Mercedes
When I realize that the steady pitter patter of the rain against my window has stopped, I look outside to see that the sun is hiding behind the clouds. I go outside, and walk along the pathway, staring at the clouds. Will she see me? Is she watching me from above? Probably. She was a good person. Suddenly, there is a foul taste in my mouth as that phrase repeats itself in my head once more.
She was a good person.
Right then, I collide into someone and almost fall. “Hey!” I say, irately. “Watch where you’re~” I start to say, but I stop myself. His eyes are a striking brown, but they do not dovetail smoothly with his pale and sickly complexion. He has curly, thick black hair. He is bending over slightly so that you won’t see that it is difficult for him to breath. Isn’t he the new kid on the block? The sick one?
“Watch where you’re going.” He says, scowling. “You were the one not paying attention.”
“I’m sorry.” I say, “I didn’t realize you’re…”
“Amazing? Incredibly good looking? It’s probably both, I know. Everyone tells me~”
I hesitate, “No, sick.”
“Oh, yeah.” He says, his smile fading. “I always seem to forget that one.”
“What's your name?” I ask, attempting to start a conversation.
“What’s yours?” He retorts, catching me off guard.
“I asked first.”
“And I asked second.” He says, shrugging, “so?”
I sigh, “Mercedes Carlton.” I extend my hand as a greeting, but he doesn’t take it.
“Adrian Jones.” He says, nodding at my hand instead of shaking it.
“You’re new here, aren’t you? Are you going to Westland Academy?” I ask.
“Maybe,” he says.
“Maybe?” I ask, “Maybe what? Maybe you’re new here?”
“Just… maybe.” He says, shrugging. With that he turned and starts to walk. I roll my eyes. He’s not making sense.
“Nice to meet you too,” I say to myself.
....
“We have a new student in the office. Are there any volunteers who would be okay showing him around today?” I make sure my hand is up in the air first. “Mercedes? He’s in the office.” I nod, and go to the office. I am going so fast, I don’t stop once I open the door to the office. I run into him, and we both topple over. Who stands in the doorway? He looks up to meet my eyes, disconcerted for a second.
Then, he smiles. “I’m running into you everywhere I go. Literally.”
“Well, this time it’s not my fault.” I say.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe what? Maybe it’s not my fault?” I ask, “It’s not my fault this time. It’s your fault for standing in the doorway.
He decides to change the subject. “So you’re my tour guide, ladybug?” He says, and when he notices my confusion, he points at my shirt. It is red with black polka dots, one of my older shirts from before the accident.
“Yeah,” I say, smiling. “I’m your tour guide.”
…
“Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy,” he says, startling me. It has been a few weeks since we have met, and we are working on our math homework together.
