AS THE FROST STARTED TO SETTLE, Callum’s feet pushed harder to ensure the thin layer of ice beneath him broke enough for the soles of his feet to grip, and not slip, on the floor; a pretty testing task given the old hand-me-down trainers that he wore.
‘Ah… I hate this weather!’ he hissed.
‘You do?’ asked his best friend, Taylor, in a high pitch tone that suggested surprise.
‘Yeah. Everything about it!’ he confirmed. ‘In fact, everything about this time of year. You wake up, and it’s dark. You get out the shower, and it’s cold. You spend your whole day trying to stay warm, wrapped up in stupid clothes, unable to even write because the classrooms are so cold!’
Taylor rarely felt the cold. His short, chubby frame tended to keep him warm, as well as add to the lovable persona that his innocence portrayed. He was a happy child, who was probably mentally and emotionally not quite up to the standard of where a thirteen-year-old should be. Callum, on the other hand, possessed intelligence and bitterness that far exceeded his tender years.
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