Arthur didn't understand. Of course he didn't.
That thought settled into my mind like a stone in still water, heavy and immovable as I retreated to my room. It wasn't his fault, not really. Blaming Arthur for being exceptional was like blaming the sun for shining—it was simply his nature.
He'd always been special. Gifted, brilliant, and frustratingly humble about it all. As a child, he was the boy teachers would point to during parent conferences, saying "Be more like him," and I would think desperately, "If I could, I would." But those words never left my throat. Because even when he was collecting gold stars and awards and recognition from every corner of the academy, he remained genuinely kind. That made it worse somehow.
