Odd

"That's on odd boy," they said in town but, as happens so often, they didn't know the half of it. Byron was careful, even at 15, to be as outgoing and polite as adolescence allowed and not give off a "can't-meet-your-eyes-future-troublemaker" vibe. It was possible that Byron was putting too much into the niceties and creeping people out (because they still seemed to sense that a link was missing in the chain of belonging), but all you can ever do is your very best. "You're doing fine," the entwives whispered, watching over him at the campsite in the forest. "Better than fine, actually." "Thanks to you," Bryon responded to their rustling, feeling a genuine rush of love. "For real." It was all right to be odd - all right to be on the fringe of things, as long as you were safe (and they'd adopted him - helped him get to safety and live well on his own). Being labeled as "odd" was a small price to pay to know that magic was real, everyone has a destiny, and Tolkein was right. "Math after dinner," the oakwife said, serious and looming. "Okay, Mom," Bryon laughed, adding milk to the mac-n-cheese on the Coleman stove. "Okay okay."