Most things he knew, Thomas never mentioned to others. No one but Felix had known of his photographic memory, not even his other friends, who mooched off him in school, siphoning his brilliant mind in hopes of passing tests. Most likely, he would regret his choice to reveal that part of himself, but for now it was harmless. His new friend was harmless, and would probably die after angering the wrong rich boy, his head bashed in pavement. If he was more fortunate, would be shot for political reasons, a revolutionary at the age of twenty-four. That would be a good death.
Seating himself on the corner of Felix's bed, he rested a hand against the quilted navy sheets, his friend taking out his notebook across from him, on a plastic chair by the desk. He seemed to have fully recovered.
“Are you sure you don't have dreams, Thomas?”
“Well...” Sometimes speaking to this boy gave him great discomfort, but that was part of the reason he liked him. It was a challenge, to do something other than the motions.
“When I was little, I wanted to save the world. I didn't care how I'd do it, I just wanted to. Stupid, I know, but I wanted to do that.”
Blue eyes lighting up like shining stones, Felix smiled.
“Did you have a plan?”
“I was six, do you think I'd make one that would have made sense?”
“Six year olds can be pretty smart.”
“Computers are smarter. Phones are bugged. I like being alive, so I gave up on wanting to be a hero. I gave up wanting dreams.”
“Fair enough.” Opening the notebook to where he left off, Felix stopped.
“I still say you can do it if you really wanted to, but you can't do it alone.”
“I don't really want to think about it anymore.”
For one reason or another, his friend looked far from defeated.
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