Eveline Asks Questions About the Quiet Boy

Eveline skipped through the forest clearing, her mismatched socks flashing with each step. The seasonal gathering was her favorite day! Families spread blankets under oak trees, sharing berry tarts and laughter.

She adjusted the butterfly clip in her chestnut hair and scanned the meadow. That's when she spotted him—a boy sitting alone by the brook, away from everyone else. He hunched over something in his hands, his sandy blonde hair falling across his face.

"Why's he all by himself?" Eveline wondered aloud.

Her friend Maya shrugged. "That's Oliver. He doesn't like playing with anyone. He's always quiet like that."

Eveline tilted her head, watching Oliver trace patterns in the dirt with a stick. Her grandmother had taught her that sometimes the quietest flowers held the sweetest nectar. Maybe Maya was wrong?

She took a step toward the brook, but three older children suddenly raced past Oliver, splashing water everywhere. Oliver hunched smaller, tucking whatever he held closer to his chest. When the children called for him to join their game, he just shook his head without looking up.

They ran off laughing. "See? Told you," Maya said. "He doesn't want friends."

But Eveline noticed something the others missed—Oliver's shoulders had tensed when they'd shouted at him, and his hands trembled slightly. That didn't look like someone who didn't want friends. That looked like someone who felt scared.