VALERIE

"Um, hello."

I look up from doodling at the back of my notebook; I've been rewriting those graffiti messages all day. Once again, it's Gina Fortner.

I know she has come for homework. But I realise I haven't done it. That's crazy. I always do my homework.

"I didn't do it," I tell her, "You'll have to ask someone else."

Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head. "I'm not here for that. I don't want a reputation for asking for homework help."

I furrow my eyebrows. Why else would she approach me?

"You know Fraya Lynn? You guys used to be best friends at school, right?" She asks. I immediately stiffen, and look back down at my notebook. I begin to go over the letters that I've already done.

"Please go away. I don't talk to Fraya anymore."

"I figured that. She wants to talk to you, though."

I shut my book, and put it in my bag. It will be an hour until my next lesson. I can't head over to Marjorie's since she'll be busy at this time. But maybe I could go back to that park. I stand up, swinging my bag over my shoulder.

"She's outside the common room. You should give her a chance."

"Don't tell me what to do." I snap at her. My situation with Fraya was none of her business. Gina had always been like this...sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. Me and Fraya never used to like her. It was just unfortunate we took the same class.

I look around. There is only one large entrance out of this room. I'll just have to try and avoid her anyway. I walk towards the entrance, keeping my head down and trying to walk quickly towards the staircase.

"Valerie."

The voice is behind me, and I stop walking, not turning around. I haven't heard that voice in a long time. It's almost exactly the same.

"Can we at least talk?"

"Stop trying to pull me back in, Fraya. We're not friends anymore."

"I know that. But I think there was a lot of misunderstandings between us, so-"

I turn around to finally face her. She's taller. Slimmer. She used to be way smaller than me. She's grown out her hair, and it's platinum now. Platinum blonde. I remember her saying she always wanted to do something with her hair after I dyed mine. It looks good on her. She's wearing a forest green cropped poncho with a long white dress underneath.

She hasn't changed that mythical style that she's always loved. I used to hate it.

"Stop dressing like a fairy all the time, and wear human clothes for once." I always used to say to her. She'd been into weird spiritual stuff since the day I'd met her.

"Oh so you think only fairies are allowed to dress like aesthetic Queens? Sorry to burst your bubble, Vals. I dress in what makes me feel comfortable." She'd say everything with such confidence. And it made me grow to eventually love everything she wore and everything she did.

I'm snapped back to the present when I hear Fraya chuckle nervously.

She looks relieved that I have finally turned to her, and her bright pink lips curve into a tiny smile, but I stop her.

"There were no misunderstandings," I say, feeling a tiny pierce in my chest,"I don't want to talk. I've moved on. You should too." And then, I don't let her say anything else. I walk quickly down the stairs, and out of the college.

*******************************

My eyes are stinging. I blink back tears, as I stride down the street toward the park, the wind slapping back my hair.

She looks different. But also the same. She was always the prettier one of the two of us-she got a lot more attention. Although, we were both pretty popular back then.

I'd be lying to myself if I said I didn't miss that time. But I don't want her in my life anymore. And she should stop trying to get back in.

The park is empty right now. Everyone is either at school or work. I sit on one of the benches, still trying to fight back tears. I manage to not let them fall. I lean back, and stare at the wall which is a few feet away from me.

If you're really someone trying to communicate with me, you need to do a better job. I could do with some company right about now. I can't go crying to Marjorie when she's working. And my parents and basically anyone else is out of the question. So you, whoever you are. Please do something more.

I stare longer at the wall, and of course, nothing happens. I can literally imagine the tumbleweed. I feel stupid. I let out a loud groan. What is wrong with me? I'm letting myself get so curious about the dumbest, most inconvenient things, because I have nothing better to do. So many things are just taking the life out of me.

I close my eyes, leaning my head against the bench. I hope this year will be over soon. Just a few more months and I can leave for university. Just a few more months...

The sound of grass rustling makes me snap my eyes open, and I look around to see who it is. The park is still empty. No... I definitely heard something. Was it a bird?

I look up at the wall again, rubbing my eyes. But then I notice...something is there.

"What?" I stand up, and walk over to the wall, and to my shock, words have been graffitied onto it, that had definitely not been there a moment ago. The scent of spray paint is still fresh. I glance around me. There is definitely nobody here right now. At least...I don't think so.

But as I stare at the words, my heart is pounding heavily in my chest.

To the one who looks at my words...do you want to be friends?

I swallow, and place my fingertips against the words. This is it. The sign. The evidence. Now I know for sure that someone has been talking to me. My heart seems to be doing somersaults in my chest.

"Yes," I whisper,pleadingly, "I want to be friends."

The first thought I have is that I need to tell Marjorie about this. Frantically, I rummage in my bag for my phone, and take a picture. She can't tell me anything about coincidences now. I'm getting ready to leave, when I hear the rustling sound of the grass again.

I look down to see a boy sitting a few feet away from me. I jump back a little, startled. Where did he come from?

He is sitting, cross-legged, with his back against the wall, and he's wearing a large black jacket. I can't see his face beneath his loose black curly afro, from where I'm standing, but my main focus now is on the spray can in his hands.

My heartbeat quickens, as the realisation hits me. Is this...is this really who I'm looking for?

I can't stop myself from blurting out the words, "D-did you do this?"

The boy visibly stiffens, and he slowly looks up at me, an extremely perplexed look on his face. His small, grey eyes seem to be searching my face for something, and then he slowly opens his mouth. "Are you...talking to me?"

"Well, who else would I be talking to?"

He doesn't say anything for a moment, his expression blank, and then he suddenly leaps up. "Oh my God," his jaw drops, "Oh my God. You can see me?"

I roll my eyes. "It's not funny." I say to him, glancing at my watch. Marjorie might be on her break right about now. "Look. I really need to know...are you-"

"Please tell me." The boy frantically points to his face, "Am I still good looking? I'm sorry if I don't look right. I really need to know. I haven't been able to look in a mirror in ages!"

I immediately come to the conclusion that this guy is just any old teenager, who is exactly like the others in my college, and I realise he can't possibly be the one I'm looking for. Feeling beyond disappointed, I pick up my bag, and start walking away.

But he follows me.

"Please! I need to know."

"Leave me alone."

"I'll answer your question if you answer mine."

"It's okay. I have my answer already." The graffiti artist-my graffiti artist-is evidently an intelligent and insightful person who really seems to understand me. This boy obviously cannot. I shouldn't waste my time.

"You don't understand. I need to know if I look okay, or if that car really messed up my face."

I stop walking, and spin around to look at him. He is a few inches taller than me. I wonder why I haven't seen him in college before. Or maybe he is still at school...but his face seems quite mature. I shake away these thoughts. Who cares how old he is, he's acting like an annoying child.

"Listen. I don't know why you're harassing me so much. But I want to go unfollowed, and you probably should leave, too."

The boy stops walking, his face fallen. And for some reason, I stop walking too.

"Okay. I'm sorry." He looks at the ground, "to answer your question...I'm the one who has been doing the graffiti." He holds up the spray can. It's bright pink-the colour of the words on the wall.

I don't want to believe it, but the evidence is right in front of me. I wanted someone to talk to. Someone who knew nothing about my background or my past, and would just listen to whatever I have to say. I haven't been able to open up to anyone like that for a long time, because nobody wanted to approach me.

But now here someone was, clearly not knowing anything about me, and asking to be friends.

He is quite obviously the person I have been looking for all this time. The graffiti artist. And I'm excited. But I don't show this.

"Who are you exactly?"

The boy's face seems to brighten, and he gives me a relieved smile. "My name's Riley. How about you?"

I immediately think of Riley Suneo, the boy whose death had been the talk of the town for so long. But I push the thought away as soon as it comes. It's obviously not the same guy, Valerie.

"You haven't completely answered my question. I want details. Why have you been following me, and how can you read my mind?" The last part is meant to just stay in my head, but I blurt it out by accident, and immediately feel embarrassed.

He furrows his eyebrows, and does not answer straight away. "I, um...I just happen to be around the places you pass by all the time. And I end up seeing you. I don't read your mind though. I'm not psychic."

I narrow my eyes at him. My normal instinct would have told me he was lying, but I don't sense any deceit coming from him at all. He feels me staring at him, and looks away uncomfortably.

"Are you sure you're not stalking me?"

"What? No!"

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because...I don't stalk people. I'm not a creep. I promise."

I laugh, and then pause. I haven't laughed in about a year. I forgot how easy it can come to you.

"Okay. I like you. We can be friends, I guess."

Riley's smile returns. "Really?"

"Yeah," his smile is infectious, it's full and genuine, and reaches his eyes, and so naturally, I mirror it. "My name's Valerie, by the way."

"Valerie. That's a nice name."

"Thanks. And by the way, you don't look like you've been run over by a car."