And I'm still waiting for the rain to fall
Pour real life down on me
It's spring break of Claire's eighth grade year. She's thirteen now, and is really, really pretty. I don't think she knows how pretty she really is. She has long raven-colored hair that falls straight almost to her waist, almond-shaped dark eyes, and perfectly clear copper skin. It's a wonder she doesn't have boys falling all over her, but then again, maybe it's just me who sees her beauty.
It's a regular day for Claire and I. Today we're out getting some ice cream at this tiny, shabby-looking, but insanely amazing ice cream place called Moo-Moos. Just as Claire begins to take the first lick off her chocolate-chip-cookie-dough cone, her cell phone jingles. Sighing in frustration, obviously wanting to eat her ice cream, she pulls it out of her pocket. She stares at the caller ID for a second, then flips it open. "Hello?" she says impatiently.
I wait as Claire listens to whoever is on the other end. Suddenly, her face drains of color, and the untouched ice cream cone falls out of her hand. I bite my lip in concern as the ice cream hits the floor. "Oh...my God...okay...thanks for the call," she says in a voice that's barely above a whisper. "No, really. Thank you. Bye."
The second the call is over, Claire bursts into tears. "What is it?" I ask, alarmed. Claire doesn't answer, just falls forward into my arms. I move my cone out of the way as she sobs into my chest. "Claire-bear, what's wrong?"
The shop owner and fellow patrons are now looking at us with interest and irritation. I carefully lead Claire outside, and the two of us sit on a bench right outside the door. I throw out my chocolate ice cream, suddenly not hungry. "Claire, tell me what's wrong," I demand, firm but gentle.
"It's m-my p-p-parents," Claire cries. "Th-they're d-d-dead!"
I blanch. A mental image of Mr. and Mrs. Young with Claire pops into my head, and my brain excises the parents. "Oh, Claire, what happened?" I breathe softly. Claire takes a deep breath, and her sobbing quiets, before she speaks.
"They were t-trying to get somewhere," Claire begins shakily. "Shopping or s-something. And they were in the car, and a d-drunk driver hit them. The c-car flipped over an overpass on the highway, and both of them were k-killed when the car hit the ground." Claire breaks down again, and I pull her close to me as she relentlessly sobs.
"What can I do for you?" I murmur. I fear that if I make my voice louder, it will make Claire even more sad, and shatter the moment.
"Stay," is all Claire says.
I don't need to be asked twice.
depressing? yes. short? absolutely. but hey, it's plot. love it? hate it? review it! mega-props to all my reviewers, you know who you are! lovely lovely! you've read my other ANs, right? well go do what they tell you so i don't have to type it all out again. peace! lovelovelove, m