After that, I began to volunteer to help my father out at the cemetery more. In fact, the very next day, I was riding with my dad over there again, and he wasn't questioning my actions. He wanted all the help he could get. My arms were too tense with excitement to have the slightest possibility of seeing the girl there again.
I didn't know what was wrong with me; was I just hoping she would come cry again? Did I want her to be depressed all the time? I didn't have the time to figure my own thoughts out, because as soon as we came close to the old rickety iron fence I took off after my rake.
That was my official job; I raked up the small annoying things that fell off of the trees during early summer and any other residue that kept the cemetery from looking professional.
But the thing was that the place still looked shabby just because of how old it was and how few people actually buried their families here. Dad said the age gave it a 'rustic' look. Looks like we're getting the real deal, because the iron fence looks like it might rust off any day.
I let my rake clatter to the ground momentarily, searching through the gravestones. How would I know which one was the girl's grandfather? I racked my brain for some visual to come up. I knew it was more of a squared shape, and it was fairly plain. Pink flowers. She had pink flowers surrounding the grave, or maybe more of a peach-ish shade.
It wasn't all that hard to find since the cemetery's size wasn't exactly large. And there I sat just viewing the stone, square and unimpressive and seemingly impersonal. Or maybe it was so basic that it was personal, because no stranger would view a basic gravestone and give it a second thought. Unless you were interested in the girl that had been there the day before, crying her heart out.
And yes, the past me in this very scene of the story was already intrigued by Hannah Alexander. As much as past Leo hated to admit it, he was falling head over heels for her after ten minutes of watching her sob over her grandfather's grave.
And that's when I figured out Hannah's last name; Alexander. At the time it seemed like important information, considering I didn't even know her first name. I picked up my rake again, but just kind of lazily propped it underneath my elbows, my eyes scanning the gravestone over and over again, wondering what kind of person didn't deserve more than a plain gravestone to tell their personalities.
And that's when I began to freak out, because at that moment, someone had touched my arm from behind. I really had hoped it was my dad, but it surely wasn't.
There stood the girl, biting her lip and scanning me, probably judging whether to be afraid of me or to just ignore me.
"Um, hi," I muttered, ashamed and very afraid.
"Yes, hello?" Hannah had asked, as if waiting for an explanation as to why I was staring intensely at her grandfather's grave. Her eyes were hazel, but closer to green than any other color. My awkward teenage self looked away much to quickly and looked at the gravestone, tapping the bird engraved in it before regretting it. I mean, this was another person's grave stone, for goodness sakes.
"I like the... pattern," I cringed as I said it.
"Yes, very nice. My papa's favorite," she said wistfully, bending down beside me to look at it. "A painted bunting," she added, but I was no longer observing the painted bunting.
I couldn't believe it. I had escaped without getting in trouble from the girl. Her shoulder-length brown hair whipped out of her face as she stood back up, and I did as well. Then I just stood there like a guilty penguin (that's the strangest simile I've ever used) and tried to seem apologetic for kinda stalking her grandfather.
"I'm not going to even ask why you were really over here, alright?" she kind of half smiled at me.
"A-alright," I cleared my throat as my voice cracked. But the thing was that it wasn't alright, because now I could never explain to her and she would think I was some weird elderly stalker or grave robber.
"Well... Maybe I'll just explain anyways," I said, mostly because I wanted to appear normal to her. But then I realized my explanation was not exactly normal. I went with it anyways.
"I saw you over here yesterday and you seemed..." Disheartened and broken came to mind, "sad. Like, really sad. So I just kinda..."
"Snooped around?" she inquired, although she didn't seem angry about it. If anything, she was amused. Gosh, this girl.
"Well, it's cute that you care. What's your job, are you the official 'leaf raker?'"
I smiled at the word 'cute.'
"Yes... No. Sure," I finished, doing the awkward 'my back itches' move.
"Do you have a pen? Wait, you know what? Nevermind," she muttered, focused on a pad of sticky notes and a pen. She was writing furiously, and my heart was beating out of my chest as I looked at it. I had thought it was her phone number until I looked at it closer when she gave it to me. My heart calmed as I read it.

"Sometimes you need to quit the mediocre things to experience the amazing,"

     I swear my smile got so wide that my eyes were buried beneath a layer of cheek skin. That girl, I thought to myself. This was much better than a phone number, although I definitely would've taken that too.
"Oh, and I'm gonna visit him every day, so don't let me catch you stalking him again, alright?" she added, walking away as I nodded. I meant to ask her for her name, but I knew she would eventually say. At the time being I was just happy. That's the best word I could use to describe the situation. Just plain happy.