Beverly

Chapter 3 #2

The rest of the summer passed in a blur of adventure. We rode our bikes down to Venice Beach, the ocean stretching endlessly beside us as we dodged tourists and overconfident rollerbladers. Blake had this annoying habit of making everything a competition, so our leisurely ride turned into a full-blown race.

“You’re going down,” I called over my shoulder.

Mom and Dad trailed behind us, Mom calling out warnings to ‘be careful’ while Dad just laughed, urging us on with a smile. “Don’t listen to your mom! Go faster!”

It felt like we were carving out our own little world, one where the past didn’t matter, and the future could wait.

We went to the zoo, though I’d been prepared to fight my way out of it. I even had a whole speech rehearsed. I remember standing in the kitchen with my arms crossed, looking out of the window, my mind filled with images of animals in their small cages, pacing back and forth in restless circles. It just didn’t sit right with me. I told Mom I didn’t like how the animals suffered behind those steel bars, their wild spirits caged for human amusement.

Mom gave me that patient, understanding look of hers, the one that always made me feel like she heard me. “I know, honey. I know how you feel. But Blake’s never been to one.”

That made me pause.

I turned to Blake, who stood beside me, his usual unreadable expression in place. “You’ve never been to a zoo?”

He shook his head once, short and simple.

“I just want to see,” he said, his voice quiet.

And just like that, I swallowed my protests.

And that’s how I found myself at the zoo, standing in front of an elephant enclosure, feeling exactly as miserable as I expected.

I hated the way the elephants stood still, their massive bodies looking wrong against the backdrop of concrete walls. I hated the way the monkeys clung to the bars, watching the crowds with something too intelligent in their eyes.

Blake, however, stared at everything like he was seeing another world. He stood in front of every enclosure, watching the animals with an expression I couldn’t place. Curiosity? Sadness? Wonder? Maybe all of it. I could tell his mind was busy, absorbing, analyzing, feeling . Pressing his hands against the glass of the reptile house, he watched the way the snakes moved, slow and deliberate. He lingered by the lions, eyes tracking their every step, as if trying to understand them.

I didn’t know what he thought of all of it. His face gave nothing away. I wanted to ask him what he was feeling, if it bothered him, if he felt the same sadness I did when I looked at the animals, but I didn’t. I walked beside him, letting the moment be what it was.

But when we finally made our way out of the zoo, the sunlight already beginning to fade, Blake turned to me with that look again—soft, contemplative.

“I liked seeing the lions,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” A small pause. “They’re better in the wild, though.”

I felt my cheeks lift into a smile.

That night at dinner, Mom and Dad kept sneaking glances at him, as if they were waiting for something.

Blake finally noticed. “What?”

“Nothing. Just…” Mom’s eyes got a little glassy. “You look happy.”

Blake blinked, as if the thought had never occurred to him before. Then, slowly, he nodded. “I think I am.”

The summer seemed to stretch on forever, but before I knew it, August was slipping away, signaling not just the end of summer break but the start of something new.

Middle school.

A fresh start. A new chapter.

I was both excited and terrified at the thought of it. Sixth grade meant stepping into an unfamiliar world—a building twice the size of elementary school, lockers with impossible combinations, and teachers who didn’t baby you if you forgot your homework.

A whole new set of rules to figure out.

Tiffany was going to be in my class, which was a small comfort. She was practically bouncing off the walls. She had planned her first-day outfit down to the shoelaces and spent the days leading up to the first day of school chattering endlessly about which perfume to wear, how to style her hair, and how many books she could cram into her bag. It was all part of her routine. She thrived on new beginnings—the excitement, the drama, the promise of new crushes.

We had already discussed everything down to the smallest details—where we’d sit, what we’d wear on Mondays, and how we’d navigate the labyrinth of lockers and hallways.

But then there was Blake.

For the first time ever, he would be starting school too.

It felt almost surreal to think about Blake stepping into the same world that Tiffany and I were about to enter. I couldn’t help but wonder how he’d fit in. How would he handle the classroom, the noise, the chaos of being around so many people?

Blake, the quiet one, who preferred the solitude of his own thoughts over the noise of group conversation… It was hard to wrap my mind around it, to imagine him in a classroom with other kids. Would he find one or two friends who understood his introverted ways, or would he remain an observer, always watching but never fully part of the crowd, too hesitant to join in?

I tried to picture him in the cafeteria, trying to find a seat, or walking between classes, looking lost among all the unfamiliar faces. What if they didn’t accept him? What if they ignored him, or worse, made fun of him?

My chest tightened just thinking about it.

They might think he was weird or too different.

Blake’s brilliance could make him stand out in ways that made him even more of an outsider. What if they mocked him for answering questions too easily? He was so smart, sometimes too smart for his own good, and I could already hear the whispers, the teasing. They would laugh at him for his knowledge, maybe even call him a “know-it-all”.

Oh, God.

I couldn’t bear the thought of them making fun of him for the very thing that made him who he was.

But then again, part of me knew that he couldn’t stay in his shell forever. As much as I wanted to shield him from the discomfort of being the outsider, I knew he had to face the challenge, to grow, to find his place in the whirlwind of school life.

I told myself over and over again he would be fine. After all, he had already changed so much over the past few months. He wasn’t the same withdrawn boy he had been when he first arrived. He was opening up in his own way—learning to trust, communicate, and be present in the world around him now that he’d been in a better place emotionally.

But despite that, the day before school started, something felt off. Blake had been quiet all morning, more so than usual.

He wasn’t withdrawn, exactly, but there was a kind of heaviness to his silence. I studied him carefully from across the kitchen table, watching the way he pushed his scrambled eggs around his plate but never actually taking a bite. He was wearing a black Vans T-shirt, the kind with a simple logo on the chest, and cargo shorts. His brow was furrowed in thought, his eyes averted, his jaw set in stubborn silence.

Dad was immersed in the morning paper, pretending not to notice Blake’s tension, but I could see the occasional glance he stole in his direction. He wasn’t fooling anyone.

Mom, as usual, was doing her best to fill the silence. She had already gone on about the weather and was now reminding Blake for the third time to double-check his backpack.

“You ready for tomorrow, Beverly?” She stood at the counter, her back to us, obliviously flipping pancakes.

“I guess so,” I answered, pushing my cereal around. “I think I’ll be okay.”

“You’ll do great. It’s just middle school, not the end of the world.”

Blake’s lips pressed together in a thin line, and I tensed, trying to figure out if he was just nervous or if something else was going on.

The low hum of the radio cut through the tension, and the unmistakable beat of Snoop Dogg’s Who Am I (What’s My Name) ? filled the room.

Mom immediately stiffened, her fingers still wrapped around the pancake batter spoon. She shot a quick glance at the radio before reaching over and turning the dial, cutting off the song mid-verse. “I don’t want you two listening to that nonsense,” she said, her tone heavy with disapproval.

She didn’t understand the appeal of those kinds of songs, nor did she want us to hear ones she deemed inappropriate.

I could tell it only added to Blake’s frustration.

Dad finally folded the newspaper with a chuckle. “Come on, buddy. School’s not that bad, and first days aren’t as horrible as you think,” he said, ruffling Blake’s hair. “You’ll make friends before you know it. You’ll find your rhythm. You might even have fun.”

Blake’s jaw tightened further, and for a moment, I thought he might snap back, but instead, he just nodded stiffly. It was the kind of nod that meant end of conversation.

Dad gave me a helpless look.

Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. “Blake,” I started, my voice filled with concern, “what’s wrong?”

His face twisted in frustration, and he let out a sharp breath. “I’m one year older than you.”

I frowned, trying to catch up with his thoughts. “Yeah, so?”

“So,” he bit out, his expression hardening, “I’ll be in a different grade than you.”

I nodded, still trying to piece together what he was getting at. “Yeah…” I said slowly, offering a confused half-smile. “And?”

He threw his hands up in the air, the motion exaggerated, as if the very thought was too much to bear. “And I’m not going tomorrow,” he announced, his tone flat.

Mom, who had just poured herself a cup of coffee, didn’t look up immediately. She stirred in a bit of sugar, completely unaware of the weight behind his words. “What’s that? You’re not going?” she asked absently.

She probably assumed Blake was joking. But when she did glance over, her stirring slowed, then stopped altogether. The seriousness in his eyes hit her like a cold splash of water.

Dad tilted his head, confusion sweeping over him. “You have to go. It’s the first day of school,” he said, trying to reason with him. “You’re enrolled now. It’s time to start.”

“I won’t go,” Blake repeated. “Not unless I’m with Beverly.”

There was a pause. A long one.

I could practically feel Dad’s amusement in the way he leaned back in his chair, glancing at Mom as if to say, Can you believe this ?

“He’s just joking,” he told her, chuckling under his breath.

But Blake didn’t smile. He didn’t look like he was trying to be funny. He didn’t even blink.

That’s when Dad’s laughter died.

He had been expecting some kind of smirk, some giveaway that Blake was just being difficult for the sake of it, but the look on Blake’s face was so different from what Dad was used to that I could see the realization dawn in his eyes.

“It’s not how things work, Blake.” Dad sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You’re just nervous. That’s all.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You can’t always depend on Beverly.”

“I’m not depending on her.”

“Then why would you refuse to go to school?” he asked, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. “Are you scared?”

“No.”

Mom and Dad exchanged confused glances, and I felt my heart clench. I could see their frustration simmering beneath the surface, but more than that, I could see their confusion deepen.

This wasn’t the Blake we had come to know. It was the first time we’d ever seen him so resolute about anything. This wasn’t a whim, a childish plea for attention. He wasn’t just being difficult. He wasn’t just making an empty threat.

I could see the understanding slowly creeping into their faces. This wasn’t about avoiding about classrooms or people.

It was about not being separated from me. Protecting me.

“I’m supposed to be with Beverly,” Blake finally said, a finality in his tone that sent a chill through me. “I can’t just go to some random class.”

Mom cleared her throat, brows furrowing. “Blake, honey, you can’t always be with Beverly. You’re going to make friends of your own. You’ll see her between classes. It won’t be so bad, I promise.”

But Blake wasn’t having it.

His eyes narrowed slightly as if he was already preparing for a fight. He wasn’t going to back down.“I don’t care,” he replied. “I won’t go if I’m not in her class. I’ll stay home.”

I felt a wave of emotion rush over me as I watched him. I had always thought of Blake as younger than his age, like someone who still needed to be protected, someone who wasn’t sure of the world around him. But now, in that moment, he looked older. All hard lines and maturity that didn’t quite belong on a thirteen-year-old.

I could tell Mom and Dad weren’t sure what to do with this version of him. I wasn’t sure either.

When did he start looking like someone who wouldn’t be easily swayed? And his voice—it was lower, rougher, tinged with a new sharpness that hadn’t been there before. I had heard his voice crack a few times over the summer, but this was different. It wasn’t the uneven, awkward shifts in pitch that sometimes caught him off guard mid-sentence. This was something else entirely.

When had that happened…?

I had been so focused on everything else—on his healing, on making sure he felt safe—that I hadn’t noticed the subtler shifts. The way his voice had started carrying more weight, more authority.

I studied him for the longest time. His face had changed too, with traces of boyish roundness fading into something more angular. His jaw was sharper, his features more defined.

He was growing up, and I hadn’t even realized how much.

I swallowed, trying to push away the strange wave of emotions rising in my chest. This was normal. He was thirteen, soon to be fourteen. His voice was supposed to change.

Blake must have noticed the way I was staring at him because his expression flickered, a hint of curiosity flashing across his face.

“What?” he asked, his voice dipping slightly again.

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “It’s just…your voice.”

His eyebrows pulled together. “What about it?”

I shrugged, trying to play it off, but the change still rattled me in a way I couldn’t explain. “It’s different.”

“Different how?”

“Deeper.”

Blake let out a soft, almost reluctant huff of laughter. “Yeah,” he muttered. “It’s been happening for a while.”

I knew that. Of course , I knew that.

I’d heard the cracks, the shifts, the moments where he would clear his throat and try to smooth it out, pretending like it hadn’t happened. But now, hearing it settled, steady, it felt like something had changed for good.

“You sound older,” I admitted, not really sure why it felt so strange to say out loud.

Blake rolled his eyes, but I swore I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. “Well, yeah. That’s kind of how it works.”

I gave a small nod and turned to Mom, my voice soft but hopeful. “Mom,” I murmured, choosing my words carefully. “Maybe if you talk to the school, you can figure something out. You could ask if he can be in my class.”

As I spoke, I batted my lashes and tilted my head just slightly, giving her my best pleading look. If there was ever a time to pull out all the stops, this was it. I wasn’t above a little persuasion, and Mom had caved before when I really put my heart into it.

Her gaze flickered between me, Dad, and Blake, hesitation written all over her face. She seemed torn, weighing the options in her head.

For a moment, I thought she might brush off the suggestion, but then I caught Blake’s expression. His eyes were locked on her, softer, more vulnerable—the kind of look that made it impossible to say no.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

Blake understood better than anyone how to get to her, how to tap into that instinctive motherly guilt she could never quite resist. He wasn’t one for big speeches or dramatic gestures, but he didn’t need to be. Those big, earnest eyes of his did all the work.

He wasn’t just asking; he was silently begging.

I saw it happen in real-time—the way Mom’s resolve wavered, the way her shoulders tensed for just a moment before slowly relaxing.

With a sigh, she turned to Dad. “Arthur, maybe we should just let him try it. It’s his first day. If being with Beverly will help him get settled in, maybe we can make an exception.” Her voice was gentle but firm, a quiet plea of her own.

Dad’s brows shot up. “You’re actually going to let him do this?”

“He’s not asking for much,” she reasoned. “Just to start with Beverly. We can always reassess after the first week. He needs to feel comfortable.”

Dad opened his mouth to argue, but something in Mom’s tone stopped him. He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face before running it through his hair.

A sure sign he was caving.

Blake and I both held our breath.

Finally, Dad let out a resigned sigh. “Alright,” he muttered, shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was agreeing to.

Blake’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Thanks, Mom. Thanks, Dad.”

They both smiled, satisfied with their decision, and the second their attention shifted, Blake shot me a sly wink.

Yeah, he knew exactly what he was doing.