"No, I mean - some people are different on purpose, or different as in talented, but I'm different as in weird. And weird-bad, not weird-good. That's why it's not easy for me to live a life I'm happy with. Because I keep messing things up, or what I can do messes things up."

He looks at her, tired and serious. Too serious, for his age. His exhaustion is obvious and probably a little disconcerting. He knows all the reasons his dad has told him he should stay quiet about his powers. Alex is old enough to understand they're not unfounded concerns. There are a million reasons why isolation is a necessity in his life and he knows he can't just tell any random stranger.

But he's eleven. He's too young to do everything alone and too old to keep up the blind trust in his parents' insistence on silence that he used to. "I need... someone to give me advice. Someone who's not related to me. But I'm scared if I tell you what's going on you'll think I'm crazy."