Hollow Heart (Northern Roots: Atlantic #4)

Chapter 1

ONE

WE WERE ONLY SEVEN

“No!”

Crayons scatter as my arm knocks them off the table, and my chair tips back and crashes to the floor behind me.

Mrs. MacDonald’s hand lands on my arm as I push to my feet, but I pull it away and turn away from her.

I won’t look at her. I already know what her face looks like.

She’s not happy, and she doesn’t like that I’m doing this again. She thinks I should be doing better.

But no matter how hard anyone tries, I don’t do better. I just get louder.

“Silas.” Her voice is firm as I watch a blue crayon roll off the edge of the desk and fall to the floor.

Around us, the other kids murmur with their heads bent over their worksheets as they count, match, and colour. They’re all doing exactly what they’re supposed to.

Everyone else can do it.

But I can’t.

“Silas, sit down.” Mrs. MacDonald picks up my chair and sets it behind me.

I don’t move.

“No,” I say, crossing my arms and glaring at the worksheet on my desk, which is a mess of shapes and numbers that never make sense.

Rows of cartoon apples beside empty boxes, asking me to count, write, and count again.

But I don’t know what number goes where, even though she’s already told me how to do it three times.

It’s too hard.

Mrs. MacDonald sighs, then shushes the class as their murmurs grow louder.

“Come, sit,” she says to me, patting the chair. “We need to finish this. You can do this. We just need to—”

“I said no!” I yell and turn towards the door.

“Silas!” she calls after me as I pull the door open and run.

My legs move faster than I can think as I run past the office and the cafeteria, and past teachers and adults who call after me. The ones who always say they’re trying to help, and that if I just sit still, listen, and try harder, it’ll get easier. But they don’t get it.

Reading just looks like squiggles, counting is noise in my head that won’t shut up, and writing feels like I’m trying to force my pencil through mud. And making friends is even harder. My body just wants to move, and my head just wants quiet.

Everything is too much. It’s too loud, it’s too confusing, and I don’t want to do it. I can’t do it.

And no one listens when I say that. No one hears me when I say I can’t do it.

A tall figure steps into the hallway in front of me, and I skid to a stop before I run into my principal.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Mr. Theriault says in a calm but firm voice as his hands land on my shoulders. “Where you running off to?”

“Stop it.” I pull away from him, so his hands fall from my shoulders.

But he steps forward to block the other side of the hallway before I can run past him.

My breath catches in my throat, and my legs beg me to run. My heart thumps as I blink fast against the heat behind my eyes, and my fingers twitch.

I’m trapped.

Tears well as I continue to blink and stare past Mr. Theriault. I need to move. I need to get away. I need to get out of here.

I don’t like being trapped.

“Silas, we can’t keep doing this, buddy,” he says. “You need to go back to class.”

He reaches for my shoulder again, and this time I hit his arm.

“Don’t touch me!” I yell. Then I shove him hard in the stomach with both hands, and duck under his arm before he can grab me.

I run fast until I reach the library. I turn the corner and dive under a table tucked beside the back wall and wrap my arms around my knees as I bury my face and try to quiet my breathing.

They’ll come find me soon. But at least here, for a couple minutes, it will be quiet.

No one will make me do things I can’t do, force me to sit, and trap me.

Footsteps sound in the quiet library, and I listen as they get closer. They stop in front of the table I’m hiding under, and I lift my eyes to land on a pair of black Converse sneakers.

And when familiar brown eyes peek under the edge of the table to meet mine, I let out a breath.

Levi drops to his hands and knees to crawl under the table, then he sits next to me without a word and presses his arm against mine.

This is the first year we haven’t been in the same class. Since we were three years old, Levi has been by my side. When I wanted to run, he helped me stay. When I was too loud, he never flinched. When I didn’t understand the rules, he never made me feel like I was wrong.

But now he’s in the other Grade two class. And it’s different. It’s harder. He’s not there to help me.

He’s my best friend, and I don’t get to have him with me anymore.

But he’s here now.

He always knows when I need him.

“Counting on worksheets is dumb,” Levi says after a while.

I turn to look at him, and his soft brown eyes peer into mine as he smiles.

“We already know how to count,” he adds. “Yesterday we counted how many seashells we found on the beach.”

I just stare back at him as he continues to smile at me. I know what he’s doing.

“It’s not the same.”

He nods. “I know.” His smile falls as he leans into me, pressing his shoulder harder against mine. “It sucks.”

I nod too as I stare at the floor in front of us.

It really does suck.

School is easy for Levi. He gets it. He’s smart, he can make friends, and grown-ups love him. He can raise his hand and say the answer that’s always right and earn a smile from the teacher. He doesn’t throw books and yell. He’s the kid everyone wants in their class.

But he never makes me feel stupid. Levi gets me. More than anyone does.

And I know he came to find me when he heard me, even though he doesn’t have to.

“Can we stay here a bit longer?” I whisper.

Levi just nods and stays right where he is, holding me up as he leans against me. “Yeah.”

We sit in silence as we listen to the hum of the hallway outside drifting faintly into the quiet room.

I close my eyes and just feel Levi beside me.

I don’t want to go back.

I just want to stay here, where it’s quiet, and no one expects me to get it right. With my best friend, who makes everything feel a little less hard and a little less wrong.

Where it makes sense.

And where it’s safe.