'On March 27 1998 many people, including me, were born. And we were all going to die someday. When I was a little girl, adults never told me I was going to die someday. Why is that?
Is it because they don't want to except the truth that one day someone they know will be g-'
My hand went rigid and slammed the laptop screen down as someone tapped my shoulder roughly.
I spun around only to see a foolish looking grin. A chuckle escaped that broad smile.
What the heck, why is his mouth so huge? You can fit a small pack of dogs in there.
"I thought we're not aloud to have electronics in the courtyard," he said in a lazy tone. My hands scrambled to grab my notebooks and shove them into my bag.
"I write for the school newspaper, they let me use a laptop to write," I replied as I shoved, and possibly crumpled, a reasonably thick notebook away from sight.
"So what's your story, Miss. I Write For The School Newspaper?"
I sighed under my breath as his long fingers poked at the opening of my bag. This has been the longest ten minutes in my entire existence.
"Well what's your story, Mr. I Can't Keep My Hands Still?" His smile widened if that was even possible.
"How about a name for a name?"
(A/N: Kenneth or Ezekiel for his name?????)
