trippwrightâ:
âI think Christmas break chiseled out a chunk of my soul.â The statement fell matter-of-factly, twisting around the curls of smoke and his visible breath in the cold air. Perhaps in a former life heâd been a canary, his motherâs insistence that they spend her half of their vacation in Aspen had chilled him to the marrow, Tripp was certain that there were parts of him that had not yet defrosted. Heâd only gone for apres ski and the opportunity to zag down summits in a sleek new Moncler jacket. Theyâd been back on campus for the better part of three weeks, but heâd kept to himself, not quite feeling like barging into conversations and school life with his usual ferocity. After another reflective drag, he craned his head up, thoughtfully offering the cigarette to the person beside him. âYou happy to be back?â
It was times like this Charlieâalbeit rarelyâfelt invisible. Tripp was at times dazed, protected inside his own little realm of reality so that anyone around him would naturally wonder if the boy was talking to them or himself. He made an effort to poke this bubble, barging in to his personal space. âChiselled might be a good look for you but mawkish, not so much, Wright.â Charlie accepted the cigarette between forefinger and thumb, preferring comfort over unspoken tradition. âNot happy, not sad. Not in-between either.â It was an irritating response but perfect for the likes of his companion. âIâm happy to see certain faces but the routine of this all kind of detracts from the joy of seeing your face, Iâm not going to lie.â















