11:49 p.m.
I feel like there is a rattling noise in between my ribs. It's been making noise all day and apparently so have I with the way people have been looking at me.
After I came back down from the roof, barely dodging Deborah, I ducked into the bathroom.
He was there.
The door had swung out so suddenly that I froze. The first thing I noticed were his shoes, Chuck Taylors, with dirt running around its edges. He stood a few feet away from me and I could feel him staring but I looked straight ahead, watching my cold breath spin up and away from me.
Eventually, he sat down next to me.
It was him. I knew it was but I was afraid to be wrong.
Slowly, I turned and looked at him.
He met my gaze with quiet interest and we were looking at the each other again.
His eyes were light blue.
I wondered why he wasn't saying anything but I had pretended to be a gargoyle just moments earlier so the art of conversation was apparently lost on both of us.
"Don't worry I won't say anything," he murmured looking back up at the sky.
His name tag said, Matt.
"Thanks...Matt."
"It's Mal.. Malik,"
I looked at him puzzled. "Why don't you go by your real name?"
"Where do you think I am from?" he asked watching me curiously .
I wasn't sure.
"Wilmette? But you tell everyone you're from Chicago."
He choked back a laugh. " No, I mean..like..My family is from Egypt. I'm Arab."
I nodded. I felt a flush rip across my face.
God, all that BBC for nothing .
"Sorry,..I mean I'm sorry you feel obligated to use another name", I added lamely.
"Not your fault."
I watched him start searching through his pockets and saw a packet of cigarettes trying to climb out.
"Are you going to offer me one," I asked gesturing to them.
"You don't smoke," he said, a smile pulling across his face.