Skyylar stared up at the boy from his vantage point on his interlocked hands, with a perplexed expression. The boy had a glazed-over look to his eyes as he randomly looked into one direction, but that was no more than a few seconds.<br/><br/>â€œOh, yes, I did; I asked you the grade you were in,â€ He replied, making a grunt that signaled he remembered. Not what he did or what he was doing, but he as a person. He seemed so... so... How should he put it? Quiet, for lack of better terms. He seemed like the kind of person that no one really talked to, but would be an excellent friend if anyone dared try to get to know him; and that was an observation made after meeting the kid only a minute or two ago.<br/><br/>He then blinked dumbly as soon as his brain recalled that Alec had already said the grade he was in. "Okay... never mind; ignore that question." He then tapped his chin, attempting to think up something to ask. "Ah! I have an idea; what do you like to do for a hobby?" He then smiled dumbly, and pulled off the strap of his backpack from off his shoulder, and placed it on the table, and rummaged through it and pulled out at least four notebooks. "As you can see; I like to write..." He then opened each one and flipped through the pages, revealing each page filled with and endles wall of words. "So, what's your passion?"<br/><br/>Remembering that Alec perceptibly said something about his parents, he shook his head and yawned widely, showing off his pearly-whites and his tongue piercing. Smacking his lips, he replied: â€œLifa, my mother, adopted me when I was eleven and on a trip to the Netherlands, she met her wife, Lila. They fell in love, and got married three years later in Amsterdam.â€ He then inflated his cheeks and let it all out at once in a raspberry.<br/><br/>He didn't normally bring about his parents or his past to anyone but his really close friends... but those were all left behind at his old school. But hey, who said you can't start early? â€œAs I previously stated, I was adopted six years ago--well, seven since my birthday is next week. But anyway; why was I adopted so late in my childhood, you ask? Well, it seemed that I had a talent for attracting all of the conservatively religious parents. Yet, unfortunately all of them failed, seeing as none of them wanted a gay boy for a new son...â€ He said, chuckling nervously, not knowing no way how else to end the heart-aching memory.<br/><br/>It was true; he was gay. And what he said, wasn't anything but the truth. All of the Tory parents, and each time he told them that â€œhe liked boysâ€ they all gave him a disgusted look, thanked him for his time, and left without another word; even so much as to ignore the Sister that ran the orphanage. The most painful rejection was just something he could never forget...<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">It was a sunny, yet unbearably cold January afternoon. A ten-year-old Skyylar had an interview scheduled this day at three o'clock, and it was almost that exact time; the parents should be there at any moment. Skyylar was sitting on a bench on the front patio of the orphanage he had lived in since he was little, packed with an inconceivable amount of winter clothes. He was absolutely psyched for this interviewâ€”made evident from him rocking side to side, and his swinging back and forth; a massive grin on his face was the only thing visible on his body.<br/><br/>Finally, at three-o'-six in the afternoon, a purple Sedan pulled up. Skyylar looked up to Sister Angelica with a gasp and an ecstatic smile; she chuckled in response and waved her hands to the vehicle as a ushering for him to go to it. He hopped off the bench and skipped over to the vehicle. Out of the driver's side exited a large man; with a simple gray cap on, and a large amount of facial hair; he was wearing a simple brown winter coat. And out of the passenger's side came a rather tall, yet lithe women with gentle green eyes and long, silky black hair. She was wearing a large black fur-coat. She smiled when she saw Skyylar approach.<br/><br/>â€œWould you, my dear, be Skyylar?â€ She asked warmly, giggling a bit when he shook his head quickly, with caused a chain-reaction, making his entire body shake. Her husband grunted and followed the woman who was going after Skyylar as he ran with a boundless energy into the building.<br/><br/>Entering a small meeting room with a simple table and three chairs, Skyylar sat in the single one away from the door, and the two adults sat on the opposite ones. With the door shut, the interview began. They asked the most basic of questions; â€œDo you like any sports?â€ â€œNot Really, but I like playing catchâ€, â€œWhen's your birthday?â€ â€œAugust 30thâ€, â€œWhat are your favourite things to do?â€, â€œPlaying the computer and hanging out with my friends in the orphanageâ€. <br/><br/>The most general of things. Nothing all too specific, until the father asked that number one thing that all men wonder about in a boy just beginning his puberty years: â€œAre there any girls in yer school ya like?â€ A question that was most uncomfortable for the little boy. The little boy who learned only a few months ago, that... he didn't like girls. Not because they were yucky, but, because he didn't find them pretty in the same fashion other boys in school did.<br/><br/>When he replied, he regretted even agreeing to this interview. â€œNo...  But there's this boy at school I think is really cute.â€ That's when things got out of hand; the woman gasped, clasped her hand over her mouth, and the man's eyes grew wide and furious.<br/><br/>â€œI'm sure it's just a phase, honey; he'll soon grow out of it,â€ The woman spoke first, trying to reassure her husband. Skyylar shook his head immediately. â€œNo it's not. I don't like girls.â€ He said firmly, crossing his arms just like any little kid would. The man slammed his hand onto the table, and yelled at him that could've blown him over: â€œThen have fun rotting in Hell, you dirty little piece of shit!â€ He then stood out of his chair, and slammed open the door and angrily stomped his way out, his petite wife scuttling behind him with a worried look.<br/><br/>Sister Angelica attempted to calm the man but merely shoved her aside, and on his way out growled: â€œThat little crap isn't worth our time.â€ And they left in a rush, never to be seen again. The Sister, knowing how emotionally fragile Skyylar was, didn't dare stay there gawking any longer than she needed and rushed to the interview room, only to find it empty. Rushing upstairs to the bedrooms, she came to his and saw the door partially closed. Slowly making her way in, she saw he wasn't in the bed, but in the closet, he back to the doorway. His whole boy shook heavily as he sobbed miserably.<br/><br/>She creeped into the closet and touched the boy, quietly saying his name. By this time, other children from all over the orphanage crowded the door to Skyylar's room; most of them with worried expressions. Skyylar ignored the Sister and continued to bawl, his arms now wrapped around his head. Angelica then took him by the waist and pulled him out; he didn't even bother struggling. Sitting on the bed, she placed him on her lap and let him cry. He clung to her for dear life, as if he would sink in the ocean of disappointment and rejection he felt he was drowning in.<br/><br/>She hugged him back and waited for the crying to cease. The other children still stood in the doorway; waiting, watching. Sister Angelica gave them a stern look and they reluctantly left, even closing the door tight, allowing them the solitude that he needed.<br/><br/>Once the crying was done, he released only slightly and looked into Angelica's eye. She smiled warmly and wiped the tears from his reddened and swollen cheeks and eyes. â€œNow what's the matter, Skye?â€ She asked, even using the girlish nickname that he had grown accustomed to.<br/><br/>â€œDoes God hate me because I like boys?â€ He asked with that adorable, childish curiosity that made the Sister's heart melt; tears were still glistening in the corners of his eyes. Angelica's eyes softened even more as she hugged him tight and released and looked into his vast, heterchromatic eyes, with a firm stare.<br/><br/>â€œGod loves you like everyone else; you have done nothing wrong,â€ She reassured him, smiling soothingly.<br/><br/>â€œThen why does it seem that he hates enough to not give me a mommy and a daddy...?â€</span><br/><br/>The memory was incredibly painful and probably took up a whole five minutes, remembering. And in those five minutes, he felt something hot and wet oozing down his cheeks. Touching his face, he felt they were wet; they were tears that drooled down his face. Was... was he crying? Sure, it was a horrible memory, but was it so bad as to make him cry?<br/><br/>He quickly wiped them from his face, he sniffed in one time, and wiped his face one more time until he was sufficiently dried off.<br/>Even though he was a very proud person, trying to make a lie to cover it up was not a very logical thing. â€œSomething was in my eyeâ€ would not suffice one bit, but if Alec didn't ask, that was just fine by him. If he did, well, there would be a whole-lot more where these came from...