Elizabeth shrugged on her backpack, dodged a crumpled up piece of paper that had been thrown at her back and start walking. She pulled up the hood of her hoodie. She loved these things; they hid your face from everyone and shielded you from any spitballs.

She walked outside and the fine rain hit her hands as she pulled a brown bag from her backpack. It wasn't until she settled beneath a large tree that she noticed there was a boy in it. He was lounging on one of the thicker branches, smoking with a casual indifference as if he didn't care about anyone noticing.

"Hi," Elizabeth said.

He raised a hand.

"Hey," he sighed, stretching as he looked down on her. His voice was rough from lack of use. "What the hell are you doing?"

She shrugged. "Eating. I can move, if you want."

"No. I don't give a shit."

She nodded and took a bite out of her sandwich, washing out the taste of potato bread with a sip of bottled water.

"In case you were wondering, my name is Elizabeth," she began, stretching her legs out and staring at the angry sky. "I just transferred here. I moved over the summer."

The boy landed next to her in a crouch. His eyes were wide and red; his dark circles were so deep she wondered if he ever slept. He smelled like smoke and weed.

"My name is Connor," he said leaning against the trunk and kicking at the grass. He hit a dandelion with the toe of his sneaker and the little seedlings went flying in all directions. "Why are you eating outside? It's raining."

She sighed.

"People always give me shit," she murmured, tucking a dark lock of hair behind her ear. "I don't know if it's the makeup, or because I don't talk much or because I'm the new kid but I think I've been called whore three times already."

Connor raised his middle finger at the school. "Fuck them," he decided. "They all suck. I hate them too. I guess that means I hate you as well, bitch."

Slightly startled, Elizabeth looked up with surprise as Connor smirked at her.

"If you can call me bitch, can I call you bastard?" She asked, holding in laughter.

Obviously unaccustomed to being talked back to, Connor guffawed and slid down next to her, throwing his cigarette into the grass where it hissed and died.

Spotting his hands (pale, soft, nails chewed at the edges but still salvageable) she withdrew a bottle of black nail polish from her bag. "Ever tried it?" She wondered.

"Of course I have." He snorted. "It was hard as shit, though. I kept smudging it! Stupid stuff."

"I can put it on for you," Elizabeth said eagerly, and he glanced over at her with a raised brow. "I really like makeup and stuff like this."

He poked one of her freckles, which was very visible.

"I don't see any," he announced, flicking her forehead and sitting back.

"Well, everyone always made up rumors that I was a prostitute." She shook her head, mourning the fact that everyone on the planet was an asshole.

He shrugged and gave her his hand. She dived upon it eagerly.

"The key to a smooth coat is long brush strokes," she said, wiping off the excess polish on the lip of the bottle before painting. "And a steady hand helps, of course."

While she rambled on, Connor tried to remember the last time someone had held his hand. Not for the last few years, course. He had done a fine job of pushing family away.

Once upon a happier time, his sister had pulled him along when they were playing. They were both too young to realize that they shouldn't like each other and she had been explaining that the sun was yellow because it made people happy.

"I don't know if that's true, Zoe," Connor had said.

"Everything I say is true, Con."

He was snapped out of his reverie by her blowing on his fingernails.

"It'll dry faster like this," she explained, rolling her eyes when he made a risqué joke. "Can you try to be mature?"

He held his hands up.

"You did a good job, I guess," he said, inspecting his fingers.

"Fuck them up and I'll kill you."

The rain started then, heavy and loud. Elizabeth gathered up her trash and stood.

"I'll be going now." She smiled. "Nice to meet you, Connor. Thank you for keeping me company."

He couldn't raise a hand, (too busy protecting his nails from the rain) but he raised a foot.

Then she was gone and Connor was alone again.

He didn't know how to feel about that.