Date: November 11, 1967
Location: Franklin Orphanage, Indianapolis
---
The mornings were always the same.
A sharp chill in the air, like someone had left the windows cracked overnight. The metal frame bed was cold against Rupert's back, the thin blanket barely doing its job. Still, he had learned to tuck his arms tightly under his ribs and curl like a shrimp to conserve warmth. It wasn't so different from life in the Philippines — just colder, quieter. And a whole lot whiter.
Rupert sat up and stretched, the oversized shirt sagging around his thin frame. In the mirror near the basin, a pair of green eyes stared back at him — framed by wavy ginger hair that now reached just past his ears, tamed slightly since his discharge from the hospital. His skin was pale, almost porcelain under the morning light. Freckles dusted his nose and cheeks, making him look younger than his supposed five years.
Ginger hair, green eyes, freckled face. Definitely not Filipino anymore...
He pouted a little at his reflection, just for practice. The nurses liked it when he did that.
---
The orphanage's common room was already buzzing with quiet activity. Older kids played with battered toys or jostled each other for breakfast. The smell of oatmeal and burnt toast filled the air.
Rupert walked in slowly, his feet making soft pat-pat sounds on the linoleum. He wasn't one of the loud ones. That made him forgettable — and forgettable was useful.
But today, he had a goal.
"Miss Karen," he said softly, tugging at the sleeve of the red-haired matron who was handing out bowls. She turned and blinked down at him.
"Well, aren't you polite this morning?" she said, crouching slightly. "You feeling okay, sweetie?"
He gave her his best confused-angel look, big eyes blinking slowly.
"I heard Tommy say the bear in his book could talk... Can you read it to me later?"
Karen tilted her head, surprised. "You want me to read to you?"
He nodded shyly. "Please?"
He saw it work immediately — the way her expression softened, how her hand brushed his hair almost without thinking. "Of course I can, sweetheart."
---
Over the next week, Rupert timed his requests carefully.
He'd sit beside her during quiet hours and ask her to read the same book again and again — Corduroy, The Snowy Day, Where the Wild Things Are. Simple, colorful stories.
He'd mimic her lips silently as she read, letting her think he was just fascinated by the sounds.
Then, one afternoon, he "accidentally" read the word "bear" out loud.
Karen blinked. "Did you just read that?"
Rupert widened his eyes. "I... I guessed."
"You guessed correctly?" she teased.
"I think… you read it a lot," he said bashfully. "I remember."
He saw it again — the indulgent smile, the way she reached for his cheek.
---
By December, he was asking to be taught how to read "for real."
He made mistakes, of course. On purpose.
Swapping "the" for "that."
Saying "snoo" instead of "snow."
Even pretending to forget some letters.
It made him seem normal. Not too fast. Not too odd.
He was careful to always ask for help with a smile, tilting his head slightly, blinking innocently. The other workers started calling him "bright" and "such a sweetheart."
And when they brought him extra jam with his toast? He just smiled wider.
---
But charm came with its price.
The older boys didn't like him much. They whispered "teacher's pet" and "sissy" behind his back. Sometimes they'd flick his ear when no one was looking, or swap his blanket with one that smelled like wet dog.
He didn't fight them. Not yet. That wasn't part of the plan.
Instead, he focused on earning the adults' trust.
He offered to help fold napkins during chores. He asked where the towels were kept. He even carried the water jug for Miss Ruth, though it was a bit too heavy and made his arms ache.
Little things. Small steps.
---
By March, he was "reading" short books on his own. At least, that's what they thought.
One day, while pretending to struggle through The Little Engine That Could, he casually asked:
"Do we have more books? Like… ones with more trains or stories?"
Miss Karen looked thoughtful. "There's a cabinet in the back with older books. But those are for the big kids."
"I can wait," Rupert said with a small smile. "Someday I'll be big too."
She laughed and ruffled his hair. "You're already brighter than most of them."
---
And just like that, the seed was planted.
He had time. He could wait a year — maybe two — before asking for the full orphanage library. By then, it wouldn't seem odd at all.
Let them believe they taught him. Let them feel proud of their "little genius." It was the perfect cover.
He wasn't Anthony Stone anymore. But Rupert Johnson was starting to get noticed.
Not for being different. Not for being strange.
But for being… special.