Don't Go. (EDITING)

Chapter 1

Rain
I am the rain
gently patting
the rooftop
The drop
sliding down
your window
I glide
past the glow
of your lamp
Clinging
to the warmth
of your fingertips
as they press
against the glass
Losing grip,
I slip away.

-Christy Ann Martine

Juniper loved that poem. She had taped it up on the ceiling above her bed. She had memorized it, and would recite it to me whenever we went over to each others house.

Now the rain pounded on the roof of the car. The road in front of the car is hard to see, the rain clouding the view.

"Camellia are you hungry?" Mom asks.

"No." I answer, leaning my forehead against the cold glass of the window. She hands me a turkey sandwich anyway. Obediently, I bite into it.

"When are we going to get there?" Piper asks, taking one of her ear buds out long enough to hear the answer.

"Thirty minutes." Mom hands a sandwich to her too, before returning her gaze back to the road.

"I hope this rain clears up soon." Dad grips the steering wheel, his knuckles white. "I can barely see a thing!"

So we drive for thirty minutes more through the pouring rain. Every second of it boring and filled with silence. Only the soft hum of the engine and Piper's bobbing head disrupting the nothingness that filled the 2012 Ford Fusion.

The storm is still at full rage as we pull into the driveway. A single moving truck filled with our stuff, rests halfway off the driveway. I see irritation in my dad's face, when he sees the squashed grass showing the trail from the trucks wheels.

"We're home!" Mom swings open the door and steps into the rain.

"Lets go lets go lets go!" Dad does the same and pops the trunk open. Piper stuffs her phone and ear buds into her jacket pocket and runs to the porch. Dad taps on the window as he passes, carrying a box about the size of a pillow. I open the door and I'm instantly soaked through.

As I run to the front door, the only thing that I can think about is that at least my mud covered shoes are getting washed. Well... sort of.

The rain storms on even after Mom had finished making the pizza. I pick out a thick slice and head back upstairs to my room. I sit on the off-white futon under the big open window in my room, and chomp down. The rain soothes me and clears my head. So I leave the window open and let the storm mist me with water through the screen.

Someone from across the street comes out of the house when I'm about halfway through my pizza. It's a boy. He wears a grey hoodie that's soaked as he walks off of the porch, and dark blue jeans. I watch as he walks from the front door and picks up something laying in the grass. It looks like a pad of paper. I set my pizza down next to me and pear through the screen at him. He looks up and our eyes lock. He's looking at me. What do I do? Wave? No! Don't wave! Does he really see me? Or is he just looking at the house? Do I look okay? Is there pizza on my face or something?

He turns and walks back into what I assume is his house.

I look at the house for a few seconds before stuffing the rest of my pizza into my mouth.

Lorne's POV:

"Lorne? Did you go outside?" Mom chops away at the peppers on the cutting board in the kitchen. She must be making one of her "exotic dinners". They're a little too exotic for me.

"No." I take off my wet zip up hoodie and throw it into the laundry room across the hallway. "I just opened the door. I thought I saw something. Like a dog or something."