I am exhausted, physically and mentally, by lunchtime. Xavier has been harassed by so many people that even he is tired now, huffing and puffing next to me like a car that just ran out of gas. "That's it," he says, running a hair through his perfect blue hair, "that's why I haven't been to school in thirty-two years." I blink, wondering if I had heard him correctly. "Thirty-two years? I squeak, my voice barely above a whisper. Even now, as we casually walk down the hallway, people look at him, chattering about the hot new senior. "Yeah. I was born fifty-five years ago, March 4, 1955, to be exact, and you're not allowed to go to school until you're five. So, it's been about thirty-two years since I went. I only finished high school and didn't go to college," he says simply. My eyes widen in surprise as I absorb his words. "So you're fifty-five," I say doubtfully. Somehow, it's hard to believe. He look
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