“Sorry.” The male squeaked, running away with the frisbee. 

Arthur gives a tiny smile, waving at the boy with the frisbee, when I rotate my head to see him. His eyes slowly land on me, looking surprised. I dart my eyes away from him fast enough to hurt my neck a little. I slowly uncurl my squeezed hand that pressed the paper tightly inside, staring at the crunched folds and bits of black marker seeping through. The more I stare, the longer I wonder about him. I’m not ready, not in a million years to ask him about this. His handwriting may look familiar, his smile may be warm and welcoming, but sixth and seventh grade’s students taught me one or two things about people with sweet smiles. Then again, Phoenix’s smile was like that too. I may have only known him for a day, and not once did he run away from me or call me a monster. Heck, he never judged me. That was a first. 

I talked to him before. Why is this so scary? My fingers shake slightly as I unfold the note, staring at the same statement as earlier. I am in a tug of war moment of this note being a trap or exit, and its eating me up so aggressively as it feels like my feet are glued to the grassy ground and my fingertips are superglued to the paper as my chest puffs continuously. 

What to do…What to do…

“Is something wrong?” When I look up with my fingertips still pasted onto the note, Arthur stands beside me, looking down at me, with the same Can I help you? look. My hands curl tighter and my fingers squeeze the paper stronger. 

“Oh…hi.” I reply stupidly. “Nothing’s wrong.”

He lowers himself, sitting tightly beside me, his arms stiffing up, squeezing himself as he adjusts his position. I feel him looking at me, but I refuse to do the same. “Hm. I see.” 

My feet turn in slightly and I try to subtly slide my hands in my pocket while the scrunched up piece of paper is still squeezed inside. I want to break the silence, but no words come out. 

“Uh… do you trapeze?” His head whips softly towards my direction.

“No.” My lips purse, as he brushes his hair away from his forehead subtly. 

“Honestly, now that I think of it, I wonder why people do it. What’s your opinion on it?” He asks casually, leaving me with a blank mind. The more I glanced at the kids leaping from platform to platform, leaping with grace. Their bodies folded and twisted smooth like flying sheets of paper. The kind of gracefulness that my mom wishes I had, and sometimes, so did I. 

“Umm… it’s nice. They’re really good-”

“Why do people do it?” My heart skipped a beat, letting out a ‘huh?’.

“Why do people do it? What is the purpose of leaping from one platform to another? Then you would have to flip sometimes. All of that seems like a waste to me. I only see it as an act of entertainment.” 

I stare at him for a while, not knowing what to respond. When people start saying their opinions I’ve learned to give a simple nod along with an “I see” or ‘Mhm.’ That was the easiest way for me to dodge any bullets. Blinking, I nod my head slightly, sighing. 

“I mean, who are they to impress? All they do is puff their chests forward, raise their arms, and fly to other bars and swing each other from platform to platform. It’s nothing.” 

I sigh, looking down. 

“At least other forms of art such as dancing or paintings tell a story. Where’s the climax in this? It’s all worthless.” 

I raise my head at him, raising my eyebrows. It’s all worthless.

“No one’s worthless.” I mutter, hugging my knees to my chest. I feel him rolling his eyes to my direction. My fingernails dig deeper into my skin, hoping that he didn’t hear me. 

“I didn’t say they were, Strawberry. I said it’s all worthless. The act.” 

My eyebrows raise higher. “Uh, my name’s Justice-“

“I know.” 

“Why’d you call me that? I’m not even your friend.” 

“Oh apologies, I was just sharing an opinion.” 

“That was an insult. You’re using some big words, so shouldn’t you know the difference between an insult and an opinion?” 

“Whoa. Calm down. If you seem to disagree, then explain yourself.”

“Can’t you see how hard they’re working?”

“Hard, how?” I try to put the pieces together 

“That amount of… delicacy. The effort that these people put into their bodies is so delicate, yet so aggressive. They’re two things completely opposite from each other, but, for some reason it works.” I guess because there’s two things that don’t go together, but seem to create something beautiful. That amazes me.”

I point at the girl swiftly flipping forward, then my eyes travel to the girl throwing another girl by the ankles strongly to the trapeze. My finger aims towards them. 

“It’s aggressive, fast, and rough, but they find a way to deliver with beauty.”

He stares at me, as if he hit the jackpot with the smug smile painted on his lips. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask nervously. He laughs in response after letting out a sigh. 

“Is there something you want to tell me?” I could feel my heart drop. 

“Why do you ask?” 

“Your left hand looks pretty tight, if you ask me.” I look down and my skin turns different shades of red, squeezing the paper tighter. Inhaling sharply, I unfold my fingers, revealing the wrinkled slip of paper. Arthur raises his eyebrows.

“Looks like you got my letter.”