The Small Girl

When I was 13, I met my best friend. Her name was Sandra. It all started on my 1st day of school. I grabbed an apple from the fridge quietly. I didn’t wanna wake up my dad. He would start yelling at me for waking him up when I know that he works 2 jobs and pays for our living.

I walked to school that day, passing busy neighbors that were cleaning their yards or getting ready for work. “Hey James.” They’d say. I’d nod my head slightly towards them. As I entered the school yards, I passed the millions of cliques. People looking slightly similar, but not the same. I was alone. No one ever asks me to hang out with them. I thought. I sat on the grass, lacing up my black timberlands. Two boys passed by me, staring like I was some sorta alien. Staring is so damn annoying. Suddenly, I saw a girl drawing quietly. She looked like she was looking for something to draw. I sat next to her. “Hey, I’m James. Can you draw me?” I said tersely. “I’m Cassandra. If you don’t mind.” She said. And She took out her pen.
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