It's not exactly a beautiful Saturday morning as I bike along the 25th street, past New Horizon's Library. It's where I met Mara, four years ago, a few months after Dad's accident.

We lived at 23rd street at the time, less than one block away from the library, which made it a perfect spot to read illustrated books when I had some free time, or not. Not that I had many options available at the time. Now I can't help feeling that as a twelve-year old, I was probably too old to read them.

I suspect it was just my way to keep my grief at bay. It didn't last for a long time though, because the following year the pain caught up with me. And for every tear I hadn't cried, I saved five to weep later. I don't know what I would have done if Mara wasn't there at the time.

It seems like it's been ages since I last entered those thick doors of glass leading to the small hall that gives to the library's reception. I realize that the once bright yellow writing on the façade of the building reading Horizon is replaced by a more professional-looking one, bright orange in color and made of metal sculpted in cursive.

I wonder what has changed in the interior.

The sky rumbles. I haven't seen the sun since this morning and from the way the sky is darkening, I can tell that it will probably rain later in afternoon.

It's cold and I seem to be the only biker around the three blocks from home to here. I don't mind it though. If anything, I prefer to be alone when I am feeling out of place like now.

In normal days Mara would be here to keep me afloat, but since the math test she hasn't been looking that great.

I guess this is what I get for relying too much on people to be happy. I left home thinking I just wanted to get some air, but it becomes clear that what I thought was boredom was just sadness disguised.

You can't help but realizing that when you've already biked three blocks in the cold, but you still feel like you're choking.

I can deal with Lia— I have done that for a long time,

not having many friends at school,

faking confidence around the few people I talk to,

but how can I keep it together when my only real friend has gone silent on me? No calling, no picking up the phone or replying to my texts for the past three days.

It's obvious something is bugging her. After helping me deal with my shit so many times, the least she could do is let me help her too. So I can be useful in my life for once.

At this point, I'm biking with no specific direction. I know that I should stop brewing on my misery and pay attention to where I'm going. My goal is to help people and not cause them more problems after all.

I stop in front of a traffic light flashing red. When the light shines green, two droplets of water splash on my cheek and jacket.

I turn around the roundabout and quicken my strokes on the pedals, but when I'm in the middle of 21st street, it's already raining buckets on me.

A car is honking impatiently behind me as I tug my bicycle by the handles and pull it to the pavement. It's always bugged me how car drivers are so impatient with any other people who dare use the road: pedestrians, cyclists... you name it.

It's not like they weren't already going faster than anyone else. But I would rather get home washed down than not getting home at all. So, I get out of the car's way as quickly as I can, watching the car speed away. Like it's not even raining, since it's so cold and uncomfortable inside the fucking Mercedes.

My coat is already soaked. At this point, I'm just waiting for Cindy to somehow show up and help me get out if this. But even Cindy has been a bit moody lately, even though he finally helped me get this bicycle functional again. It's like the whole world just went to shit.

I keep striding along the pavement and when I get past four or five houses, I hear calls behind me. It's not after I've walked ahead a few more seconds that I realize it's my name someone's calling.

My hoodie is partially concealing my view and the water dripping down my eyes isn't helping. He's making signs with his hands...She's making sign with her hands?

Turning to see better while trying to clear my vision from my soaked hoodie causes the handles to slip from my grasp. The bycicle slumps on the pavement and I sigh.

The rain is calming and the guy is coming in my direction. Yes, it's definitely a guy, but I only realize I know him when he's standing right in front of me with a black umbrella. It's Rafael. He tries to help me erect my bicycle while keeping the umbrella above our heads, but I wave him off silently.

"What are you doing here?"

I can't tell whether his smile is friendly or if it's meant to be mocking. The kind of mocking smile that makes you realize that aside from being incapable of getting a B in math, you're stupid enough to go biking under a shitty weather.

"Not in a mood to talk?" he says, then after a bridge of silence, he continues, "you're okay, Jay?" At this point, at least his annoying smile is gone.

"I'm fine. Why do you ask?" I'm not looking his way as I speak. The plan was to be alone, not get a shower, then be bothered by a nerd.

I'm not sure if I'm afraid of him or if my eyes will give away too much information. Well, that's what they say it could happen in the movies and novels. Although, if I'm honest, I have never been good at reading people's gazes.

"You're soaking wet." He seems to be measuring his words now. He looks at my hands for a long time as I straighten my bike. "Wait! You're not biking home under the rain, right?"

His eyes look at little bit sly now. I'm going to attempt to read him: so, there's that, plus the changing tones of voice he'd displayed so far. What can I conclude from all this?

"I'd rather get going before it gets worse," I say already getting on my bike.

"Wait! Don't be a dummy," he says with a bit of humor. Does this guy go to the acting club once we're done with reciting poetry every Thursday? The way he shifts emotions seems too real to be genuine. I don't remember this about him in middle school. Then again, he was the shyest person in the entire school back then.

He's definitely kept that calm factor about him, but he's changed. The way he speaks, and just the fact that he is now the head of a club in a school with hundreds of students, spoke for themselves. He's not the same shy Raf with the square eyes who broke Lindsay's heart before she moved out of town, leaving Mara for me only.

"I live three houses down the street if you'd rather wait for the rain to stop." He runs his gaze along the houses behind him. "I mean, if you don't wanna get bronchitis, or worse, judging by the way some drivers drive around the corner."

I give him a faint smile. He understands and begins leading the way to his house. I follow him.

I regret my decision as soon as I am standing in the small entry hall of his house. He hands me his umbrella, taking control of the handles of my bycicle. He adjusts its position. 

"I'll take it to the garage. You can stay here until I'm back or go say hello to my parents. Do as you wish." I don't know why he is whispering.

I can tell he knows I would choose the first option. I stand next to the porch. And when he comes back, he leads me to the living room where his father is watching the replay of the town's team basketball game.

Rafael introduces me to his father as his friend, which I find strange.

The only thing his father said is, "Well, welcome." Just to get rid of us and get back to watching the game.

As we leave the living room, Rafael whispers, "He wouldn't be this excited if he knew that we didn't qualify to the national league," he snorts, "he didn't check his phone since this morning. No spoilers allowed." This time his tone is mocking.

I feel ridiculous because I'm still trying to read everything he does or say.

We pass by the kitchen where his mother is cooking lunch, emitting a mixture of scents that scream oriental to me. She seems pleased, judging by the way she smiles at my sight. And even though it draws wrinkles on her face, she still looks youthful and attractive somehow.

"Show him the bathroom, Rafa. And lend him some clothes," she says before getting back to her cooking. I look at Rafael then back to his mother. Her hair is a clear blonde. Nothing like Rafael's.

When we are upstairs, Rafael leads me to the bathroom and shows me where to put my wet clothes: an empty basket, a light blue in color that matches the bathrooms' furniture.

It's only when I unbuckle my belt, leaving my wet pants to hang at the height of my knees that I realize that the sheet with my poem is inside my pocket. Jord's poem to me. I can feel my temperature rise suddenly.

I am praying that water hasn't gotten that far but when I pull my hand out of my pocket the folded paper comes out wrapped and damp. I'm able to unfold it and spread it on the edge of the sink, struggling to move with my pants at the height of my knees as I lean against the porcelain that layers the sink.

Spreading the sheet above the sink causes me to tear the top corner. "Shit." I might have as well have torn the skin of my palm. I would have been just as painful. Some words in it are barely readable anymore because of the water.

Using a fan to dry it would help, or at least save what's left of the poem. But only if I am able to collect this from the sink without tearing it even more.

I try to blow on the damp paper a few times before some sense comes back to me. I feel stupid when I see myself in the mirror. The paper is already fastening to the porcelain of the sink. There is no use in fighting it, really.

Trying to move away from the sink, I stumble because of pants restricting my movements and fall. I get up quickly.

At this point, the door creaks open and I turn around to see Rafael staring at me wide-eyed, his mouth hanging open.

I'm paralyzed there, not being able to decide if I do something about the wet paper still stuck to the sink or if I pull my pants up to my waist.

"Rafael, what are you doing?" I say through gritted teeth.