A Coke With You (z.m)

1.

 

❝Having a coke with you, is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne --
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona.❞

I decided to take the bus today instead of letting Tina drive me home. Mainly because I was avoiding her, and also because sitting in the same car as my siblings for 30 minutes brought a lot of questions they were just waiting to ask me.

I knew that I would pay for ditching her later, but I really didn't care right now.

As soon as the bell rang, I rushed out of the building, and started speed walking down the street. I  quickly texted Tina, telling her that I already had a ride home, and that she didn’t have to worry about me.

But most likely, she would ignore my text and wait for me anyway, being the stubborn butt that she is. It has happened before.

I pulled the hood of my jacket onto my head securely, praying that it wouldn't start raining. My backpack wasn’t waterproof, and I was certain that my books would become soaking wet if it rained.

I carefully removed my notepad from the backpack, somehow feeling that it would be safer in my hands than in the bag. Yeah, I know, it was stupid reasoning. But my notepad meant everything to me, holding the most precious drawings of mine inside.

The sky was cloudy and dark, and at this time of the year, New York could get very, very cold.

My phone buzzed, again and again. No doubt that Tina and James were trying to get a hold of me. I set my phone on silent, even though there would be hell to pay for later.

The bus stop was nearly deserted, except for one young boy around my age, sitting on the bench of the bus stop.

I hesitated, unsure if I should go and sit there as well. Would he be disgusted? Would he take it the wrong way?

The sky thundered again, and I knew that I had only two options. Sit on the bench next to the weird guy and stay dry, or stay where I was and possibly get completely drenched.

Obviously, I chose the first option.

I started to make my way over to the bench, clutching my notepad to my chest, along with my pencils and black felt markers, just in case it was raining and I hadn’t noticed. When it came to my drawing materials, I became very paranoid.

There weren’t many objects in my way to make me trip, but then again, I was naturally clumsy. Somehow, I managed to trip over my own two feet, which only happened in those cheesy movies. Only the difference was that when I fell, no ridiculously handsome boy caught me.

I didn’t stare dramatically into my ‘Prince Charming’s sea green eyes, or whatever color they were supposed to be. I plainly fell onto my butt, sending my drawing things all over the hard, concrete sidewalk. I was a little more concerned for my notepad than I was for my own self, if I were to be honest.

I didn’t go into a panicked frenzy, though. I just sat there, wondering what the hell happened for me to go flying like that. Even though it happened often.

Sighing, I crawled over to my things, and started to pick them up. I tried to ignore the burning pain on my butt, because I honestly didn’t want to know if it was bleeding. Ew. That would be plain nasty.

To my surprise, someone was picking up my things right next to me, stacking them up and gently smoothing out the ends of my fallen paintbrushes. I stopped what I was doing, observing the stranger who was trying his very hardest to straighten out the hairs of my paintbrushes.