"Look at you," I reply. "Capable of basic manners."
"I contain multitudes."
"That's concerning." As I walk past him, he leans closer and lowers his voice.
"I'm not hiding anything dangerous," he says quietly. "If that's what you're thinking."
I pause for just a fraction of a second.
Inside my mental room, the shadows behind him remain.
"I didn't say you were," I reply.
"But you wondered."
"Yes." He nods slowly, like he respects that answer.
"Keep wondering," he says. "Just don't decide before you know." There's something almost serious in that. Then he ruins it. He reaches out and flicks my forehead lightly.
"Stop thinking so loudly," he adds.
I stare at him.
"You're insufferable."
"And yet," he says, grinning, "you're still here."
I walk into class without answering. Because he's right. I am still here. And in the quiet white room inside my head, Jason is still standing in the center. Definitely not boring. And somehow, that might be the most dangerous part of all.
Jason sits behind me in class.bThis is not an accident. There are twenty-seven seats in this room. Several empty ones. Yet somehow he always ends up directly behind me like gravity works differently for him.
Stella sits to my left, already opening her notebook.
"Prepare yourself," she whispers.
"For what?"
"Disaster."
I glance over my shoulder.
Jason is leaning back in his chair, spinning a pen between his fingers like he has absolutely nothing better to do with his life.
When he notices me looking, he smiles.
Not a normal smile. The kind that means trouble. I face forward again.
In my head, the white room appears instantly. Inside it, I place Jason in the center again.
Except now he's pacing, tapping on the walls, poking at invisible objects like a bored child in a museum. This white room commotion is not giving at all.
He thrives on reactions. The trick is not giving him one.
"Good morning, class," the teacher says as she walks in. Books open. Pens move. Chairs scrape. Behind me, Jason taps his pen on my desk.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
I continue writing.
Four.
Five.
Six.
I stop and turn slowly.
"Yes?"
He blinks innocently. "Yes what?"
"Do you need something?"
"Just checking if you were alive."
"I was peaceful until now."
"That sounds boring."
"I value boring."
He leans forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand. "You say that, but you keep hanging around me."
"That's because you keep appearing."
"That's fate."
"That's persistence."
He grins. The teacher clears her throat at the front of the room. Jason leans back again like nothing happened. For approximately forty seconds, class is quiet.
Then a folded paper lands on my notebook. Of course. I unfold it slowly.
'You think too much.'
I grab my pen and write under it.
'You think too little.'
I pass it back.
Ten seconds later, it returns.
'That's what makes this entertaining.
I don't answer.'
Instead, I continue taking notes while mentally observing him again. In the white room, Jason is now throwing imaginary paper airplanes at the walls.
Disruptive energy. Constant motion. But every time someone mentions his father… Stillness. I noticed that yesterday.
"Miss Molly," the teacher says suddenly. I look up.
"Yes?"
"Would you like to share the answer to question three?"
I glance down at my notebook.
"Photosynthesis converts light energy into chemical energy stored in glucose."
She nods. "Correct."
Behind me, Jason whispers, "Show off."
"You asked if I was alive," I whisper back.
"Still checking."
Stella elbows me lightly.
"You two are exhausting," she murmurs.
"I'm not doing anything," I say.
Jason leans forward again. "You're thinking again," he whispers.
"Everyone thinks."
"You do it louder."
"That's not possible."
"It is for you."
I turn around halfway in my chair.
"You're disturbing the educational environment."
"You're welcome."
"For what?"
"Keeping you from turning into a robot.
"I'd be a very efficient robot."
"Exactly why I'm helping." I stare at him for a second. In my mental room, I circle the version of him standing there. There's a pattern.
He distracts when conversations get close to something real. Yesterday in the hallway.
Now in class.
"You do this on purpose," I say quietly.
"Do what?"
"Annoy me."
His grin widens. "Finally noticed?"
"That wasn't subtle."
"Subtle is boring."
"That explains a lot."
The teacher starts writing something on the board, giving the class a moment of quiet work. Jason taps my shoulder.
I ignore it.
He taps again.
Still ignore it.
The third time, I turn slowly.
"Yes, Jason."
He lowers his voice. "Did your parents say I'm dangerous?"
I pause.
Inside my head, the white room grows quieter.
"Yes," I say.
"Really?"
"They said they're cautious."
"That's a polite version."
"It's an accurate version."
He looks away for a second. Then the annoying version of him returns like a switch flipping.
"So I'm famous now?" he asks lightly.
"Infamous."
"Even better."
I close my notebook. "You're avoiding something," I say calmly.
His eyebrow lifts. "Like what?"
"Serious conversations."
"That sounds unpleasant."
"That sounds intentional."
He spins his pen again. "You're still analyzing me."
"Yes."
"You going to publish a report?"
"Maybe."
"Title?"
I think for a moment. "Persistent Disturbance with Identity Complications."
He laughs quietly. "That's harsh."
"That's accurate."
The bell rings suddenly, ending the class. Students immediately stand and start packing their bags. Jason stretches like he just survived something exhausting.
"You know," he says casually, "most people would stop talking to someone this annoying."
"Most people don't interest me."
He pauses. That answer lands harder than I intended. Stella walks over to us, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
"Are you two done conducting psychological warfare?" she asks.
"Not even close," Jason says.
"Give it time," I add.
We walk into the hallway together. Jason nudges my shoulder again as we move with the crowd.
"You're still thinking," he says.
"Can you stop saying that?"
In my head, the white room is quiet again.