I thought about all the times I’d rolled my eyes, sighed loudly, or turned away. I thought about my own quiet—how I used it to hide, too. Maybe we weren’t so different. Maybe annoying was just another word for lonely.
It started with a text from Leo: “Dude, your mom said I could come. Pack extra s’mores.” My stomach dropped. Leo was the kind of annoying that made teachers ask him to “please take a deep breath.” He talked during movies. He tapped his foot in libraries. And now, he was coming to my sanctuary—the quiet, predictable world of canvas tents and campfire smoke. -ENG- Camp With Mom and My Annoying Friend Who ...
For the first time, I really looked. Leo wasn’t performing. He was fidgeting. His leg bounced. His hands moved constantly. And his eyes—usually hidden behind jokes—looked small and tired. I thought about all the times I’d rolled
I stared at him. All this time, the chatter wasn’t noise. It was a shield. Maybe annoying was just another word for lonely