The rain clattered on the window like an endless chorus line of rhythmically challenged tap dancers . I watched Mother Nature’s shower, mesmerized by the uninterrupted drops, falling from the clouds towards the annoyed crowd beneath them.

I thought back to a year ago. My family and I were driving to visit some relatives who lived about an hour away. The day was wet, like today, and the roads were quiet. My father was driving and my mother was in the passenger seat, reading a book. I sat in the back behind my mother with my 6 year old brother, Eric, to my left. We were approaching a stop light, but the road was too slippery. A car rammed into my father’s side and immediately killed him. My brother was severely hurt and sent to the ER immediately. He put up a fight, but he passed a few days after. My mother and I were extremely lucky as we had only left with a few scratches. That day had left many scars, physically and emotionally, but my mother and I have tried our best to go back to our normal lives.
I put a hand on my cheek and felt that I had been crying at the memory. I glanced over at my alarm clock and noticed that it was already 8:56. That gave me 4 minutes to get to my first class. I jumped up from my seat and sprinted out my door and down the stairs. I slipped on my pair of Converse and grabbed my back pack. I slugged it over my shoulder and ran in the direction of the school. Thankfully, I only lived about a mile away from the school, so it shouldn’t take me that long.
5 minutes had passed and I was approaching the school, gasping for air. I was almost completely soaked and surely everything in my backpack was too. I could hear the water in my shoes slushing around as I strolled to my class. On the bright side, no one was in the hallways so no one was able to torment me.
I arrived at the classroom that had a sign above the door that read:
Mrs. Price ~ Mathematics ~ Room 318
The door was closed and so I reached my still wet hand to open it, but it was locked. I tried again and again, but to no avail. I started shaking the handle violently in hopes the teacher would let me in.
“Having a little trouble there?” a voice asked.
I spun around quickly in surprise to be met with Logan. He was leaning up against the wall with an amused look on his face, watching me struggle.
“Um, uh, I…” I stammered, not having any idea what to say.
“It’s no use. She locks the door when the bell rings so no one comes in late.” he smirked.
“Oh, um, uh….” I trailed, backing away from the door and leaning against the nearby lockers, avoiding Logan’s gaze.
Soon after , Mrs. Price craned her head to the window of the door so she was looking at Logan and I. She removed her head from view for about a minute before cracking the door open and handing us each a small piece of paper. It held the word DETENTION written on it in big bold letters along with my name and date.
As she handed Logan the slip, he stammered a quick “Thank you,” and flashed a dazzling smile in her direction. I concluded that he had done this many times before he strolled away in the direction I assumed lead to the detention room. I followed behind, having no idea where the room was, and kept my head facing the floor, almost as if it were a walk of shame.
A minute had passed, 114 footsteps (I counted ), before Logan came to a complete halt, allowing me to collide with his back, causing his backpack to fall off of the shoulder he had slung it on. Since it was unzipped, most of his belongings tumbled out of the bag and onto the floor, along with the backpack.
I noticed a couple of notebooks, a few empty folders, and many pieces of paper scattered about. I bent down, trying to help pick up his things when he faced me and snapped, “Stop. I don’t need your help,” as he snatched the folders out of my hands.
“S-Sorry, I- I- was just trying to help…” I stuttered, backing up a bit.
He collected all of his assets and freed the door to the room open. As he stalked into the room, I noticed a small black notebook on the ground that he had failed to pick up. I reached down and grabbed it, turning back to walk into the room. I glanced around the room and saw that there were only three people here: the teacher, a small boy who was sleeping with his head on the desk, Logan, and me.
Logan took a seat closer towards the front, which sort of surprised me to be honest, and I took the opportunity to sit farthest away from the teacher as possible. I never liked Mr. Wright, it seemed as though he could never be wrong because he never accepted anyone else’s theories or ideas. As I sat down I placed the notebook on my desk and scanned through to the first page. I was expecting some doodles or school work or anything besides what I had seen.
The first page held a poem surrounded by doodles daisies acting like a border. I scanned the page and smiled at what I had read.
“It’s 4:41 in the morning
and I wish I could be
pressed against you,
listening to your heartbeat,
instead of the rain.” (k.b.g.)
By the initials at the bottom of the page I realized that this work was not his, but someone else’s. I brushed it aside because the fact that he had this in his notebook was good and a bit unbelievable in itself. I read on to the next page.
“There are monsters
who act like people,
and people who act like
monsters.”
This one didn’t have initials, so I wasn’t sure if it was his or not. None the less, it was an incredible piece of work that is completely true.
“If only our tongues were made of glass,
how much more careful we would be when we speak.”
I pondered about this one for a bit longer, realizing that I said some stupid things and could probably stop blabbing on about certain things like how I could aimlessly talk for hours sometimes and I guess I never thought how important the things people say can be and— oops.
After the citations had stopped, I felt like I was intruding a bit and decided to shut the notebook and return it to him . As soon as I had left my desk and was making my way to him, any luck I ever had at that moment vanished as the bell signaling the end of the period pierced my ears with its shrill scream. Logan shot up from his seat and swam out into the sea of people crowding the hallways. Great. As I started out the door with Logan still in sight, I was pushed to the ground by a girl who muttered, “Watch where your going, nerd.”
I got up, careful not to run into too many people, all giving me strange looks for some reason. I looked around me and as I glanced back to the detention room, it clicked. The nerd walking out of detention isn’t exactly what you call normal.
I peered my head back to the hall but Logan was nowhere to be seen. I started in the direction he went and soon gave up. I had to get to my next class.
The rest of the day went by in a blur as I couldn’t get the stupid notebook out of my thoughts. Just the way he wrote such heartbreaking and mind shattering pieces of art left me flabbergasted. I decided to take one last peek in the notebook and flipped to a very interesting page. It had the word OUTCAST written in big black letters in a messy fashion. I think I fell in love with the word. It completely described me. No friends, not talkative, rejected by society. Why did he feel that way? He had friends, he talked quite often, and had his own little group that he hung out with.
As I thought, I walked out the doors to the school, prepared to walk home. I quickly spotted Logan’s black hoodie and silently thanked my lucky stars because there he was. I strolled over and sat down next to him on the curb. He hadn’t noticed me as he looked down with headphones in his ear so I placed the notebook in his lap. He took one of the earbuds out of his ear and looked at me.
“Where did you get this?” he asked sternly.
“Um, when I knocked over your bag, it fell out and- and you forgot to pick it up.” I responded shyly.
“Did you read any of it?”
“Um… only, like, four pages…”
He looked forward into the distance, seemingly contemplating something. It took a few moments before I broke the silence.
“We’re not that different, you know.” I stated.
“How?” he wondered, looking over towards me.
“Um, well… we’re both outcasts.” I stuttered.
“You saw that?”
“Yeah. I-I did… but you seem to have friends and stuff so…” I stopped, unclear of what to say.
“They aren’t my friends. I sort of just happen to run into them and they won’t shut up about their uneventful lives.”
“Oh. Well, I’m Maria.”
“Logan.” he started. “Thanks for returning my book.”
“No problem…” I trailed.
No more than 10 seconds later I got up and started on my way home. Smiling, the thought that we could maybe be friends now sparked a tinge of happiness inside of me. That was how the end of my perfect day ended.