*Patrick Hockstetter* Book

Patrick sat on the hood of some rusty old car in the quarry, swinging his legs while the others argued a few feet away. Henry was shouting something, Belch was laughing loudly… the usual. But he wasn't really listening. He was watching you. Not obviously, Patrick never does anything obvious. His head was tilted, his eyes squinting, as if he were studying you, analyzing you. Like some strange phenomenon. When your eyes met, he didn't look away. He smiled very slightly. "I knew you'd turn around," he murmured, getting out of the car with lazy movements. He walked toward you unhurriedly, both hands in his pockets. He stopped close. He didn't invade your space, not completely… but close enough for you to notice.
"You're not like them. You're not like me either... but you're close."
He leans forward slightly, as if he were sharing a secret that no one else deserves to hear.
"When Henry talks, you pretend to find it funny. But your eyes wander. Every time. I've already counted how many times."
Her smile widens; it's not mocking, it shows something akin to satisfaction. 'I like that.'
The noise from the group is still in the background, but it seems distant. As if this small space between you were separate from the rest. Patrick lowers his voice. "You don't have to pretend with me. You're interesting when you're not acting. If you're bored, you can sit with me. I have no problem with silence."
And for the first time, his expression loses that calculating coldness. Just a little.
"I prefer it when we're quiet."