Happenings.

So, anyway. Next day, after school, he came up behind me. I was reading. "Hi."

I jolted a couple inches to the side, and lost my page. "Shit."

"Oh, sorry."

"No, no. That's fine. Really. It's fine."

"Okay, it's fine, I get it." He grinned. "Now, are you leaving?"

"Um, yeah." It seemed like the right answer.

"Good. I'm coming with you."

Strange. But that's fine, really. "Okay."

We walked the three blocks from school, arrived at my house. He opened the door.

"That's your house?"

"Yeah. Just wait a second, I need to talk to my mom." I walked into the kitchen.

"Welcome home. Who's this?"

"He's Jared. A sophomore." I was a junior, but young for my year.

"Nice to meet you, Jared," she called at the door.

"You, too."

"All right," she turned back to me. "Well, if you guys want anything, just tell me."

We went upstairs to my room, and he paused at the door.

"You can sit anywhere, it's all good."

"Okay." He seated himself at the front of my bed.

So what are you supposed to say to someone you've talked to only once before who's now in your room sitting on your bed?

He spoke first. "So, they cut up your bag."

"Yeah."

"You want to keep your stuff in my locker? They won't go anywhere near it."

"And I can trust you with it?" I laughed slightly, but I did mean it.

"Of course you can. And besides, it can't get worse that way. Looks like it would either be them ruining it or me stealing it. And anyway, you could try and get it back." He raised an eyebrow at me, smiling.

"What, the kid with the knives?"

"Sure." He reached into his pocket and threw something at me. I caught it somewhat sloppily and looked at it. A small silver knife, simple, pretty actually. And very sharp looking.

"It's yours. Now we're evenly matched. I only ever carry two knives, and I promise you I won't replace that one."

None of this made sense, but it seemed all right, somehow.

"So, music? What do you listen to?"

I gestured at the CD player, and he went over, opened it.

"Joy Division. Closer. Nice music." He closed the thing, turned it to She's Lost Control.

"That's my favorite."

"Mine too," he said, softly. Almost gently. Almost.

"Too bad Ian Curtis is dead," I remarked.

"No. He needed to. To become a legend."

"Maybe."

"It makes it all more beautiful, romantic." He laughed.

"Romantic?"

"Yeah. Just think about it for a while. It'll make sense."

"All right."

"Hey, come over to my house tomorrow. If you want. Just follow me back from school."

"Okay, I'll ask my mom later."

"Cool."

We sat there for a while, watching each other, neither of us knowing what to say. Or maybe he did, and just didn't want us to talk for then.