These are a collection of one-shots (maybe two or three-parters, if things go well) about the MDBC couples. Thanks for reading! Disclaimer: MDBC and its characters belong to Heather Vogel Frederick.

One-Shot One: It Rains Every Day

Jess's POV

I stare at the cold, hard ground that's currently being soaked. I rub my eyes, which are red tired from working so hard at Juilliard, and continue walking home. My feet only make a faint whisper on the sidewalk against the rhythmic rain. The world seems grey, like an old movie.

Thinking of old movies reminds of Movie Madness back at Colonial Academy, where all my friends would meet up on Friday nights and watch black-and-white movies with my host parents. I miss all my Colonial Academy friends, like Frankie and Adele and especially Savannah Sinclair. Colonial Academy was my home for four years, and I miss it terribly.

Home is where the heart is, they say, but mine is lonely and desolate. It's a small apartment far off campus. I guess I wanted a change of pace from Colonial Academy's boarding-school style, but I realize what a stupid mistake that was. These days, I have to take the bus home when my classes are over, but I missed my bus because I stopped to ask Professor Relz about my grade.

I'm majoring in math, because I want to be a teacher someday. Teaching at college, high school, or any school would be great, but I'm still a freshman, so I still have a really long way to go, especially with teachers like Professor Relz.

Professor Relz is the coldest, hardest person I've even dealt with. Her stony blue eyes remind me of Mrs. Chadwick's, but hers are more like frozen metal. At least Mrs. Chadwick was nice once you got to know her. Professor Harriet Relz is always stiff and angry, and snapped at me when I asked about the grade I got on my test.

She gave me a sixty on my test, but she marked at least twenty-five points off for errors I didn't even make. I began to ask if my grade could be changed, since my average was down to a low B with the test grade, but Professor Relz said she was busy and that I could wait.

I sat down on one of her classroom chairs, covered with filth like graffiti (seriously, who trash talks a teacher on a chair?) and politely waited for about ten minutes. My bus was going to be leaving soon, and I wanted an early ride home, so I started pacing. Not a lot, just a bit, but enough for Professor Relz to notice. She yelled at me to get out because, according to the Juilliard student handbook, "students must treat all professors and fellow students with the utmost respect" and I had dishonored that through pacing. Pacing! Honestly, that woman is like a reincarnation of the Battleaxe, Mrs. Adler.

I left the classroom after a five-minute-long lecture about respect and modern kids and I'd just missed my bus by a few minutes. Waiting for my bus made me nervous, and I came to realize that it wasn't coming when it was fifteen minutes late. Note that I had been outside in the rain for all those minutes, patiently hoping for transportation that wasn't coming.

Apparently, from a call to the bus station, afternoon buses had been canceled because of the bad weather. That meant that I had no ride home and that I would have to walk for at least an hour. In a rainstorm, too.

So, that's how I got here: on a soaking sidewalk, drenched with rain and trying to get home, which is fairly difficult without a car. I do have a car, but it's in the shop because somebody else ruined the left taillight and part of the bumper. Thankfully, I don't have to pay. That would just be one more thing to add to my long list of burdens.

A silver 2010 Lexus IS drives next to me, and I can't help thinking, Darcy's car. Another thing about attending Juilliard while he's at Dartmouth is that we're not together. Of course, we haven't been together since I was a senior at Colonial. He was already at college, and everything began to fall apart. I broke up with him that December. It was my first Christmas without him.

I still miss him, like I have been for the past year. There's nobody out there like Darcy. Of course, I know that he's probably having the time of his life up at Dartmouth, and that he's long since forgotten and moved on. Darcy adored me when we were dating, but I honestly don't think there's anything special about me.

A lone raindrop falls and falls onto my jacket. It trickles down and onto my arm. Angrily, I swipe away at it, like it's the reason Darcy and I broke up. Darcy and I broke up. Darcy and I broke up. Darcy and I broke up. It took me forever to comprehend later; it felt like I had stepped into freezing water and I had no intention of leaving. He's not mine anymore. The cold realization is still painful to admit.

The Lexus is still driving alongside me, and I feel a chill go up my spine. Instead of feeling numb, I just feel electrified right now. Forcing myself to keep walking, I take a U-Turn and see if the driver is following me or if it's just a coincidence.

The Lexus turns around. I am internally screaming, but I don't let anything show. What do you do when a creepy car, which happens to looks exactly like the one your ex-boyfriend has, starts following you? We never covered this in drivers' ed.

I reach up to release my still-thick braid, hoping that this will help him my face, and the blonde hair piles around my shoulders. Yes, I still wear my hair like that. I think of it as an apology to Darcy. An apology for everything I did to him. I miss him.

Speaking of Darcy, I begin inspecting the car that looks just like his. It even looks familiar. Same long grey scratch on the right side that Darcy made when he was parking. The front bumper has the exact dent that I made in my junior year of high school when I hit a tree. Surprisingly, Darcy wasn't even mad that his car was damaged. He was just glad that I was okay. Now that I look back on it, maybe it wasn't that surprising.

The Lexus stops with a halt, but I can't see the driver because the car is on the left of me. That means that the driver is on the farther side. I can see that he or she doesn't have anybody in the passenger or back seat, and I hope that this is a good thing.

I'm too afraid to move. The street is empty. People are probably all at home because of the rainstorm. I can hear my heart beating quickly and loudly. Quickly, I turn so that I'm facing a store instead of the road. I tuck my hair behind my left ear, and the charm bracelet from the Christmas of my sophomore year jingles.

I cringe and hope it's not too loud. My level of anxiety skyrockets as I hear the slam of a car door. When I turn to run away, the person reaches out and touches my arm.

I hear a loud sigh. I hear myself sigh as well. I hear the shuffle of my feet as I turn around to face the stranger. I hear my gasp as I nearly drop my books and schoolwork. I hear his voice, a long, deep strong voice like rushing water from a fountain. I hear my utter surprise. I hear his voice, which sounds like soft chocolate brown eyes and curly brown hair tousled just right.

I hear him awkwardly pace around. I hear the pound of feet on the ground, like the footsteps of somebody's who's six feet and two and a half inches tall.

One thing I don't hear though, is the still-falling rain.