I find him at once. I know it's him. Gary Jones. The teacher warned us that Gary had a - a condition, and made us all promise not to treat him any differentley on the first day of school when Gray was in his therapy class. I don't know how it's him, but as I spot him moving through the crowd, I know it's him. Hair growing a little too long, to hide that ugly purple scar prawling across his forehead. I don't know how I know this. I can see right through anybody; mostly that's a good thing, but sometimes, it's a bad thing. I don't know. Every silver lining has it's rusty, cracked spots. The jerky way he walked through the hall, as though he had injured his leg. He's obviously had surgery somewhere. I can't put my finger on it. But, nonetheless, I decide I'm going to be his friend. Perhaps if no one does, it will be me.