Todd Anderson chews his pencils without noticing, deep in thought. He’s friends with his English teacher and librarian. He bites his nails. His favorite season is autumn. He asks every new teacher at the start of the school-year if he can be excused from oral presentations, and instead write an essay. He writes essays ten minutes before they’re due, and always get the highest score in them. He never really had lots of friends, despite being really kind to everyone. He wears sweaters the moment autumn begins, even if it’s hot. It’s autumn, he can wear sweaters and nothing is going to stop him. He reads lots of books, lots of them fictional, but a big part of what he reads is nonfiction. He likes history. He hates P.E. He’s always cold. He does not know how to draw, at least, he claims so. His self-worth is deeply interlaced with his writing skills. If he’s going through a writer’s block, his confidence becomes really low (lower than usually). He thought of himself as incapable of being loved for the longest time. If his parents didn’t love him, and he never had lots of friends, the problem must be him. He always forgets to return his library books, and his anxiety is always so high about it. He once wore mismatched shoes to school, not noticing that in the morning. He was known as “the reader” in Balicrest, for he always carried a book around. He cries a lot, but never around people. He craves touch, yet people touching him is a sign of vulnerability he can’t afford, people already think of him as weird. He writes poems about the sky, and the birds, and the sea. He always stays behind each class to say “goodbye” to each teacher. His palm is stained with ink. He makes decisions and regrets them right after. He sometimes feels his own heartbeat to make sure he’s still there, than he’s not a ghost, even though sometimes it feels as if he is.
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