Hey all, thanks for the feedback! I'm back with the new addition. After this, I'll be working on the third chapter of TA: Part II :)


CHAPTER TWO

DOWNPOUR


ELLIE

She lists down her options:

1)

2)

Shit.

It's late in the afternoon, and Ellie's sitting on the edge of her bed with two hands covering her eyes. The open window beside her blows in a soft wind.

It should be soothing.

It's not.

Because she doesn't know what to do.

What can she do?

Walk back to the mall?
To look for that girl?

"Hey, sorry for leaving you so abruptly there, I didn't mean to go like that, I was in a hurry. But thanks for offering a drink from your canteen, though. I really appreciate your Christian-like efforts. Do you have my Walkman?"

Jesus.

She still doesn't know what to do.

Her options are little to none. It's already nearing dusk, she has no money on her to take a cab, and she's definitely not going to call Marlene again to get her around the city — Ellie'd only feel like she'd give her more problems.

It's not that Marlene doesn't want to help her . . . she does. A lot.

She helps her out so much it's becoming jeopardous.

Before spring break it was always Marlene who would pick her up from school in her rundown car. Her eyes were heavy and strained whenever Ellie saw her. (Marlene looking decent enough was once every blue moon.) Too often that it became concerning. The look of fatigue on her face, the graying strands, the smell of cigarettes . . . Ellie told Marlene that she could just walk herself back home, that it would only take ten minutes, but the woman was stubborn.

And now Ellie's too worried for Marlene to discuss about her Walkman dilemmas, so that means she hasn't got any transportation or money to get herself around. If she were to borrow cash from the others . . . ha. Slim chance.

She knows how money-conscious the kids are in her group home, it'll be a miracle if one of them actually lends her some change.

At this point, panhandling looks like her only option.

Ellie rubs her temples in frustration. The sourness is evident, she knows she isn't going to the mall today.

So maybe I could try going back tomorrow . . .

Well.

If she even finds some sort of transport.
If she even manages to scrounge up some cash.
If she even works up the courage to talk to that girl.

Ellie sighs in frustration.

Shit.


RILEY

The redhead doesn't show up the following day.

Or the day after that.

Sometimes she could have sworn it was her. Like, there were at least four different girls who came in and Riley got so paranoid she had to double check. None of them had the eyebrow scar, though. Or the shade of green in their eyes. Or the faded spatter of freckles . . .

Or the weirdness.

God.

It really is getting unhealthy.

She doesn't even need to be at the arcade — Riley could just hand the Walkman over to Henry and ask him to keep an eye out for the redhead instead. It would do her good to take a breather, after all. Riley's spent like, what — three hours so far at Raja's? She might faint if she keeps this going.

And whenever she does have a break, she'd just head to the food stalls near the mall's entrance so she could keep an eye out for the girl.

Riley's not sure if she's doing it to be a good person anymore.

Maybe she's gotten dangerously obsessed.

Maybe both.


ELLIE

At first she was going to walk to the mall. On foot.

It would have taken roughly twenty minutes.

She's even brought her backpack along too, the one she kept since grade school with its tired fabric and malfunctioning zippers. Packing for the walk was one of the easiest parts, even getting out of the group home wasn't as difficult as she thought it'd be. (She told Trevor that she was heading to a friend's house across the street to hang, and he bought it completely. Ha.)

Now Ellie's three blocks away and counting, her movements go briskly in the spring wind with her army coat flapping behind her.

She's waited two days for this, she needs to get to Liberty Gardens as soon as possible.

But something grabs her attention.

There's a lone bicycle ahead of her.

She slows down and goes closer to examine. It's leaning on an electric pole, and the bike looks like something the poor children from Annie would ride. One of the handlebar grippers are missing, the spokes on the wheels are rusting, and the saddle's fabric has moth holes in it.

The whole thing looks mildly distasteful, even with Ellie's low standards. She scrunches her nose in disapproval and notices the cardboard resting on the bicycle's wheel, some words are written in a sharp and bold font.

FREE TO USE, OK CONDITION.

She starts to survey her surroundings, making sure that no one's trying to pull a prank on her or something. There aren't much folks on the street, and yet a million thoughts begin swimming in her head — most of them rendering her situation as unsafe and risky.

Who can blame her?

She's alone, the bike doesn't even look proper, and she may as well need another tetanus shot before touching the damn thing.

But then Ellie remembers her Walkman and the girl and the amount of time it would take to get to the mall and suddenly.

She's on the bicycle.

Crap.

Making the beginning move won't be easy. Ellie makes it an effort to take the first pedal, and the bicycle clumsily creaks forward that she loses her balance. Jesus. Ellie levels herself and takes in a deep breath, she grips the handlebars so hard her knuckles go white. Her experience with these things have gotten stale, she hasn't ridden a bike in months.

But she has no other option.

Ellie pedals again, careful this time, and the bicycle seems more willing to follow. It creaks and groans and wobbles its way forward like a malfunctioning robot, but it works. Five grueling minutes pass and she starts getting a hang of it. She's cautiously strolling past utility poles and small intersections with houses lining the sides. Five more minutes go by and the creaking reduces and her pedaling goes moderately faster.

Her anxiety starts to drain.

Ellie focuses less on getting the bike to move and starts eyeing her surroundings. The streets are quiet that it's almost serene. The wind feels great on her face, the roads are clear, and Ellie looks up to find the sky staring down at her. It's as blue as the ocean today, with birds flying west and the clouds moving east.

A surreal feeling of freedom enchants her, because it's finally happening. The thrill of speed overcomes her fear, making her forget about the rusting spokes and the creakiness and the constant wobble that suddenly she wants—

One of the pedals snaps.

The bicycle veers violently and Ellie stumbles to the ground.


RILEY

"Is that even yours?"

It's Sam.

He comes up with his curious eyes and leans next to Riley on the wall. She has the Walkman in her hand, and the earphones are suspended in the air. "Some girl left it here two days ago." she replies. And the two days seem like two minutes.

Riley knows the scene verbatim — she can still see the look on the redhead's face before she went . . . the anxiety was plastered all over her. She also remembered that the girl's phone had been ringing, and Riley saw her pull it out: the dated Nokia. It was uncommon to see such an old version — she hasn't seen those kinds of phones since she was like, seven.

"Oh . . . So you just took it for yourself?"

Riley raises an eyebrow, "No, Sam. God," and rolls her eyes. "I went down to chase after her . . . but she was gone by then."

He lets out a sound that resembles a grunt of understanding and moves an inch closer.

"Let me see that,"

Riley unwillingly hands the Walkman over. It doesn't surprise her a moment later when he puts on the earphones and presses play. His face is calm for a moment, until the music fills his ears and Riley spots the corners of his mouth twitch up. She gives him a suspecting look.

Sam looks at her and scoffs.

"This song is totally from The Breakfast Club."

Interesting. "How the hell are you even listening to that above all the noise?"

"I don't know, but man," He laughs and bobs his head to the beat. "This is probably the most eighties thing I've ever heard. You listened to the songs yet?"

Riley looks at the Walkman and shrugs plainly.

"Just some,"

She's lying.

She's listened to all of it.

The evening after the girl left, Riley's curiosity got the best of her. She was examining the device in her bedroom, checking out the mixtape the girl had with the earphones already on her. Most of the songs sounded twenty years old (understandable since you didn't actually expect modern tunes on a goddamn Walkman.)

There were some she could identify — old songs from rock bands like Hum, Pink Floyd, Simple Minds, The Smiths — and others that she'd never heard of or were too bland for her that she had to skip. Riley didn't expect her music taste to be that bizarre . . .

It kind of just added up to her general weirdness.

"Are you gonna stay here for the rest of the afternoon?" Sam asks after a while, having already given the Walkman back.

She purses her lips. "I'll give it two more hours, I guess. Why, you goin' someplace?"

"Yeah . . . " he admits sheepishly, a hand on the back of his neck. " . . . to my friend's house. I'll be carpooling with him in a few minutes."

Riley sighs. Of course. How can she forget? The I'm-a-thirteen-year-old-boy priorities.

"Sam, your brother—"

"—already knows. Relax." and he jams his hands in his pockets. "Tell Henry I'll be fine, okay? I'll be back home after dinner."

After dinner?

"I'll tell him you got kidnapped and held for ransom."

"Riley."

She rolls her eyes again. "Fine, whatever. Just don't get pregnant or something."

When Sam takes leave, Riley's usual sulking continues where it's left off.

For ambiguous reasons, she half-expects the arcade doors to open with the redhead dorkily stumbling inside.


ELLIE

Everything hurts.

Once Ellie's aware that her cheek is kissing the concrete, she lolls her head away and groans. A minute passes before she musters up the energy left in her to get up. And getting up is hella hard. Because Ellie's knees wobble and throb, her side where she has fallen on is aching, and she's pretty sure that one of her shoes have gotten off during the fall.

The fabric of her pants — her only pair of jeans that are comfortable enough to wear — have been slightly torn by the uneven asphalt. She brushes off the dirt that has scraped her arms, puts her shoe back on, and chews the inside of her mouth. Because of the impact, some parts of her skin have been scratched and bruised.

That stupid bicycle.

It's near the curb, lying horizontally on the concrete like it's mocking her. I told you so, it seems to say. But Ellie's having none of it.

She walks over to the bike . . .

And swings her foot down.

Hard.

Thwang.

"'OK CONDITION' my ass . . . " she mutters. The kick sores her foot even more, but she doesn't care, it felt surprisingly good.

Right, Ellie thinks. The Walkman. She hugs her sides to dull the pain and looks beyond the road.

On the bright side, it's saved her fifteen minutes of walking.


RILEY

Henry pulls out a bill from his wallet and slides it across the counter.

"Shift ends in twenty," he says. "Mind gettin' me a smoothie? Melon-flavored, you know me. You can go get yourself one too, if you want."

She gives Henry a neutral stare, wrinkling the five-dollar bill in her hand.

"You sure you don't want chocolate-banana?" she asks dryly.

"Ha."

After a thirty-second conversation about the importance of smoothie flavors, Riley tucks the bill safely in her pocket and heads out of the arcade. The mall's peculiarly crowded for a weekday, even if it is spring break. She gives way for other people passing by and moves past the escalator. The smoothie stand is only a few yards away when a voice suddenly ropes her back.

"Hey, wait,"

And instantly, she knows.

The redhead.


ELLIE

Fuck.

Okay.

Yeah, it's definitely the girl.

She wants to laugh at her situation — to think that she rode a decrepit bike getting here, broke it, bruised herself, and walked the remaining steps to the mall for a goddamn Walkman. Her feet are sore, her knees sting, and there are stubborn scratch marks on her arms from the asphalt. She wants to tell the girl what the past days have done to her — that maybe if stupid, out-of-order, Triple Phoenix wasn't broken, none of this would have ever happened.

But all Ellie can do is to stare at her.

She hasn't thought of the next step in her plan after calling the girl's attention. (Hell, she didn't even expect her to turn around that fast.) She swallows a formidable lump in her throat and takes some steps forward. The girl does the same, her eyes gaining color the more Ellie closes in on her. The girl's wearing a black shirt and khaki shorts, her hair tied to a bun like it has been two days ago. She doesn't dress the same way Ellie sees other girls do, interestingly, with their skater skirts and cardigans and flora-based blouses and the air around them smelling like L'air du Temps.

She's different.

Ellie rips away from her thoughts.

Because they're standing apart now.

So she meets her coffee eyes.


RILEY

"Hi," the redhead murmurs.

"Hey," she says back.

She's still wearing that stupid coat of hers.

There are scratches on her arm, her jeans are frayed, and her overall appearance looks concerning. Riley doesn't want to press, though. The last time she'd ask the redhead if she was okay, she ran away from her.

"You're from the arcade . . . right?" the girl asks sheepishly. "Two days ago, I was there. And . . . and I'm sorry that I couldn't get here sooner, but I was just wondering if . . . "

She trails off like she always does, and Riley wastes no time in delaying what she's waited two goddamn days for. She pulls out the Walkman from her pocket and nonchalantly untangles the earphones before giving it to her.

"Yeah. You forgot this," Riley says, "here."

The redhead's emerald eyes gawk at the Walkman the same way they've gawked at The Turning. Riley represses the urge to scoff. God, she really is a fucking dork.

"Oh, man." the girl exhales in relief, taking the Walkman in her hands. "You've no idea what I've been through to get . . . . Thank you."

Riley slides her hands back into her pockets and shrugs. "Yeah."

Yeah.

And that's it.

They should be parting ways at this point, with the shaking of hands and the bidding of farewells. But there's another silence between them instead. And awkwardness. There's a lot of awkwardness, apparently. Riley's not sure when it will ever run out. The seconds are going by painstakingly.

Then it happens.

One moment Riley's mouth is sealed, the next she feels it opening to speak.

She tries to stop herself.

Too late.

"What's your name?" she asks suddenly. Blurting them out like they've been wanting to escape her mouth. Shit, she thinks, where did that come from? Her mind starts to go code red. She tries to calm down, convincing herself that it's just a simple question, that it isn't much of a big deal, and patiently waits for the redhead to answer her.

Only she doesn't.

So Riley's just staring at the redhead uncouthly, waiting for a reaction she knows isn't coming. She regains her own composure before she'll make a fool of herself and attempts to reword her question coolly.

"Well . . . my name's Riley, for starters." she continues, avoiding the urge to cringe. "I mean, I saw you playing that game in the arcade and"—her words stumble around, Riley can notice how increasingly uncomfortable the air gets—"you were, well . . . "

Riley stops talking.

Because the girl starts to head down the escalator without saying another word.


ELLIE

Stupid.

It's not enough. She says it four more times in her head.

Stupid anxiety.
Stupid bike.
Stupid mall.
Stupid fucking girl.

Ellie runs down the escalator and pushes past the people in her way, indifferent to their stares and judgments. She doesn't even look behind her to see if Riley's followed up, because what's the point of it? Ellie's already gotten what she came for, she didn't need to entertain some question from that stupid kid. Knowing her name now felt uncomfortable, like she's holding something she's not meant to have in her hands and she doesn't know what to do with it.

She never even asked for her stupid name.

By the time she exits Liberty Gardens and walks out on the sidewalk, she can no longer ignore the strange feeling of guilt in her stomach. It's a different sort of remorse, too.

Because what is she even guilty for?

Not telling her name?
Not taking the cab back home two days ago?
Leaving Riley at that place for the second time in a week?

Stupid.

She shouldn't have gone to the mall in the first place.


RILEY

Well.

That happened.

Again.

Riley doesn't even try to follow her downstairs anymore. If the redhead didn't want to, then fine. Whatever. Riley doesn't care. The girl was way too much for her, anyway. Why does she need to worry about someone who can't even talk properly?

She doesn't need to waste her time on some basket case who owns old Nokias and listens to eighties music and wears ridiculous, huge-as-hell army coats when it's hot. She doesn't need to wait two days for some weird kid. She doesn't need to know her stupid name or what stupid place she comes from. Riley's got other priorities.

Like buying smoothies.

And this time, she's doing things her own way.

This time, she's going to get mango-fucking-banana.


ELLIE

She realizes that she's gonna have to walk back home.

For twenty minutes.

In the streets of Boston.

(Particularly, the southern area.)

Ellie's doing the brisk-walk method—running but not actually running—so effectively that she's knocked three blocks down in short time. It doesn't guarantee her complete safety, though. So Ellie already has her phone out, fingers ready to dial 911 if things go south. If anyone tries to snatch her up, then she's got her switchblade waiting hungrily for them in her pocket. Due to a strangely expansive knowledge of self-defense, Ellie can deal with kidnappers, robbers, muggers, gangs, and even street-side bullies if she's cautious enough.

What she can't deal with, though, is the approaching rain.

Ten minutes later, when the first drop hits her arm, Ellie assumes that it's her own sweat. But it takes about eight more raindrops and a darkening sky for anyone to convince her that she's gotten herself in the most shitty situation since the bike incident.

That's when lightning crackles the sky, and thunder booms in the distance.

Ellie looks up.

Shit.

There's a goddamn storm hitting Boston.

And she has to walk straight in it.


RILEY

They get inside the car as fast as possible.

"You good?" Henry asks, breathing heavily and checking himself. Both of their clothes have gotten mildly wet. (They've managed to get out of the mall just as soon as the drizzle morphed into a downpour.) Riley nods and fastens her seat belt. She's gotten the passenger's seat slightly damp.

"Let's get the hell back home," he says.

"Good idea."

The windshield is covered by droplets of rain, and the roof of their car's constantly making a drumming sound. Henry switches gears and moves out of the parking lot, making their way through the first street. Riley turns on the radio and sighs.

"Goddammit," Henry swears, activating the wiper blades. "The weatherman said sunny."

She scoffs and looks out the rain-spattered window.

"The weatherman's full of shit."


ELLIE

The weather is full of shit.

Of all the things she has in her backpack, there isn't a single fucking umbrella in it to relieve her situation. She's taken refuge at a nearby Korean drugstore, and the clerk is already giving her the look. (She can't really blame him, considering she's the one who's gotten the floor of the drugstore wet.) Ellie places her Walkman in the backpack and zips it up. She turns to face the clerk and gives a shy, apologetic smile to him.

"Sorry . . . "

The man only nods his head.

Ellie faces back to the doors, takes a deep breath, and braces herself.

Cold is the first thing that comes to her head. Like, really, really cold. The storm's winds bite at her and blow her around, and she's suddenly thankful for bringing the coat along with her. Ten seconds go by, and her scalp is already drenched. The rain is definitely torrential by this point, it's like a thousand Nerf bullets are pounding down on her.

Jesus.

The weather is so full of shit.


RILEY

"Wait. Henry, hold up,"

The car starts to decelerate.

"What?"

The rain pelts against the windshield, and Riley squints her way through the mass of liquid pouring down on the car.

There's a figure ahead of them. They're walking hurriedly on the sidewalk.

"What, them?" Henry asks. "They a friend of yours?"

For a second Riley assumes that it's just some other unfortunate, typical person who's caught the rain while they've been walking. But the figure's shape looks familiar, and Riley's hoping it isn't who she thinks it is.

That's when the wiper blades sweep the rain off the windshield to afford a better view.

Shit.

The figure is wearing a green fucking army coat.


ELLIE

There's a car honking behind her.

Ellie just ambles ahead on the sidewalk, not looking back, with her soaked clothes sticking uncomfortably on her skin like glue. The only thing she wants is to go home, but she doesn't know how or where.

Her vision is so limited that she has to keep an arm out to survey her surroundings. She takes shelter under store roofs every now and then, but it proves minimal comfort. The storm just keeps going. Raindrops pour relentlessly from her scalp and roll towards her cheeks that her eyes are red and stingy from the water. She knows she can't make it far if she keeps this going. She can't beat the rain.

The car honks again, louder and closer — she realizes that it's possibly for her. Ellie looks back this time and sees an old Legacy nearing the sidewalk. It slows and stops by the curb when it gets close enough.

That's when one of the side windows starts to roll down.

Ellie stops walking.

That's when she sees her. Even with the blinding rain roaring and crashing and flailing, she sees her.

Dark skin, dark hair, dark clothes, and dark eyes.


RILEY

The girl's soaked to the bone.

For a few seconds, the redhead's just standing there. Alarmed and confused. Her green eyes pierce through the torrential rain as she hugs her sides. She looks small out in the open, Riley thinks. Like she's more vulnerable and fragile. But the storm continues crashing down on her because it doesn't care. Riley can feel the gushing winds and rain sweep in through the open window, and she realizes how cold it must be for the redhead.

She's still stuck in place — with her hands tucked to her side, her clothes are heavy and dripping. Riley notices how much the girl's shivering.

And then suddenly she's out of the car.

It's cold as hell, Henry's saying something, her black shirt is soaked, and she doesn't care. Riley heads to the car's rear door and holds it open for the redhead.

"Come on," she urges.

The girl doesn't even hesitate.


ELLIE

It's so warm in here.

"You okay, kid?" the young man asks.

"Yeah,"

Ellie practically wiggled herself in, and now she's gotten the seats wet. She tries not to rest her back onto the spine of her own seat, since it's the only thing that hasn't been lathered yet with water. The driver eyes her concernedly in the mirror, but Ellie's too worried about the mess she's made in his car.

"Sorry . . . " she says softly, tone apologetic.

He gives her a polite smile. "No, it's all good. Make yourself comfortable, nothin' a little drying won't fix."

She still doesn't lean back.

The young man exhales and shifts gears, bringing the car back on the road. For a moment she feels relieved, internally joyous now that she's finally out of the rain. The warm air of the heater comforts Ellie for a moment, and she closes her eyes, breathing in silently . . .

But then Ellie realizes that she's in a car with her.

Her stomach churns.

Of fucking course.

As if the past events with her aren't embarrassing enough, Riley has to see her like that. Drenched in the rain like she just came out of a swimming pool. She can't help but wonder — what did Riley think of her when she saw Ellie walking in the middle of a storm, looking soaked and sickly and shivering?

Helpless? Pitiful?

Is that why they picked her up?

Ellie slowly breathes in the warm air of the car. She's not sure where her dignity is at this point.


RILEY

It's abnormally quiet.

And Henry's giving her an accusing look.

"What?" she asks softly, voice slightly irate.

"There's an umbrella in the trunk, you know."

How the hell is she supposed to know that?

Before Riley starts another argument with him, Henry's eyes dart to the rearview mirror to look at the girl.

"Sorry," he says, "name's Henry. Riley's said you're a friend of hers?"

Shit.

The two girls share uneasy glances in the mirror.

"We bump into each other in the mall sometimes," the girl replies coolly, as if she's correcting him. (Of course, it's not like she'll tell him that she basically runs away from Riley whenever they see each other in the mall. That would be different.)

Henry lets out a dry chuckle. "Lucky she found you out there in the storm, then. What were you doing outside? It's raining like hell."

Only the silence answers him, and the radio's songs lightly dab the air. Henry gives Riley an uncertain look, and she shrugs back like she's used to it.

But the redhead asks a question to break the ice instead.

"Do you know where to drop me off?"


ELLIE

She gives Henry the directions.

It grows quiet when they take her there, and it gives Ellie the opportunity to observe her surroundings. The rain has softened a little, and thanks to the heater, her clothes are starting to dry. She unties her ponytail for a moment to fix her hair, and suddenly catches Riley looking at her in the mirror.

Her brown eyes hurriedly move back to her smartphone.

Ellie scoffs lightly.

She has to admit, they're pretty good people. Taking her in, driving her back home — Riley's even gotten her black shirt soaked to get Ellie in the car. A mild pang of guilt hits her because of it. Riley's probably waited at that mall for hours, only to be left suddenly by the girl she's been waiting for and getting insulted behind her own back.

Ellie's a shitty human being, there's no denying it.

By the time she's fixed her ponytail and checked for her Walkman (because she's sure as hell not going to forget it again), they roll into Blue Hill avenue. The road where her home should be. Ellie looks for the two-story house, with its blue roof and off-white paint that's starting to peel off.

She finds it. It's just to the far right.

"There," Ellie says, pointing at it to Henry.


RILEY

Riley looks at the establishment beside them and widens her eyes.

She lives in a group home?

There is a decorative sign at the front of the house, with letters painted with a curvy, homey font. Tarly Homes for Children, it says. Since 1978.

Huh.

She's an orphan.

The design looks like it came from the late twentieth century, with a wide space and and an apple tree standing on the house's right. The place looks like it can house a number of five at the most, but she doesn't feel like asking the redhead to enlighten her. They've hardly talked to each other since the mall.

"Alright," Henry says, making Riley focus her attention back. "We're here."

Right.

The rain's gotten lighter, but there's still no way in hell she's escorting the redhead to the home without an umbrella.

She turns to Henry. "Did you open the trunk?" she asks.

"Yeah,"

Riley takes in a deep breath, opens the car door, and gets to the trunk as fast as she can to grab the umbrella. The whole thing takes ten seconds, Riley's ecstatic to see that her shirt is only mildly wet.

She opens the rear door.

The redhead says her thanks to Henry before wiggling herself back out. Riley holds the umbrella firmly in her hand and swallows a lump in her throat. Jesus, is she going to have to usher her now? The umbrella's ridiculously small for two, so now they're forced to stay close together like sardines.

Great.

The walk to the group home is silent. Riley bites her tongue the whole time, forcing her eyes to look straight ahead.

It takes ten years.

By the time they reach the front door, the redhead turns around to face her. Large, green orbs that pierce through the same way they did earlier. The way the girl's looking at her makes Riley think that she's about to say something. She stands there and waits, even if it takes away seconds from her life.

But the redhead turns back forward, hurries to the front door, and opens it without uttering a word.

Of course.

Riley scoffs softly in disbelief—because what does she expect?—and turns on her heel to head back to the car.

But a single word ropes her back.

"Ellie,"

She turns around so fast she practically spins. She finds the redhead inside the house, the door's partly open to reveal half her body. The rain has blown her words to make them sound soft, but she heard it.

She just doesn't want to believe it.

Riley blinks and stutters. "What?"

And the girl smiles at her.

It's the first time she ever does.

"My name is Ellie."


Congratulations, you two dorks. You've finally introduced yourselves properly.

Feel free to share and leave your thoughts in a review below, thanks for all the support, I'll see you soon x