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"William."
His face turned suddenly serious waiting for me to laugh.
I had a feeling if I had laughed then, he would have gotten up and never talked to me again. But I kept my face smooth and emotionless until the moment passed.
"I've seen you at school," he said after a long pause. "Really?"
"Yeah, you sit alone at lunch."
I looked at him and he was looking at the sky. How was it that I had never seen him, only heard about the "weird albino," yet he had seen me? I decided to hold off on that question, but it gave me both an uneasy and pleasant feeling inside.
"I guess it's not a secret that I don't have any friends."
People tended to avoid me. It's been that way since I was eight when I had my breakdown. Kids are cruel, and they never forget anything.
"Well, that's over," he said boldly.
I glanced at him again, and he was looking at me this time.
"Why is that?" I asked slowly.
"Because I'll sit with you."
It was like he forgot I was a bigger social reject than he was and if he ever had any chance of being normal, he wouldn't be seen with me, the freak that flipped out when she was told she was too old to have an imaginary friend. That didn't matter to him. Or better, he didn't know, which meant I could have a fresh start with a new friend.
"You don't have to," I flushed.
"It's what friends do."
We've been best friends from that night on. We were always together, and we always looked out for each other. We had to; we were the freak show of the school - the Albino Guy and his quiet little friend.
People underestimate Moody; they think because he's so pale and lanky that he'd be easy to beat up. Those people would be wrong. If anyone said anything to me, he would mess him or her up. And trust me, if anyone even looked at Moody wrong, I would do the same, no matter how small I am.
The day went by slowly, like all school days do. Moody begged for us to skip today, but I had a test in history I couldn't miss. And since Moody can't drive until he's twenty-one, I didn't have to worry about him trying to steal my keys and drive my car.
The things he couldn't do had to do with his past. Moody didn't grow up in a happy home until the Johnstons adopted him and what happened before they came into his life couldn't be reversed.
His birth mother had been an albino, and she was very sick with leukemia and died giving birth to him. His father had hated him for it and reminded him of it daily, sometimes with his fists, until one of his teachers noticed the bruises and called Child Protection Services and his dad went to jail.
He was given to his only relative who lived in New Mexico. Well, it turned out that Moody's uncle was smuggling drugs into Mexico and using his three kids to do it. Josie, Matt, and Sean didn't like their cousin much either. Moody had been vague on the details and I didn't pry. But on his first Mexican mission, Moody decided to do a righteous thing. He pulled out a brown ruffled bag from beneath his jacket and shoved it into the border guard's hands. His uncle flung open the car door and started to run, but the guards quickly caught him. The next time Moody saw his uncle he was being led out of a courtroom in handcuffs.
He was only eight. Moody didn't have any other relatives, so he was put in an orphanage. In less than six months, the Johnstons adopted him. He said they were the only family who ever really loved him. He wanted to show them that adopting him changed his life forever, so he took their last name. Maybe his story did have a happy ending after all.
I often envy his courage and admire how strong he is. I wish I were confident like him, the kind of confidence to rise above and treat the world better than it has treated him.
Today was one of those hard days. Then again, all gym days are hard ones. Moody and I walked to the track that wrapped around the football field. We went our separate ways to change into our gym clothes and met back at the track.
The sun was much too hot for the beginning of autumn, but Moody had to wear a sweatshirt and pants to cover his arms and legs so he wouldn't get sunburned. He doesn't think he has to run, so he doesn't and neither do I, just because I hate to run.
"I think we should go to the cemetery tonight," Moody said suddenly, as a pair of blond, magnificently bronzed girls, Cammy Fisher and Tara Groves, passed us and rolled their eyes as they jogged by.
"Why?" I asked, drumming my index finger on the cap of my water bottle.
"Why not?" he said, grabbing my bottle from my hand and taking a sip.
"Well, for one, if Rick catches us again, he'll call the cops." Rick is the caretaker at the Mount Olivet Cemetery.
"That's simple, we won't get caught," he said with a smile.
It was hard to resist smiling too.
"Fine. What time?"
"The dead walk at midnight," he teased. "You're weird," I said.
"You say that like it's something new." "Are we going to walk?" I asked.
"I'd love to see you get your car out of your garage without your mom hearing. We'll just get our bikes out of my garage," he said.
Sometimes he can have a bit of an attitude.
"Or we could go to the Memorial Gardens, they're closer and no Rick."
"Fine by me," he shrugged.
"Okay then," I said.
That night I climbed out of my window with a small flashlight in my hoodie pocket. I don't hate cemeteries, I actually find them quite beautiful, peaceful even, and Moody likes them as much as I do. Moody was waiting for me on the street. I clicked the flashlight off and on in front of his face.
"Stop that," he said, grabbing my hand.
He looked at me long and hard for a moment before releasing me. It wasn't a scolding look at all, just very intense. Like he was about to say something, but couldn't. I put my light back in my hoodie.
"I hope you don't expect me to walk the whole way," I said.
I looked up at the sky and it felt like being in the middle of a large dome. Protected and concealed by it. At that moment, I wished I had the old telescope my mother bought me in a failed attempt to get me off the road, my favorite place to stare at the stars. But I accidentally broke the lens.
"All right, then," he sighed. "Get on my back."
I just laughed.
"Moody, I would kill you."
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