Raindrops

I had lived in London for a year. It did not take long to realize that rain was the only weather London recieved in autumn. Umbrellas covered almost every citizen's head, for in autumn, people were always prepared. However, this was only my second autumn, and it seemed that I forgot my umbrella every day.

I was walking to school, my dark mane wet from the rainfall. A group of girls passed me by, pointing at me and giggling underneath their pink and orange umbrella. I sighed and put my hands into my pockets, looking down at the sidewalk as I continued walking towards my school.

Before my father's job required us to move to London, I had lived in San Diego. The weather was always perfect, no matter the time of year. I had several friends. I had friends to sit inside and watch movies with, friends to go to the beach with, friends to go to concerts with, and even friends to simply drive around with. I had even had a boyfriend I could do everything with, but before I moved to London, I had to break up with him. It seemed that everything I had loved was gone. I had not a single true friend in London, let alone a friend to watch a movie with, go to the beach with, go to a concet with, or to drive around with.

I was beginning to step into the double doors, but a group of boys pushed me out of their way. They were all dressed in their soccer uniforms, though they would call them "football" uniforms. They were perhaps the only group I had seen daring to walk without umbrellas other than me.

I slowly walked in, careful not to be too close to them. It was not a rare occasion that they would flick their cleats at me, ruining my clothes from masses of mud.

My schoolmates were cramming their jackets and umbrellas into their lockers. They turned and looked at me as if I were some sort of zoo animal, several whispering, "It's the American."

I looked to the floor in shame, slowly walking towards my locker. The corridor that my locker was in was the oldest in the building. The lockers smelled of something gone rancid, leaving the corridor smelling no better. New students and special education students occupied the lockers of this hallway. Unfortunately, after I was no longer technically a new student, the lockers of the new corridors were still forbidden to me. The freshmen, or "year nine" students, as they are called in London, were given the new lockers.

I bit my lip and began opening locker one-hundred-twelve. The combination lock was old and the gears inside were worn, so some force had to be used to move the dial. Finally, I had finished the combination, and the rusty industrial grey locker swung open.

I collected my books for my first hour class, attempting to ignore the taunts from the student body as I walked towards the science corridor.

School seemed elongated, as always. I came home and lay on my bed, wishing I were back in San Diego. I looked around the room, it's unfamiliarity causing a pain in my chest. The room was of French design. Olive and goldenrod floral patterns covered the walls, and heavy, rose-colored drapes lay over the window.

My radio was on the small nightstand beside the bed. That was the only true touch I had added to the ghastly room. My clothes were in the closet and my other necessities atop my dresser.

I sighed heavily as rain continued to dance along the windowpane. My mother and father were yet to come home, and I could not even go outside to enjoy the peace of the afternoon.

I rolled off my bed and treaded towards the kitchen. It was of French design, as well. The entire house was, actually. I opened the refrigerator and began to look for something to eat. I do not think I was truly hungry, but I was eating due to ennui and depression.

The refrigerator was virtually empty. Both of my parents ate at restaurants almost daily, leaving me with little food. I closed the refrigerator and looked out the window. Cars were driving by, leaving mud splattered along the sidewalk, and whomever was walking outside.

Then I noticed there was somebody in the distance. The person stood out from the crowded London sidewalk. They did not have an umbrella.

I inclined my head in interest, hoping to get a better view of the stranger. He began to walk across the street, yet I still could not see the male's face. He was tall and thin, with a wet blond mass of hair clinging to his skin. He was looking downward, and I could not see his facial features.

He looked so familiar.

I kept my eyes fixed upon him as he stood on the sidewalk in front of my house. He did not look up, and I did not see his face, but a familiarality was still present. He then began to run.

For some reason, I bolted to the door and opened it. I called, "Hey!" He still did not look back.

I sighed and then furrowed my brow as something came into view. It was a picture. Something inside of me knew that I had to reach it before it was trampled upon. It was as though I knew it was of importance.

I walked to the edge of the yard and picked it up, scrutinizing it. It was a picture of my large house, printed on simple printer paper. I turned it around and read the back.

Skye's House

The scrawl was familiar to me, just as the blond boy had been. It did not take me long to realize who it had been.

"Kyle," I whispered to myself.

I quickly walked back inside, only to put on my sneakers. I decided against the umbrella, hoping if I stood out he would be able to see me.

I do not believe I have ever ran so quickly in my life. I was gasping for air, yet that was the last thing on my mind as my soaking sneakers hit the pavement of the sidewalk. My feet were throbbing, but I kept looking ahead among the masses of black umbrellas.

Cursing the crowded streets of London, I pushed my way through a large cohort of middle-aged women. My hazel eyes searched frantically for the weather-exposed white blond boy.

Men and women glared at me as I elbowed them out of my way. Several whispers of my lack of manners were heard, yet I did not care. I was terrified of Kyle reaching the main intersection of the large metropolitan subdivision that I resided in. The intersection was shaped like a bicycle hub. Traffic flowed heavily in five directions and the sidewalks were always flooded with people. If he had gotten that far, I would have never found him again.

My sneakers slapped against the wet sidewalk as I inclined my head and looked for Kyle. A sea of umbrellas made it almost impossible to see anything, let alone anyone. The sea was black, speckled with pink, lime green, and light blue from groups of adolescent girls.

I brushed by an elderly couple and my head began to ache. I had reached the hub-shaped intersection.

I collapsed against the brick wall next to a stand serving fish and French fries, or "fish and chips" as they are referred to in London.

The man serving the fish and French fries was standing under the pine green awning of the stand, setting two deep-fried fish into a bed of French fries. I slid down the wall and sat on the ground, my knees pulled close to my chest. I felt raindrops hit my eyelashes and run down my face, almost like tears.

"Ain't you got an umbrella, kid?" asked the man serving fish.

I shook my head, "No. No umbrella."

"American. You visitin'?"

I shook my head, again, "I moved here last year."

"An' you still ain't learned ya need an umbrella!"

The man sighed deeply, muttering something about the lack of intelligence of teenagers. I ignored him and stared at the ground.

"You and tha' kid over there got somethin' in common--no brains! Look at 'im! 'e's gotta be freezin'!"

I looked up and stared. A tall, thin blond boy was standing in front of the bakery across the street, looking lost.

I did not think. My shoes were pounding into the pavement, once more. Cars were honking at me, and people were bellowing curse words at me as they strained the brakes of their vehicles. I did not hear them. I continued to run across the four-lane road.

"Kyle!" I yelled.

He blinked and looked up before beaming at me. I grinned and he grinned back, pulling me close to him and kissing me. His soft, familiar lips moved against mine as he cupped my face. I wrapped my arms around my neck and his hands moved to my waist. People must have been staring, but for once in my life, I did not care.

He pulled away from my lips, but did not loosen his grip. He was murmuring in my hair, "I missed you, Skye. So much."

"I missed you, too," I said.

We stood like that for a moment. We were drenched from the rain. My striped shirt was clinging to my body, as was his. I did not think about how cold it was, or that I was going to become ill. I could only think about being with him again, until a question came into my head.

"How long are you here for?" I said in a small voice.

"As long as you want," he said, kissing my dark, wet mane.

"I want you here forever, though," I said, knowing that was probably impossible. I could not expect him to leave his life in San Diego only for my sake.

But perhaps he wanted to, because he then said:

"Forever it is."