I stood on a muddy hill, letting the wet dirt sift through my shaking fingertips. Tears were freely strolling down my rosy cheeks in the muggy weather of late August. The rain pattered down upon the hood of the black cloak I was wearing over my black skirt and blouse. Just then, I started to feel the wetness seeping through my cloak, onto my skin beneath it. I didn't even care. 

I had just lost my best friend, and I wasn't sure if I would ever recover from the loss.

"Erica Miller, and this is my brother Jason. He's a first year," I said, turning as I referred to my brother.

James sat across from us, pulling my brother hair that was sticking up and making little pigtails and braids randomly with small rubber bands that he was pulling out of his pocket. Why on Earth was he carrying around rubber bands?

"James!" the girl screeched at him.

"Lily," he replied, as if playing with another boy's hair was a daily activity for him.