past his nose, along with the scent of sweat, both human and animal. Where in the world had his feet taken him? Brow furrowed, the boy leaned forward and brushed aside a hanging limb as the din grew ever louder.

It was cymbals, indeed. Cymbals, and bells, and the rattling of beads and metal that was the sound of people. Though these people looked quite unlike any he'd ever seen. All bright colors and swirling cloth, it looked like they made their homes in little fabric-covered huts. The male was suddenly aware of his own monochromatic clothing, and felt like a drab sparrow among so many peacocks. The girls were slender and wild-eyed, and the men- well. He tugged at his collar uncomfortably and took a step closer to the encampment, finally recalling a long-ago conversation with Kurtis.
They had to be gypsies.

[Rain]

Eli wasn't sure what trouble he was trying to stir up when he meandered in the direction of the gypsies. No, he wasn't usually one to stir up trouble, but back at school, nothing going on was what he could call riveting. He'd hung around the West Wing, wandering aimlessly until he'd decided on getting a breath of fresh air. It'd crossed his mind that perhaps he should mingle with the other students, but he swatted that thought away as he would his mother when she was nagging him. Talking to anybody was the last thing on his mind, but as the mother-like voice continued to remind him, his reclusive nature was getting out of hand. He didn't have any friends, hardly spoke to anybody, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd even heard his own voice.

This was ridiculous. If he wanted to hear his own voice, he could always talk to himself, but what kind of reputation would that get him? Not only would he be suspected to be antisocial, but a schizophrenic person as well. He didn't need that, not with his mother sending him letters all the time to give her updates on his social life. He always lied--he had even invented someone to appease her, to make her think he was actually getting along with someone at this God-forsaken school. The name escaped him now, but he knew it would come back to him once he reviewed some of her letters.

He'd had a bad bout of writing the night before. It had been one of those nocturnal nights again where he stayed up till four, maybe five in the morning (he hadn't been keeping track). He'd sat at the typewriter for a long while, staring at the blank page as if willing the keys to move on their own. The words had come screeching to a halt the moment he'd taken a seat in the rickety, wooden chair. He'd tried eating a bagel, lying flat on his back, banging his head against the typewriter, and even typing random letters into onto the page (which did much to piss him off, and he snatched the wasted paper out of the machine, ripped it to pieces, and let them flutter to the ground). Why? Why hadn't it been cooperating with him lately? Hadn't he given it his very best? He thought he might have written down three-hundred words that night, and that was if he was optimistic. Yes, he thought as he traipsed through the woods, he had encountered it. He didn't want to admit it. But it was there, right in front of him, like a deadly disease.

He had writer's block.

He shook his head to rid his mind of the stupid phrase and instead concentrated on the boy making his way into Eli's vision. He seemed to be examining the gypsy camp, completely unaware of Eli's presence. This could be the chance to actually use his voice for the first time in--how long had it been? Twenty-four hours? Somewhere around that. He strolled along, coming up behind the boy, and decided on greeting him.

"Hello!" Ah, damn it. His voice had cracked, probably from lack of use. Not only that, but he'd spoken while standing behind the unsuspecting boy. He'd probably scared the crap out of him.

This was off to a fantastic start.

[MJ]

Who would have known that a simple greeting could have such an effect?

Jon practically levitated, startled into sudden motion by the voice behind him. He cursed like a sailor (and in several dead languages) as he whipped around, spectacles slipping to perch precariously on the end of his nose. The male felt more than a little foolish when his 'attacker' was revealed to be another boy about his age, one he'd seen from school. A blush threatened his features, warming the tips of his ears. Very smooth. Perhaps he could just pretend that bit hadn't happened? He made an attempt to school his features into nonchalance as he sized the other male up. Nobody who'd beat him up, at any rate. Wasn't he one of the brains? If so, what was he doing out here in the middle of nowhere?

Unspent questions hovering on his tongue, Jon nodded a greeting to the other boy. One hand crept up to push his glasses back into their proper position before he spoke.
"Er, hello there."
Yes, because that wasn't at all awkward. The tall male managed a small, wry smile, as though to say 'yes, I know, pardon my social incompetence.' It was a practiced gesture. He cleared his throat before bravely continuing on. "Are you lost as well, then, or just going out for a bit of a stroll? Honestly, I have no idea how I got here, have this thing about walking while reading..." Jon gestured helplessly at the book tucked against his side. 'The Picture of Dorian Gray' was faintly visible in silver-gilt lettering.

He was hoping the other would know the way back to school, but, failing that, it couldn't hurt to have a bit of company. If he could manage to get past the usual stammering and talk sensibly, he had a feeling they might get along- Jon had never had anything against the Brains, might have even been one of them had things turned out differently. At the very least he wasn't in danger of getting another black eye.

[Rain]

The boy responded to his greeting, blushing all the while, and Eli opened his mouth to apologize for the scare. However, he refrained from saying it. It had been too many seconds for the apology to not be socially awkward. If he'd muttered it immediately afterward, perhaps it would have served him better, but now, it wouldn't do. Therefore, he closed his mouth again and nodded like some half-wit, like one of those people seemingly without opinions, sheep that agreed with any random statement that wandered into their ears. What was worse, he'd started nodding after the other boy had done the same thing, so now they looked like a couple of pigeons bobbing their heads back and forth. He stopped, his eyes flickering around the woody area.

"Er, hello there."

Eli recognized the struggle on his face, and then the awkwardness with which the words slithered off his tongue. It was the same way with him each time he tried to strike up conversation with someone who could speak in the most refined way possible. He usually came off as looking like the idiot while the conversation always was cut short at the pleasantries, never once straying to deep discussion that actually mattered. Now, he loosened up, relaxed in the presence of this boy around his age, suspecting he wouldn't make a big, fake show of anything. Yes, Eli could actually see himself enjoying the presence of a human being at this school. It was a miracle.

"Are you lost as well, then, or just going out for a bit of a stroll? Honestly, I have no idea how I got here, have this thing about walking while reading..."

Even better, he was well-read. Well, Eli didn't know that, but he could infer it from the fact that this boy was reading in the middle of the forest. He wasn't among those that daunted and pissed him off, those cliques that seemed to think themselves better than the rest. Especially those Handsome Eyes and Studs. Boy, he couldn't stand them. Oh, shoot, hadn't the boy asked a question? "Oh, no, not lost. Just kind of wandering around. I got bored of being inside, so I thought I'd get some fresh air." It was the most casual sentence he'd probably uttered while at this school.

Eli gazed at the book, catching the title poking out from beneath his arm. "That Dorian Gray?" he inquired, although he wasn't sure why, as the title was perfectly obvious. "I mean, obviously it is." There he went again. This time, not only had he brought attention to his own idiocy, he'd further emphasized it with that sentence. He needed to keep his mouth shut and limit his voice to the page and typewriter. Really, him talking never did any good for anybody. And yet, here he continued to jabber on. "Never got around to that one myself, but it's on my to-do list. How is it?"

[MJ]

'Well, this is going just spiffingly.'
It took a certain type of boy to use the word spiffingly, even in his own thoughts and soaked with sarcasm. Jon fit that description perhaps a bit too well.
He watched as the other boy started and stopped, nodding in tandem. Wondering idly if they could have been any more awkward had they rehearsed, Jon felt his lips curling into an honest smile. There were typically two reactions he got from people when he began to stammer. They either pitied him or held him in contempt. This person, however, seemed to be oddly comforted by his hopeless rambling. Perhaps they'd get along after all.

He knew urge to wander well enough, though his walks didn't usually take him out into the middle of the forest. Jon started to nod, realised they'd probably break out into another awkward round of bobbing, and shrugged instead. "Oh, good. So I can assume you know the way back? I really didn't fancy the idea of wandering about with no direction, and with my social skills, any attempt to ask directions from strangers would result in the loss of all my worldly goods." The words came out easier now, if still a bit hesitant, as Jon gestured vaguely in the direction of the gypsy camp.

The question about his book broke whatever had remained of Jon's discomfort, and his eyes became much more animated behind his glasses as he pulled the book out into clearer view. It was obviously much-loved, but the bindings were good and the pages soft, but not folded- turning down the corners of pages was a sin akin to murder in Jon's mind.

"It's fascinating. If you can get past the prose, and, well, the language is a bit outdated, but Wilde is delightful his sly, cynical way. Dark, though." And there were those troublesome homosexual themes but, well, that didn't exactly need to go into the book review. He stared at the volume for a moment, a bit distracted as though already lost between its pages. Then Jon seemed to pull himself back into the present, fiddling with his collar.

"Definitely worth the read." Then he tilted his head to the side, eyeing the other boy, before he gave a low chuckle of amusement. "And I've just realised I don't even know your name. I'm Jon, sorry. The books tend to take precedence."

[Rain]

Eli listened as the boy went on about knowing the way back, and it wasn't until then that it occurred to him. Was this boy really lost? He felt a smidge of pity for the kid then, which was unusual, given his general contempt for the human race, especially when it came to males. He didn't consider himself a misandrist or anything close to that, seeing as he wasn't planning on any strange sex changes or inflicting injuries upon himself, but he found he more enjoyed the company of the female persuasion. There was more of an innocence about them, at least in his experience, and a more gentle nature that was so rarely found in males. As a young boy, most of the boys his age tended to roughhouse most of the time, picking fights with each other or rolling around in the muddiest bank they could find. It had never appealed to Eli, who had retreated to his wonderful books instead, which had earned him a fair amount of ridicule. Perhaps it was this that had caused him to skulk over to the girl's area of the yard.

When he mentioned his lack of social skills, Eli actually smiled. He even surprised himself, it was such a rare occurrence. "Oh, good God. Trust me, if you tried to get me talking to one of those gypsies...I wouldn't know what to say. I've never spoken to one, let alone met one, and since functioning in conversation with someone at Florence isn't exactly one of my strong points--obviously--well, I don't think the conversation would end well." Without meaning to, a chuckle erupted out of him, one that sounded a bit too much like a dying cow.

He watched the boy's excitement increase as Dorian Gray was mentioned, which for some reason increased his liking of the boy. Perhaps it was because of the rarity of finding another boy with such a passion for books, at least in his own life. He listened with eagerness as Jon went through his own miniature review of what he'd read so far. "It's fascinating. If you can get past the prose, and, well, the language is a bit outdated, but Wilde is delightful his sly, cynical way. Dark, though."

"Sounds like my kind of book." Really, he had to get his hands on it. And now. Dark, cynical, and sly. What a fantastic mix of traits for a book, and with a fleeting feeling of regret, he wished Oscar Wilde were alive at this very moment. They could discuss the ups and downs of writing. Maybe it was just his craving to speak to another writer (he hadn't met any, and those he had had been in their forties or fifties).

"And I've just realised I don't even know your name. I'm Jon, sorry. The books tend to take precedence."

Wow. Eli had completely forgotten about the annoying introductions. This was fantastic, though, that the ugly, boring introductions hadn't come into play until they were already immersed in conversation. That was the delight of meeting a stranger and speaking to them before knowing their name. For all you knew, they could be anybody, but it didn't matter who, because you were already having a blast. "Eli." He considered giving his surname, but decided against it. What was the point? It was too formal, anyhow. "And yes, of course. Books are always more interesting than anyone's name. I mean, look at mine. Three letters. How many brain cells does it take to come up with that?" His smile vanished as he realized he had indirectly criticized his companion's name. "No offense, mate."

[MJ]

Jon was beginning to regret not having met this boy before. Of course, it was easy for the quieter ones to slip under the radar- or the ones not so skilled in social niceties. There was a reason he himself had such a small group of friends, after all, though it did make it difficult to meet new people.
Perhaps he should get lost more often.

"Yes, exactly. I have a feeling I'd make a fool of myself even more than usual. And, I must say, the usual fool is quite spectacular." Eli had witnessed that clearly enough, and Jon responded to his laugh with a tired grin. "I was beginning to worry a bit when they seemed my only chance." It wasn't just that they were gypsies- it was mostly that they were total strangers. Even other students he might recognise by sight, or at least have shared miseries. But he couldn't relate to these brightly dressed tent-dwellers.

"Sounds like my kind of book." And wasn't that refreshing. Jon hadn't quite realised how much Kurtis' company had starved him for literary appreciation until he got an attentive reaction to his literary babblings, rather than a glazed look or feigned snores. He grinned and tucked the book back under his arm with care.

"You're welcome to borrow it, if you'd like. I should be done with it soon." So much time reading had increased his speed to a somewhat ridiculous rate, and most of the book was already finished. While not an offer he usually made, Jon had a feeling the other boy would take good care of the volume.

His companion's obvious attempt to mend him mistake make Jon chuckle. "No, it's fine, really. The full name is Jonathan- not that that's any more original, really- but I'm not entirely fond of it." He shrugged carelessly.

The male shifted a bit, then leaned his back up against a tree without a care for his already soiled garments. He seemed quite at ease now, and ran a hand through his hair, blinking as he pulled a dried leaf out.
"You are very...refreshing company, Eli." he said dryly, lips still curved in a smile.

[Rain]

How nice it was that happening to meander off in a random direction led him to a kindred spirit. Kindred spirit--that was Annette talk, that was, not something that usually crossed his mind, unless it was with derision. Now, if Jon happened to be a writer as well, that would take the cake, and it might convince him that this was all a dream, a dream meant to satisfy his lonely side, the one without friends. Yes, it would be just like his subconscious to invent a person so similar to him. He would probably wake up soon, hunched over his typewriter, sitting before his unfinished story.

"Yes, exactly. I have a feeling I'd make a fool of myself even more than usual. And, I must say, the usual fool is quite spectacular."

"I know what you mean." Eli tapped his fingers together in thought. "I'm not the smoothest guy around, either. I don't usually like talking to people, but when I'm in the mood--or when it's absolutely required that I talk to someone--I do. It usually comes out like squawking, though. Sometimes I think I'd be better off as a mute. My voice is better left on the page."

There, he'd dropped a hint that he'd done a bit of writing. Hopefully that would open up a new conversation. Eli wasn't sure if it would or not, since he was new to this whole conversation thing. He supposed he could read up on it, but how pathetic would that look? What would it look like if he was caught reading, "How to Function in Everyday Conversation Without Coming Across as a Complete Moron"? It would look like exactly what it was. The fact that the characters he came up with were the only one he really interacted with--yeah, that needed to change. Besides, he was awful at dialogue. He really needed this to help.

"You're welcome to borrow it, if you'd like. I should be done with it soon."

Eli smiled again. Wow, twice in one conversation. It had to be a record, at least ever since he'd come to Florence. Was it possible that Florence made him miserable? No, it was just that Ellie had died around the time he'd been accepted to the school. Maybe that was why Florence was so detestable--it had taken him away from his old life just when everything was changing, interrupting his growth process, his mourning time. It had removed him from the life that he couldn't go back to if he wanted to.

Damn. He'd almost gone a whole conversation without thinking about her, and yet, there she was. Why couldn't she leave his thoughts just for a day or two and allow him some joy?

Jon mentioned his full name, and how he wasn't too pleased with it. "Oh, yeah, my full name's Eliot," Eli shared. "But that's just--just no. I can't stand that name. So I made everyone shorten it. Except my mother still insists on it. God." He shook his head, remembering how she always addressed his letters that way. He was never able to convince her that Eli just had a better ring to it.

"You are very...refreshing company, Eli."

"Oh, thank you." Eli wasn't used to compliments, so he dug his heel into the dirt, making a small indentation in the earth. "You too. I mean, most of the people here--er, most of the people anywhere are just awful company. They get so stuck on small talk, and the girls with their little curtsies, and all that. I don't remember the last time I had an intelligent conversation with somebody.

[MJ]

The other boy was really kind of cute, in a scruffy way. That beard ought to have looked a bit ridiculous, but Eli managed to make it endearing, and he had such a charming smile- focus, dammit. Jon gave his head an abrupt shake, returning his thoughts to the conversation with a jolt, proud he'd managed to fight off the encroaching blush. Just because he and Eli were getting along bizarrely well was no reason to start thinking like that. Clearly the shock of having intelligent conversation had him befuddled. Or something.

"Squawking?" Jon gave him a sympathetic smile. "I've been told that my usual stammering bears an uncanny resemblance to a goat. Together we could start a barnyard symphony." he offered, head tilted to the side. At the remark about the written word, his eyebrows rose in clear interest. So the other boy was a writer, then? It made a sort of sense. Jon had never written anything himself, outside of his school work, but so much reading had him fascinated with the art itself. Should he offer to, oh, proofread? What exactly was it that editors did? He wasn't sure how to offer his assistance without sounding overeager, or worse, insulting. One hand rose to fiddle with his glasses, a clear sign of unease.

"So...you're a writer." he decided at the last moment that it was a bit of a silly question, tried to twist it into an observation. "I've never done any myself, but if you didn't mind, I could, er, read your work over for a second opinion. If you didn't mind or anything." Jon shook his head and tried to remember that he wasn't going to be ridiculed for his attitudes, not with Eli. "Because I do read a ridiculous amount of books." he added with a self-deprecating chuckle.

"Elliot." He tried the name out, shook his head. "Yes, I think Eli's much easier as well." At the mention of mothers, his only reaction was a softening of the eyes- Jon had had plenty of time to adjust to his mother's absence. Nothing so vague caused him to lose control, not like it had in the past, when the loss was fresh. His shoulders rose and full in the slightest of shrugs. "No one calls me Jonathan, really, unless one of the professors is mad at me." There was the slightest of smirks on his lips.

He rolled his eyes in an exaggerated expression of horror. "Don't get me started on girls. Between all the sweetness and the layers and lace, I feel like I'm being smothered by a pastry. And the little tinkling laughs, like they're choking on something and trying not to show." Jon realised he was rambling on a bit too much and stopped himself with a lopsided smile. "At any rate, you've got a point. Intelligent conversation is a rarity."

[Rain]

Oh, I believe in yesterday...

Eli turned his face toward the clear, blue sky, which was slightly concealed behind the thick branches of the trees towering over the two of them. He'd almost forgotten he was standing in the middle of the woods, he'd gotten so wrapped up in this conversation. He wasn't usually one for getting wrapped up in anything, aside from writing, so it was rather jarring when he realized he was becoming unaware of his surroundings. How curious it was that, just an hour ago, he would never have dreamed of striking up conversation with someone his age. Now that he was speaking again, he hardly recognized the sound of his own voice.

He certainly got a reaction out of Jon when he mentioned the writing, for the boy's eyebrows rose at the word. Fantastic, he had succeeded in bringing the topic in the direction he wanted. It was simple, really, but something so rarely accomplished by him that he had the chance now to appreciate it. It was like when the edge of an idea for a paragraph was in sight, but barely hanging on. He could never just reach out and grab it, he always had to work his way there, one paragraph, one sentence, one word, one letter at a time. The two feelings were more similar than he would have expected. Perhaps writing and conversation resembled one another in that way--that they could be so troublesome, tiring, stimulating, and enjoyable all at once.

"So...you're a writer."

"Yeah." He stared at a bit of dust that had settled on the tip of his shoe, suddenly bashful. It was as if a teacher had praised him at school, and he was now relaying the scene to his mother--he couldn't look Jon in the eye upon admitting his passion. When Jon offered to proofread, however, his smile vanished. He brushed the dust off his shoe with his other foot, hoping his change of expression hadn't been too evident. He'd never let a single person read his work--well, once, but that had been a long time ago, and to someone he'd cared very much about, someone whose opinion he'd cherished. Now it was like exposing his naked body--and he would sooner fork out his eyes than do that, at least for anyone he was acquainted with now.

"Maybe," was his response. It was non-committal enough, so he avoided seeming standoffish, which he guessed was what would have happened if he'd come right out and declined. To prevent their conversation from going awry--his doing, as usual--he smiled at Jon. Damn it, had that smile come out right? Or did he look like he was in pain. "Thanks for the offer."

There was a silence after Jon tried out his name, one that, again, Eli felt needed to be done away with. However, Jon came to the rescue. "No one calls me Jonathan, really, unless one of the professors is mad at me."

Okay, Eli had to remind himself, relax. It had already been established that Jon was every bit as socially awkward as he was, hadn't it? So why was he still worrying over the most insignificant things?

"Don't get me started on girls. Between all the sweetness and the layers and lace, I feel like I'm being smothered by a pastry. And the little tinkling laughs, like they're choking on something and trying not to show."

"Oh, God, I know." In his memory, he went over all the girls he'd seen at Florence since first coming here. All seemed to be the same. And yet, he realized, he'd barely spoken to any of them. Perhaps there was more under the surface. He doubted there was much. "Most days I just want to get out of this goddamn school."

[MJ]

Most animals, Jon knew, had one of two instincts- flight or fight. It was, for the most part, what divided predator and prey, and he was not so foolish as to think this didn't apply to humans as well. There were predators, men like Kurtis, and prey, the fluttering females he'd seen so often. Jon himself seemed to be something of an enigma, in that his instinct upon being confronted was to babble. Mindlessly. Endlessly. He tried to keep it to himself, usually. Whether it was a diversion tactic or a method of coping, he'd never been sure, but it meant that whenever he was the slightest bit nervous he developed an internal monologue that just would not shut up.

Right now, this inner voice was ceaselessly fretting about his word choice, his posture, his expression, a million little things that the rest of the human race seemed to pick up on so easily. Perhaps the most unfortunate part of his secluded childhood had been the fact that he'd grown up without knowing how to read people; it was as though, having watched a dance from the sidelines, he was suddenly shoved in the center and expected to lead. Jon closed and opened his hands, which were compulsively forming fists, and let out a slow breath as he took himself in hand.
This kind of behavior was absolutely ridiculous.

It was Eli's sudden withdrawal that had caused his frantic self-examination, and Jon wondered what, exactly, he'd done wrong. It had to have been the writing- but the other boy wouldn't have mentioned it if it was a tabboo subject, or so he'd assumed. He kept his eyes on Eli even as the male's gaze dropped to his shoes, and nibbled on his lower lip uncomfortably.

Maybe.
Well, at least it wasn't outright refusal.

"Well, it stands." he muttered, not quite certain where to go on. How had the easy acceptance fallen into stilted conversation again? "Though, really, if you mean no just say it." The blond grinned crookedly, the expression not seeming as forced as it might have in the wake of the other boy's smile. "I'm hardly going to be offended and faint, though I might ask for a bit of an explanation. Surely you could manage an epic tale. I won't even try and verify the facts, if you'd like."

To just leave Florence...he had to admit it was an appealing notion, if not an entirely practical one. Jon shrugged ruefully, palms turned up to the heavens. "Well, I'm not likely to get an education anywhere else. Never exactly wanted to leave the school, but I've sure as hell wished some others would." Quite a few others. Mobs of others, really, when you got down to it.

Then he let out a low chuckle, seemingly making some kind of mental connection.
"Might be my subconscious was a bit sick of the place, though. I certainly didn't come all the way out here on purpose."

[Rain]

Oh, I believe in yesterday...

Oh, fantastic. Eli only had himself to blame for this. The conversation had deteriorated into just another one of those discussions, but this time there was awkwardness on both sides. If only he hadn't recoiled when Jon had asked to see his writing. It had been nothing but an offer--a very nice offer, now that he thought about it. Perhaps Jon didn't write, or perhaps he was more open about that kind of thing. Yes, he hadn't meant to make anyone uncomfortable, Eli supposed. He wasn't a mind-reader, as far as Eli knew, so he had no way of knowing Eli's reactions to anything. They'd just met. That was the frustration, the beauty of these kinds of things.

"Well, it stands.Though, really, if you mean no just say it."

Ah, yes. He'd come right out and said it. Eli could never manage to do that. Why not give it a try now? Why not explain, and make things easier on everyone? Must he always insist on skirting around the truth, too afraid to dive into it lest his head hit concrete?

"No, no, very kind of you--er, very good of you." He didn't like the word kind, not even a little bit. He'd used it on instinct, from so many years of overhearing adults use the word which accompanied their false smiles. The word good, to him, implied that he actually took a liking to the person. Kind was a polite term, whereas good was more personal. "I'm just--well, I've never really let anyone read anything I've written." A lie, but Jon didn't need to know that. They'd just met. "It would just feel weird giving it to someone else to read." His heart skipped a beat as he imagined dropping his own manuscript into another person's hands. He imagined it was how a mother might feel handing her newborn baby over to a babysitter for a few weeks. "Trust me, if I were to let anyone read it, you seem like you'd take care of it. It's just...sorry, it's weird."

He pulled at some of the flesh on his neck as if that would rid of some of his discomfort. It came back to him now, the look on Ellie's face as he slipped the twenty-four page story onto her desk at the age of eight, how her face had brightened when she'd spotted "by Eli Appleby" beneath the title. And, oh, as she read it, he couldn't stay still. He'd paced about the room, sitting down, repositioning himself, then crossing to the door again. Finally, after what had seemed like five or six years, but had only been about twenty minutes, she'd finished it. And she'd loved it--particularly the character named George. He'd never been able to decide if he was disappointed or not that she'd never figured out that the character named Lucy had been loosely based on her.

"Well, I'm not likely to get an education anywhere else. Never exactly wanted to leave the school, but I've sure as hell wished some others would."

"Oh, God, I know that. I don't like the way Bevoretti looks at people in class. I can never wait to get out of there." He'd heard a few rumors regarding Bevoretti, and he did his best to ignore them. He doubted they rang true, but if they did...he didn't want to think about it.

[MJ]

It seemed the other boy had something against the word kind; Jon didn't exactly understand it, though he had a feeling he knew what it was. His father never used the words 'thank you' for much the same reason. The senior Harvey had been of the opinion that it was overused, and as such had lost all meaning. Rather than thanking people, he simply made a mental note to pay them back at some point in the future. Jon had become accustomed to it as just another one of his father's peculiarities, though it had caused more than a little bit of confusion in polite conversation.

He shrugged, feeling the rasp of bark against his back and realising with a startled jolt that his back was still up against a tree. The male wasn't certain when, exactly, he'd forgotten that they were in the middle of the woods, but now it came back to him quite clearly. Between the initial conversation and ensuing awkwardness, their surroundings had taken second place. Jon chuckled silently himself before focusing back in on the conversation.

"I'm just--well, I've never really let anyone read anything I've written."

Ah. Well that certainly explained more than it didn't. He'd foolishly assumed that Eli had done that sort of thing before, but of course that was silly. How many other boys in the school would have given the manuscript a single glimpse, much less the drawn-out anylization of the editing process? No wonder he was so skittish. Jon had managed, as usual, to say precisely the wrong thing. He shot the other boy what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "It's no worries. Thought you might like the help, but I guess it feels a bit personal, yeah? Won't bother you about it any more."

At the mention of the Italian teacher, it was all Jon could do to fight a blush. He stared fixedly (and, he hoped, casually) down at the ground. His long hair fell like a curtain to obscure features marked with embarassment. It wasn't that he didn't know what Eli was talking about- oh, he certainly did. Bevoretti was one of the few teachers he knew by name, and for precisely that reason. The man had a tendency to stare at students- male students- in a fairly particular way. Of course, up until this point he'd always thought it was just his own preferences coloring a perfectly innocent situation. Demetrio was, after all, terribly good-looking.
And that was so, so wrong.

The male cleared his throat uncomfortably, then decided he'd regained enough control over his expression that it was safe to look back up at Eli. "Yes...he is a bit, er, odd, I suppose. I'd always thought that I was just being paranoid, or something." It hadn't exactly come up in conversation, that much was for certain.

[Rain]

Oh, I believe in yesterday...

Eli could hear yells in the distance. Perhaps the gypsies were celebrating something, or were in the midst of a violent showdown between two having a spat. Either way, it intrigued him, but only to an extent. It wasn't enough to get him to ditch Jon here, although their conversation had taken a slight dip thanks to his own mannerisms. Eli could feel the panic crawling inch by inch along his spine, worried that their little discussion had fallen flat, or would soon if he didn't do something. There were always those optimists who thought, oh, don't worry, the conversation will work itself out, and the two of them would be talking like old chums in no time. Stupid optimists.

His attention was drawn back to Jon when he chuckled a bit, his back up against the itchy bark of a tree. Eli raised his eyebrows, wondering what on Earth could be so funny. Surely it couldn't have been his own awkward behavior, for Jon didn't seem like the kind of person who would mock something like that--he'd said himself he was the same way.

Yes, Eli had to make the best of this. Jon was the only other male he'd encountered in this school and had an actual conversation with. The rest he only knew by name, some not even from speaking to them but from hearing them around the school. Jon doubtless had a few friends, something Eli couldn't say for himself.

"It's no worries. Thought you might like the help, but I guess it feels a bit personal, yeah? Won't bother you about it any more."

Well, Jon was smiling, a sure indicator that Eli hadn't ruined anything this time. Right? Eli smiled back to show he appreciated the understanding. He didn't like any of the pushy types, or worse, the arrogant ones who absolutely insisted that they were the perfect editor, and that Eli's story would be so much better if he only let them look at it. This particular quote was credited to his obnoxious Aunt Joan, who seemed to assume that everyone had to worship the ground she walked on. She was probably under the impression that Eli idolized her, when in reality he hoped that, if he ever were to get married, it would be to someone the complete opposite of her.

"Yes...he is a bit, er, odd, I suppose. I'd always thought that I was just being paranoid, or something."

This was accompanied by Jon's staring at the ground, an act Eli was rather familiar with, having done it just a few moments ago to conceal his bashful expression. Of course, Jon had the added bonus of long hair to shield anything on his face, but what about Bevoretti had prompted this reaction? "Erm, you have heard the rumors about him?" he asked, laughing mid-sentence. They were rather absurd results of gossip.

He turned around to gaze at the wooded area and watched a leaf flutter down from its perch. "Yeah, I don't really have many friends." He wasn't looking for pity--in fact, he wanted to avoid that as much as possible--so he said it as matter-of-factly as he could muster. He turned back to face Jon and grinned. "I think a few people are scared of me for some reason." It wasn't something he was proud of, but it was rather amusing. He'd once been ambling down one of the hallways and encountered a little girl, who'd squeaked and darted in the other direction, as if afraid he might start throwing knives at her. "I really don't know what there is to be scared of," he laughed.