<JONATHAN>

It's the third day of school. I'm on the subway, and Annalise, the spot-stealer, is sitting across from me. I genuinely wish she'd just move.

I have to admit, she looks nice today. Her brown locks are falling messily but prettily, although I hate to admit it. She's dressed in the New York uniform, wearing mostly black. Blacked out Converse, black ripped skinny jeans, black and yellow Nirvana shirt, black-and-white Letterman jacket. Gosh, even her glasses are black. Hold on—she opened her mouth to yawn. Her braces are black. Good lord, you'd think she's going to a funeral.

I went to sleep yesterday while mom was still out. I heard her come back in the apartment at like 3 in the morning. I may be wrong, because I was still mostly asleep, but I thought I heard sniffling. She was gone when I woke up this morning though, so I couldn't ask her about it.

West FaceTimed me this morning while I was getting ready. He surprised me by asking how I was doing. I told him I'm doing well. I told him I'm healing, that I'm slowly getting over it.

I was lying.

Honestly, I don't think I'll ever get over it. But, I mean, what can I do about that? All that I really can do is get up in the morning, go about my life, and try not to let it get to me that much.

The subway's stopping. I'll write at lunch, I think.

– • –

<ANELIESE>

It's morning. I'm on the subway. I'm used to Subway Dude's death glares now.

It's the six-month anniversary of the day Dustin and my mom got in that car crash. The six-month anniversary of the day my mom died. So I'm decked out in black, like a low-key funeral.

I realized that that's the first time I've actually written down why she's gone.

Now it's out, I guess I should elaborate.

Dustin was my boyfriend, and my parents loved him. He charmed the pants off of them, and everything seemed perfect between him and I.

It wasn't. I was too blinded by my infatuation for him to see that it wasn't.

He kept the tightest leash on me. Anytime he'd call me, the first thing he would ask was, "What're you doing? Where are you?" He never once started a call by asking me how I was doing.

Anytime he'd come over to my house, it'd be to get my help with a school assignment or to take pictures of us to post to social media so he could brag about being in a "committed" relationship.

Actually, once, he showed up at my house at 3 A.M. drunk out of his mind. I brought him upstairs to my room and he tried to get in my pants. He only stopped when I seriously threatened to start screaming, which would've alerted my sleeping parents to the situation.

Once while he was at my house, my mom needed to go to an important work meeting, but her car broke down when she tried to start it. My dad was working, so he couldn't take her. I couldn't drive yet. Dustin was a year older than me, and he had a car and a license. He offered to drive her.

While he was driving, he "accidentally" ran a red, and a car T-boned his. The other driver hit my mom's side of the car, and she died instantly.

As I found out after the fact, he'd been buzzed. In retrospect, I should've noticed that he was. I was too caught up in his charm to realize it, though.

By the time I realized who he really was, it was too late. He'd done his damage.

That's why I don't trust boys anymore. I may be relatively naïve, but I know enough to know that there's an abundance of Dustins in the world. I sure as hell am not gonna make that mistake again.

•

<JONATHAN>

It's lunch. That subway girl, Annalise, is acting pretty weird. Of course, I don't know her, nor do intend to get to know her, but she seems off.

She hasn't answered any questions in class, even though she's a total nerd who knows the answers to everything. (From what I've noticed.) Her head's slung low, and she's got the same look on her face that I have on mine every day: hopeless, empty eyes that are perpetually narrowed, and a completely noticeable frown, complimented by disdainful glare at anyone who does anything remotely annoying in her presence.

I wonder if her behavior yesterday and the day before was just an act. Or if today reminds her of something bad.

I nearly told myself that she and I may not be so different, but then I caught myself. As if that's possible. No one knows what I've gone through.

In other news, West is psyched for the party tomorrow. He's convinced that this year will be the year he meets the girl of his dreams. In all honesty, I hope he does. If he's been through even just a fraction of the pain I've gone through, then he deserves it.

Me, on the other hand... I don't think I'll ever find someone who could fill the void that Ethan left. Either way, I'm used to being a loner by now. I'll be perfectly okay, eventually. I think.

West is talking to the girl who's throwing the party tomorrow. It looks like he's charming her real good. She's got the look in her eye.

Ethan always said that one of the things he wanted to do most in life was find the love of his life and marry her. He can't now.

It sucks. Knowing that he could've lived to do so much.

I just saw the absolute weirdest thing. The girl who lives above me, the one who's always singing, just got up from her seat in the center of the cafeteria and went to sit next to Subway Girl. From what I can tell, Singing Girl and Subway Girl seem to be getting along. Annalise seems a bit nervous, but she's acting somewhat normal, I suppose. Key words: I suppose. I don't know what's normal for her, since, well, I don't know her.

The two girls seem to be hitting it off, and for some reason, I can't help but feel a little happy for Annalise. She's been acting like me all day. No one deserves to feel even a just a little bit as depressed as I do. Strangely, I just found myself smiling at the thought of her not being sad.

I mean, sure, I have a cold heart, but it's sure as hell not frozen.

– •

<ANELIESE>

It's lunch time. I'm alone. Subway Boy's alone a couple tables away, and he's writing in his notebook too. Copycat.

I can't seem to get my mind off of my survivor's guilt. What if, I keep asking myself. What if I'd realized who Dustin was sooner? What if my mom's car hadn't broken down that day? What if my parents hadn't liked Dustin? What if my mom was still here? What if there was anything I could've done to prevent what happened? What if, ultimately, she's gone because of me?

Those questions have themselves on repeat, streaking through my mind at warp-speed, to no end.

I can't see the end. I feel hopeless.

I can't help but think I'm probably acting like Subway Boy. If he's gone through even a fraction of the pain I've gone through, then I can understand why he is the way he is.

I just shot a glance at him, and for once, he didn't answer me with a withering glare. He gave me a sort of sympathetic look. In response, I reversed our roles and sent him my most distasteful dirty look. I would've flipped him off too, if he hadn't turned his head away so fast.

Today they served breakfast for lunch. It's the only thing that I even remotely enjoy that's on the school menu. Anytime I have syrup, it reminds me of my mom. She loved syrup. Other than putting it on things that syrup normally goes on, she'd put it on eggs, on French fries, on steak, on fried chicken, on pasta... you name it, she probably topped it with syrup.

Nevaeh invited me to sit with her again at lunch. I told her, "I'll think about it." I didn't sit with her for two reasons. One: she's got too many people surrounding her at her table. Two: I'm in a foul mood. I'll ruin the moods of everyone around me too.

After chorus, on my way to Civics, some senior spilled Coke all over my Converse, and it took every last godforsaken ounce of my restraint in me not to shove the dude up against a locker and strangle him. He was about to make a half-hearted apology, but the murderous look on my face shut him up. He hightailed it in the opposite direction not even a second later.

Something caught my eye from the Inner Rim of the cafeteria. Nevaeh stood up. Someone tried to follow her, but she made the girl sit back down. Oh lord, she locked eyes with me. She's coming in my direction. I don't know whether I'm excited or scared out of my mind.

Lord help me.

•

<JONATHAN>

I'm back on the subway. As always, Annalise is across from me. I'm not following her, for the record. I'm meeting West at the Met. We're gonna go to some museums and buy t-shirts. (Don't ask why.) I wonder if Annalise is gonna get off earlier or later than me. Well, we'll see.

There's some really posh girl who's clearly from the Upper East Side sitting next to me.

Let me explain to you how I know she's an Upper East Sider. She's talking into a brand-spanking new iPhone, the latest model. Her case is studded with sapphire stones.

Her nails are long, pointy, and also diamond-studded. Her hair is dyed platinum blonde, and it's probably permed. Her shoes are Louboutins, and you can tell because of the red soles. She's wearing a coat even though it's only September, and the tag hasn't even been ripped off yet. It's a thousand-dollar Burberry coat. Her jeans are Gucci. Her glasses are Versace.

To top it all off? On the phone, she's blabbering about how her dad wasn't able to send a driver to pick her up from school. Her exact words? "I have to ride the subway with all these peasants."

I shot a glance at Annalise to see if she was paying attention to the girl, and she was staring at her with a look that could easily be compared to that of a serial killer's.

Why do I feel such a powerful urge to find out what's bothering her?

Ok. I'm gonna do something that I'm definitely going to regret.

—

<ANELIESE>

Ok. Ok. Ok.

I'm inside the Met, in the Medieval wing, on a bench. Not in the courtyard per usual. Why, you may ask? I'll tell you why.

Jonathan. Subway Boy. He got off at the same stop as me.

You see, there was this super-annoying, super-bratty, super-posh chick on the train that I wanted to decapitate. I didn't, though, but as soon as I got to my stop, I up and bolted out of the subway.

When I got out of the platform and up onto the street, I felt a hand grab my arm. I whirled around, ready to sock the person in the gut, but lo and behold, the person touching me was Subway Boy.

I shall now narrate the events of the past hour as if I was writing a book.

I looked at Jonathan, barely holding myself back from letting my fist fly at him. He looked considerably less hostile than usual. He looked like... well, he looked normal.

He continued to stare at me, his face unreadable. In my annoyed state, I broke the silence harshly. "What?" I snapped.

Jonathan recoiled, as if I'd physically yanked him back into reality. His face looked softer than I'd ever seen it before, and that combined with what he said next threw me off guard. "Are you okay?"

I started to fidget nervously, but that in no way affected the brutality in my tone of voice. "Why the hell are you asking me that?"

He let go of my arm and scratched the back of his neck, not quite nervously, but not quite confidently either. "You were looking at that girl on the train like you wanted to butcher her."

My eyebrows shot up in disbelief, and I'm sure my facial expression was the epitome of it. "Remind you of anyone?" I queried sarcastically.

Jonathan let out a short and seemingly frustrated breath. "Look, subway girl. I've been through a lot. I have a right to look a people the way I do, okay? You, though, seem to be the picture of basically everything pure in the world. Suddenly, today, you're the most emo person in the world. In short, you're like me today. I wouldn't wish my feelings on anyone else, so I just wanted to know if you were okay. Is that too much?"

By the end of his rant, his voice had elevated drastically, to the point where passersby were looking at us in a concerned fashion. As I replayed his words over in my mind, I softened up. If he's telling the truth about having been through a lot, then I can get where he's coming from.

I sighed, feeling a bit tired. Defeated, I guess. "Sorry," I began. The tone of my voice projected my feelings of defeat. "Quite frankly, I'm not okay. I'm far from it. You say you've been through a lot? Well, you're not the only one, subway boy. I have too, and I'm not okay."

Without waiting for a response, I whirled around and stalked off. Behind me, Jonathan called, "Wait!", but I kept walking.

It's as if I had super-ears. Despite the many people walking around us, I was tuned into his (and only his) footsteps. They threatened to overtake me if I didn't speed up, so that's exactly what I did. I accelerated down the street, but my plan to escape him was brought to a halt when the walking signal turned red.

I breathed out a huff of annoyance as Jonathan caught up to me and stood himself 0.2 feet away from me. From beside me, he said, "When you say you've been through a lot, what do you mean by that?"

The signal conveniently turned at that moment, allowing me to cross the street. As soon as I got to the other side, I slowed down, waiting for Jonathan to speed up, trying to reach me. When he did, I took an abrupt left as he continued straight, in a jog.

I took this brief opportunity to break into a sprint, dodging people left and right, trying to make it to the end of the block so that I could for sure lose Jonathan.

I learned the hard way that although he doesn't look like the brightest, the guy sure is cunning.

Somehow, he knew exactly what I was up to.

When I got to the end of that block, I turned right, heading north. The most horrible sight awaited me when I got to the end of that block.

Jonathan was leaning against the corner of the residential building, looking straight at me with his piercing amber eyes. I'd been sprinting at a fairly fast pace, so I concluded that he'd have had to outpace me in order to intercept me.

The worst part is that he hadn't even broken a sweat. He wasn't panting, his chest wasn't heaving, and he looked like outpacing a former track champion (did I mention?) was something he did on an everyday basis.

I trotted up to him, still in no mood to talk with him. "Why can't you leave me alone?"

Jonathan shrugged nonchalantly, his tone of voice mirroring mine. "I need to know why you're not okay."

A loud groan escaped me. "Ugh! Nosy much?"

It seemed that my words somehow strengthened his resolve, because he stopped leaning on the building and stood up straight, towering over me with his 5'11" frame. "Subway girl, I'm going to find out, whether you like it or not."

I tried shoving him away, but his chest was rock-solid. His physique was too lean. He didn't budge. "If I want to tell you, I will," I started, exasperated. "But I don't want to tell you. So back off, subway boy."

He just wouldn't take no for an answer. I feel like what he said next was his last resort. "If you tell me why you're in such a bad mood today, I'll tell you why I'm in such a bad mood every day."

I'll have to admit. That was the most tempting offer I've ever received in my life.

However, by some miracle too powerful to describe, my resolve held.

"No," I stated firmly. I looked him dead in his gorgeous eyes, challenging him, daring him to refute my decision.

After about a minute of me actually being a confident person for once, Jonathan backed down. He sighed, seeming to be as exhausted as me. "Where are you going?" He asked tiredly. "At least let me take you there."

I briefly contemplated whether I should or not in my mind, but I ultimately decided it wouldn't do any harm. I told him I was on my way to the Met, and he said he was too.

We walked side by side for another block, then we made a left. When we were about halfway down that block, we heard this tremendous crash from behind us, and he both turned around simultaneously to see what'd happened.

An suv had T-boned a taxi.

Suddenly, every single feeling I had from six months ago came rushing back, and before I even realized it, I was on the ground clutching my knees, sobbing.

I guess I pegged Jonathan for this heartless maniac, but now, I can see that he's actually very much human. The first thing he did, very sensibly, was call 911. As soon as he was done with that, he crouched beside me and put an arm around my shoulders. His thumb was massaging circles into the side of my shoulder as he asked, "Hey, what's wrong?"

Through my tears, and with an unsteady voice, I replied, "That's why I am the way I am today." I pointed to the car wreck, keeping my answer intentionally vague.

He seemed to understand that I didn't want to say anything else, and he sat there with me as I cried.

As much as I hate myself for admitting it, his presence was soothing. Dad's always working now to be able to provide for us, so he's not there to comfort me as often as he used to be before we moved. I don't have any friends, so essentially I've had to deal with everything by myself. Jonathan definitely helped. Knowing that he'd been through something tragic too kinda helped, because even though I don't know exactly what happened to him, I know that he knows how it feels.

I cried for about seven, maybe eight minutes before I got myself together and stood up. Jonathan wordlessly got up, and he followed me closely as we started walking again.

He ruined the whole thing for himself when the Met came into view. "Why did you cry when you saw the accident?" He asked carefully.

I shot him a harsh look, but it only pushed him to try harder. "Seriously. I've been through some crap in my life too, you can tell me."

With a scoff, I answered, "As if I would tell a stranger—whose favorite thing to do is glare at me—about the reason I was crying."

Jonathan's face hardened. "Look, subway girl-"

"Aneliese," I interjected.

He shook his head dismissively. "Aneliese, whatever. Like I said before, with all the things that I've been through, I believe I have a right to look at the world the way I do, okay?"

We were stopped at a crosswalk in front of the Met. Even though the signal said we could cross the street, we were stood there, arguing.

"Look, subway boy-"

"Jonathan," he interjected, the same way I had.

I rolled my eyes and kept going. "Look, Jonathan, I don't care what you've been through. Because whatever it is, a lot of people out there have been through more than you. And they go about life normally, with smiles and small talk, unlike you. Okay? You're not the only one in the world who's in pain. So start acting like it."

His eyes narrowed at my rant. He answered with his own set of strong words. "Aneliese. I get that life has probably given you hell, too. And even though I don't know you, I feel bad that you have to go through the same feelings as me, because I know firsthand that they suck. Now I come along, trying to give you a shoulder to cry on, and you throw it back at my face. You know what? That's fine. At least I don't hide behind a mask of fake happiness every day like everyone else does. At least I'm not a coward like you."

His words stung, even though I knew for a fact that they were wrong. I recoiled, and I could see something in his eyes that looked apologetic, even regretful for his words. Still, he stood his ground, towering over me, demanding me to talk back to him.

I didn't know what to do. My head was empty of words for the first time since he spoke to me near the subway station. In fact, I didn't know I'd spoken until I heard words being said with my voice. "You're wrong. A brave person is someone who keeps a good attitude in spite of the pain. A brave person is someone like me. A coward is someone who gives into the pain, who lets it change who they are. You're the coward, Jonathan."

Without even checking if the crosswalk signal was red, I turned and bolted towards the Met. When I got into the courtyard, I walked straight towards a horde of people so I could lose Jonathan. Through the bodies that I was meshed in between, I caught a glimpse of him. He still stood at the crosswalk, looking... pained. His eyes roamed the courtyard, presumably searching for me.

While Jonathan's head was turned, I escaped from the group of people and sprinted for the entrance. I always carry $50 on me for... well, for just in case, and although I would've preferred not to spend money on going inside, I felt like I had to in order to remove myself even further from Jonathan.

Before I went inside, I cast a glance behind me to see where he was. He was crossing the street, still looking pretty depressed. It was when he started walking towards the entrance that I turned and hightailed it to security.

Once I was past it, I saw Jonathan entering the building, and I turned and speed-walked through the corridors of the museum until I found a set of stairs. Every ten minutes I've gotten up and gone to a different part of the museum, trying to avoid Jonathan.

It's worked so far. I haven't seen a trace of him. I finished my homework already and it's 5:42. Arguing with Jonathan on the way here are up some time.

Anyway! Let me tell you about the other big event of my day. At lunch, Nevaeh came and sat with me! She asked how I was doing, and unlike Jonathan, she didn't pry too much into my life. She managed to make me feel comfortable after a few minutes and we carried a really nice conversation. To me it was reminiscent of the ones I used to have with Angie before she turned on me. Somehow, instead of making me bitter, that just put me more at ease.

She invited me to a sleepover tonight, and so I called dad to see if he'd let me. He said that he wouldn't mind, because he's working late again and he doesn't want me to feel alone. So, I'm sleeping at Angie's... I mean, I'm sleeping at Nevaeh's tonight.

Darn you, Angie. Force of habit is making me remember you more than I want to.

Anyways. I think I'll start typing landmarks in Manhattan into my phone now rather than writing them down. Although I can write while skateboarding, it's way easier to type. So I'll do that instead from now on.

— •

<JONATHAN>

I'm back home now.

I regret it, but at the same time, I don't.

She's different than I thought she'd be. So much different.

After we got off the subway, I caught up to her out on the street, right next to the stairs going down into the platform. Up close, she was so pretty, and I hadn't really payed attention to that before. Her eyes were brown like milk chocolate, and they were so mesmerizing. Her dark brown hair was so curly, and so pretty, all I felt like doing was touching it.

She snapped me out of my reverie when she snarled, "What?"

I tumbled back into reality, and somehow, the old me started talking instead of the usual, guarded me. "Are you okay?"

She looked askance, but she gathered herself enough to snap, "Why the hell are you asking me that?"

At that moment, I became aware that my hand was still on her arm. I removed it, and weirdly, I ended up scratching the back of my neck, which isn't something that I usually do. "You were looking at that girl on the train like you wanted to butcher her."

Her face was the dictionary definition of disbelief when she gave me her sarcastic response. "Remind you of anyone?"

When she said that, I felt some weird anger rise within me, and I was fighting hard to keep it down. Like, she doesn't know anything about me! She can't just assume I look at the world like that for no reason.

I let out a huff of annoyance before I responded, "Look, subway girl. I've been through a lot. I have a right to look a people the way I do, okay? You, though, seem to be the picture of basically everything pure in the world. Suddenly, today, you're the most emo person in the world. In short, you're like me today. I wouldn't wish my feelings on anyone else, so I just wanted to know if you were okay. Is that too much?"

By the end of my outburst, my voice had risen louder than it had in a long time. People around us were looking at us funny. I tuned them out and focused on Annalise. Slowly, her expression softened, and she looked exhausted.

Hell, if she's been through even a fraction as much as I have, I totally understand why that exhausted look was on her face.

"Sorry," she began. "Quite frankly, I'm not okay. I'm far from it. You say you've been through a lot? Well, you're not the only one, subway boy. I have too, and I'm not okay."

Her response, I don't know, it kinda hurt.

I can never admit that I'm not okay. If she can, then something's seriously wrong.

She'd already turned and walked off, and I made a total cliche of myself when I yelled, "Wait!"

She didn't turn around. I started walking after her, but she must've heard me, because all she did was pick up the pace. I unexpectedly saw her stop, but I realized why when I saw the red crosswalk signal.

I sidled up next to her, a little less that a foot apart from her. "When you say you've been through a lot, what do you mean by that?" I ask, rather nosily. I don't know why, but I feel this weird urge to know why she's sad today. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe she has been through something as bad as me.

The signal turned, at the most inconvenient moment in the history of crosswalk signals. It caught me off guard, and Annalise took the opportunity to dash across the street. After a beat, I went after her, going as fast as I could in between all the people. Annalise seemed to be slowing down a bit, so I sped up, hoping to catch up to her.

Smart girl. She turned left at the last possible moment, and I didn't course-correct in time and ended up continuing straight.

I backtracked a bit to see how far she was down the street. She was full-on springing, already a quarter of the way down the sidewalk. I knew that to catch up with her, I'd have to intercept her at some point before she got to wherever she was going.

I looked at the street in front of me. It was mostly empty now, and if I wanted to start sprinting too, then I'd only have to dodge a few people. So I did. While I was sprinting, I remembered why I was in Manhattan in the first place. I'm meeting West at the Met.

So while I was sprinting, I figured that other than Central Park and the Guggenheim, there's not really any big attractions within five or ten blocks of here. All three of the places I just named are essentially in the same place, so I worked out that if I just kept heading towards there, I should intercept Annalise at some point.

My theory was true. At the corner of the block I'd just traversed, I stopped and waited to see if this was the route she'd taken to get to her destination. I saw her speeding towards me, looking rather smug. Needless to say, that smug look fell off her face pretty fast when she saw me leaning against the apartment building.

She stormed up to me, looking like the epitome of the word "annoyed". "Why can't you leave me alone?"

I wasn't even bothered by her exasperated tone. In fact, it amused me. I shrugged and answered her with the same intonation in my voice. "I need to know why you're not okay."

She groaned loudly. Her tone was more harsh now. "Ugh! Nosy much?"

The way she persistently dodged my questions only made me more curious. I leaned off of the wall and stood up straight, towering over her. "Subway girl," I started, determined to get the truth out of her, "I'm going to find out, whether you like it or not."

She must've been bothered or intimidated (or something) by the way I was standing over her, because she tried to shove me away. To no avail, I might mention. I still go to the gym a few times a week. It helps take my mind off of things.

"If I want to tell you, I will, but I don't want to, so back off, subway boy," she stated. She sounded firm, yet exhausted.

Now I'll admit, I've never been good at negotiating. I tried convincing Ethan not to do what he did. He did anyway, and he's gone now. I tried to tell my mom that I could get a job and pull my own weight after dad left, and she didn't budge. Hell, I couldn't even get my own dad to stay. So what I said next was my last resort. "If you tell me why you're in such a bad mood today, I'll tell you why I'm in such a bad mood every day."

I regretted it almost as soon as I said it, assuming that she'd jump on the opportunity to know why I'm so sour. When she said, "no," I felt so, so relieved, and yet so, so defeated.

She was looking me in my eyes, her chocolate eyes daring me to refute her negative answer to my offer. I already knew I wouldn't, but just to seem like I wanted to, I stayed put, staring right back at her, for another minute.

I sighed and backed away from her a little bit, feeling as tired as I guess she was. "Where are you going? At least let me take you there." I may be cold, but my mother always taught me to be a gentleman. Besides, she's new to New York. When you're not paying attention, it's easy to get lost in the grid of streets.

She hesitated for a moment before answering, "I'm going to the Met to do my homework."

I nodded. "I'm meeting a friend there. C'mon." I motioned for her to follow me, and to my surprise, she obliged. We walked in silence, side by side, for like, another block and a half.

Then something... interesting... happened.

Behind us, two cars got into an accident. Annalise and I turned to look, and almost as soon as she saw what'd happened, she started weeping. Like, hardcore sobbing. She was on the ground sitting with her knees curled up to her chest within seconds.

As much as I wanted to comfort her immediately, I knew the better thing to do was call 911. Which I did. If I'd known that two people had called before me, then I would've just skipped straight to trying to comfort Annalise.

I knelt down next to her, instinctually putting an arm around her shoulders. After my dad left, I was the only one there to comfort my mom, and she always told me that I was naturally good at it. Gently, I rubbed circles into Annalise's shoulder with my thumb.

I didn't realize how compassionate I sounded until the words left my lips. "Hey, what's wrong?"

She picked her head up off of her knees and shakily pointed to the car wreck. Her voice was unsteady and trembling as she replied. "That's why I am the way I am today," she told me vaguely.

Annalise kept crying, and I didn't want to push her while she was, so I kept quiet, staying beside her as she wept. She kept doing so for close to ten minutes. After she got herself together, she stood up, and I followed suit, still staying silent.

We walked together wordlessly for another few blocks, until the Met came into view. Somehow, I got the feeling that if I didn't ask her now, she might never tell me. At the same time, I didn't want to push my luck and make her want to stay away from me. Either way, my more curious side won out. "Why did you cry when you saw the accident?" I inquired hesitantly.

Her only response was a glare, so I persisted. "Seriously. I've been through some crap in my life too, you can tell me."

This time, though, Annalise did give me an answer. However, it wasn't the answer I wanted, and it struck an extremely sensitive nerve within me. "As if I would tell a stranger—whose favorite thing to do is glare at me—about the reason I was crying," she scoffed.

I felt my countenance twist into a scowl. "Look, subway girl—"

She cut me off. "Annalise."

I waved her off and continued. "Annalise, whatever. Like I said before, with all the things that I've been through, I believe I have a right to look at the world the way I do, okay?"

People around us were throwing us dirty looks, and although I didn't turn my head to check, I assumed we were blocking traffic. I didn't care though. This girl was a mystery that I wanted to figure out. Not only that, but she was a mystery that'd just insulted me.

She began her argument the same way I had. "Look, subway boy—"

Since she copied me, I copied her. "Jonathan," I cut in.

Annalise didn't even seem phased by me at this point. She rolled her eyes defiantly and kept talking. "Look, Jonathan, I don't care what you've been through, because whatever it is, a lot of people out there have been through more than you. And they go about life normally, with smiles and small talk, unlike you. Okay? You're not the only one in the world who's in pain. So start acting like it."

Her words hurt. So I impulsively, and rather imprudently, responded in kind. "Annalise. I get that life has probably given you hell, too. And even though I don't know you, I feel bad that you have to go through the same feelings as me, because I know firsthand that they suck. Now I come along, trying to give you a shoulder to cry on, and you throw it back at my face. You know what? That's fine. At least I don't hide behind a mask of fake happiness every day like everyone else does. At least I'm not a coward like you."

My words stung her the same way hers stung me. I could tell because she reeled back as if I'd physically slapped her. When I saw her do that, I wished that I could take back what I'd said. Even still, I stood my ground, determined to make her cave and tell me something.

I didn't expect her to say what she said next. "You're wrong," she started, her voice soft. "A brave person is someone who keeps a good attitude in spite of the pain. A brave person is someone like me. A coward is someone who gives into the pain, who lets it change who they are. You're the coward, Jonathan."

She left me feeling so shook didn't notice her turn and run across the street. When I recovered from my stupor, I realized that she wasn't there and I immediately turned and started scanning the nearby crowds for her. Since she'd said she was on her way to the Met, I concentrated my focus on the museum's courtyard.

After looking for about a minute, I still couldn't find her, so I gave up and crossed the street. West said he'd meet me inside, in the closest exhibit to the gift shop. I didn't know where that was, but I supposed I'd find out.

I trudged up the stairs into the Met. The store is just beyond the Great Hall, and Medieval Art is just past that, so I sat on a bench in there and waited for West.

He came about fifteen minutes after I sat down. His goal with the museum apparel thing was to make me seem uncool, so of course, I agreed.

Three hours later, I had a sweatshirt and a t-shirt from the Met, a t-shirt from the Guggenheim, two shirts and two hoodies from the Museum of Natural History, and three shirts from the Freedom Tower.

I didn't enjoy shopping with West much, though. The entire time, Annalise was on my mind.

I need to sleep....

• – – •

A/N

So this is the longest chapter of any chapter I've ever written, ever. 6,000+ words!!

As always, feedback and constructive criticism is welcome!!

You might've noticed that Jonathan always spells Aneliese's name wrong, it's because she's never told him how to spell it, for one. For two, the way it's spelled is very unique. I don't think very many people would get it right on their own. 

Let me know what you think!! Whose side of the story did you like more? Jo's or Ana's??

~Alex