I'm Clay.

I see no reason to say hi to you if your just going to walk away in a few seconds, but for the time your here, I suppose it would at least be nice to be called by my name.

Maybe you'd stay longer if I have a little backstory on myself.

I'm in high school, one of the many stupid 10th graders to attend this year. Nothing really special.

I have no friends, so my life is kept sorta mundane, and anyone who talks to me loses interest in me really quick. It's not their fault. I don't expect people to stick around. Maybe that makes me seem kinda stand-off-ish? Or awkward?

My parents are talkative enough, but they're really loud, and I'm more of an extrovert that prefers the quiet.

That's why, in my first week of school, when a short brunette boy ran up to me with a far too wide smile and asking questions about my life, I was insanely uncomfortable.

He was nice, yeah. And he seemed like an alright friend, sure. But he couldn't be my friend. Not going to happen.

I knew that right away, and I thought I for sure made that point clear.

So why did he keep coming back?

He always arrives in the morning at my locker with a huge smile on his face, looking at me kindly with his opposite colored eyes. I never smile back, at most I roll my eyes.

He'll walk with me to class, even if he's not in it, talking the whole way. I'll admit that sometimes I listen to him, but I always forget what he's said by the end of the day. All k know is that he's really nice. Kind. Sweet. And totally not my type.

He's loud. Like, his personality is. He makes it obvious that he likes blue as his shirt every day is that color. It's clear that he's very quick and loves running; he's always rushing everywhere, and his bright white running shoes aren't hard to miss. He's clearly British, always stumbling over his words to correct his English slang. It's kinda funny. Borderline cute. But not interesting enough.

It's been a couple weeks since school started, and the excitement he used to greet me with has kinda simmered down.

I can't lie and say that I didn't miss it, but if no one asked about it, I would never admit to the fact.

He still meets me at my locker in the mornings, as often as he can, but there have been a couple days when he hasn't come by. Those are the loneliest days.

He doesn't talk as much, and I don't really know how to start up a conversation like he does. He's quieter, the shoelaces of his running shoes now dragging on the dirty floor, untied and collecting dust. He's started avoiding subjects that his English slang gets in the way of, and I kinda miss it.

I miss it, even when it feels wrong that I do.

Why does it feel wrong? Why should it when I was the one intent on pushing him away.

Why did it feel wrong to miss the things this boy used to do when I didn't even know his name?

This might be fun, or the storyline might die.

Sorry, I've been busy lately and dealing with a lot of things. This is short, but I hope you guys enjoyed it anyway.

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