text: [Themes: fantasy, drama, serious]
  
  You button up your jacket and silently curse the jerk who decided zippers aren't cultured enough. The wind shifts between violent gusts and a gentle breeze. Almost no one plays outside today. The overcast skies and bare trees seem foreboding. The warmth of the school halls and brightness from artificial lighting seem much more inviting.
  
  That's why you're out here, because they're inside. You deemed the pool too crowded and the dorms too wild. On the average dreary Saturday, half the boys receive warnings while a couple dozen are punished, not that it really matters. As long as their parents send in enough money, the troublemakers stay.
  
  You pick up a rock from the path. You toss it up and catch it a few times. Then, you hurl the rock into the woods. It soars until it makes a resounding thunk against a limb. A bird flies away chirping out a warning, so you cringe. "Sorry," you say under your breath. Of course, the bird doesn't hear it, but it makes you feel a little better.
  
  The wind gusts again and you shiver, though it's not as bad as last time. You should've brought your hat, but you were in a rush to get out here. No one strolls through the woods despite the nice scenery and rock path. You shrug at people's indifference towards plain beauty, trees on a frigid winter day.
  
  You cross your arms until the wind dies down. In this moment, you hear nothing. No fellow classmates chattering about whatnot, no teachers lecturing about the lessons, and no Cerise annoying you for fun.
  
  Then, the silence ends with a faint, feminine whimper. You strain your ears to find the source. Who'd be out here anyway? You follow the sound off the path and to a small grove of pines. Looking around, you don't see anyone, just the green needles, grey sky, and brown ground covered in leaves. You step on a twig, and the whimpering stops.
  
  "Hello?" you ask. "Is everything alright? Are you hurt?"
  
  No one responds. Was the sound only the wind? It couldn't be. Someone was crying.
  
  You walk around the clearing and check behind the trees. Peering behind a large pine tree, you see flowing red hair. You gulp and kneel in front of the girl. Though her hair obscures her face, you still see a scowl and tears falling to the ground.
  
  "Cerise?" You ask, afraid of what may come next from your tormentor.
  She doesn't bother looking up. "Get lost."
  
  > talk to Her
  Cerise's an inch shorter than you, though you'll be even taller soon. She has a voice that can project across a soccer field. Other than you, she's the best pianist in middle school. Never once have you seen her cry, until now. She looks like a little girl, not the fiery young teen that you know.
  
  "Um, are you hurt?" You get off your knees and sit on the frozen ground.
  "What do you think?" She shoots her right arm forward at you face. You move back, expected to be punched. She stops an inch away and shoves her wrist brace in your face. "It's a minor sprain, but some jerk ratted me out to the dang nurse."
  
  She wipes away her tears with her good hand and crosses her arms. "She freaked and friggen' banned me from playing piano. Then, she told the manager of the talent show that I can't use my right hand. How can I play the piano with only my left hand! You can't, and she knows it. She did it just to spite me. I saw her smile."
  
  Then, she looks up. Her eyes are reddened from her crying. Her checks turned cherry from the cold, and her teeth chatter. Only now do you realize that she doesn't have her jacket on, just her schoolgirl uniform.
  
  "What the heck are you still doing here? Scram." Out of habit, she punches you with her right arm. It's not hard; it never is, but her eyes widen in pain at the moment of contact. "Crap!" She shakes her wrist as if it could fling off the sting. "Dang pain."
  
  > give Her Your Jacket
  You unbutton your jacket. "Here," you say while taking it off. "Take this."
  
  She snatches it from your hand and mumbles a thanks. She puts it on. For the next minute, neither of you say anything. You just hear her breathing, the wind, and a bird chirping overhead.
  
  You mind wanders around. You've known her for how long? Two years? That entire time, she never cried. Two black eyes from a brawl, getting an F in her favorite subject, those nasty rumors spread by some girls. No tears.
  
  You scratch your head. Now, she's crying about a talent show? She never bothered entering in the other annual ones. Though, for the past few weeks, she's been raving about it. Maybe she sees it as a rare opportunity to show off to adults? Cerise likes to show off, a lot.
  
  More memories of her spring up. You try to push them away, but you can't.
  
  > Cheating on a Math Test
  Memories are a funny thing. Sometimes, you remember the most vivid details, the taste of apple pie or the sting of a wasp. Other times, it's just a blur.
  
  For instance, you can't remember why you didn't study for the math test. Mr. Lawrence warned you to study too. What was so important? Funny. Since you can't remember, maybe it wasn't.
  
  Most of the students were in the class already, waiting for the teacher to arrive. You were fidgeting and drying your sweaty hands off on your pants over and over again. Then, you feel a sharp poke on your shoulder. That sensation has remained clear in your mind.
  
  What did Cerise say? It went something like, "What's up?"
  
  You told her that you didn't study and you needed a good grade. So, she humphs and makes some witty remark. You remember only one other thing before the teacher arrived. You tried to sink into your seat as if it could make you disappear. Then, Mr. Lawrence entered and handed out the tests. Only half the questions made sense to you.
  
  After filling out what you could, you scribbled answers onto the other ones. At least one of those had to be right. If you guessed correctly, then maybe you could've revived a D. You heard three slight taps from your left. You glanced over and saw Cerise tap one last time on a question, an answered question. You looked back at your test. You guessed the answer to that one, so you copy down her answer.
  
  Out of the corner of your eye, you saw her erase a nine and write another nine in its place. That was another answer you didn't get right. She helped you two more times before the test ended. Instead of an F, you received a C. She spent so much time helping you out that she forgot to complete the last question. It ended up being her only B in math that semester.
  
  You never did thank her for that.
  
  > Back to the Present
  "Cerise?" you asks.
  "What?"
  "Is there anything I can do to help?"
  "Can you heal sprained wrists? If not, then a massive no."
  
  You sigh. Something's very wrong. You need to find out.
  
  "What piece were you going to perform?"
  "It doesn't matter now." She turns away from you.
  "It does to me."
  "You're so sappy." She sounds a bit happier. "Jesús bleibet meine Freude."
  You tilt your head. "Bach? I thought you were a Mozart girl?" She made fun of you before for playing Bach, yet she was going to do one for the talent show?
  "I am."
  "Then why..."
  "My father likes Bach."
  
  Your eyes open wide. That's the first thing you ever heard her speak about her father. Her dead mother, yeah, she said a few things about her, but never her father.
  
  She turns back to you. The scowl returns to her face. "Do you know how many times I saw my dad in the past two and a half years?"
  
  You think for a moment. She lives on campus throughout the summer like you. Also like you, she almost never leaves either. You never saw her father before. Oh crap.
  
  "Not once?"
  She nods. "Yeah, fancy that. What type of idiot do you have to be to not once see your little girl? Well, this was my chance. I heard from Nancy that he'll be in Albany this week, so I invited him to come in a letter. I told him I'd play Jesús bleibet meine Freude. My mom said that she performed it at their wedding, and my plan worked. He said he'd make it. He promised. Then, I fell down some stairs like a retard."
  
  Who's Nancy? Maybe she's her stepmom or her dad's maid... something like that. Cerise doesn't know any Nancy at the school.
  
  You feel a tear form in your eye, but you wipe it away before she notices. She'd mock you for being a girly boy.
  
  Poor Cerise. Now you know why she was crying. You should do... something. You're friends, sorta.
  
  > say "Screw Your Old Man"
  "Screw your old man."
  "What?" She stands up, so you do too.
  "You're better than him. He doesn't deserve to hear you play."
  "It's not that simple."
  
  You sigh. She needs to get her mind off of this. It's hurting her.
  
  "You wanna go get some ice cream? I have two tickets that I never used."
  "Ice cream? I haven't had... You're trying to distract me!" She pokes you in the chest with her good hand. You take a step back.
  "Cerise, yes! I am. Crying in the middle of the forest and freezing to death isn't good!"
  Her eyes narrow. "If you ever tell anyone what you saw or heard out here, I'll make you life a living hell!"
  You hold up your hands as if it's a sign of surrender. "I promise. I always keep my promises."
  
  She walks up to you and glares as if she's making an analyses. You cringe but don't back away from her violation of your personal space.
  
  "Fine, but take this before we head back." She hands you the jacket.
  "You can keep it until we get inside."
  "Idiot, what will the gossip be when they see you and me walking out of the woods with me wearing your jacket?"
  "Oh."
  "See you in fifteen minutes."
  
  She sprints down the trail. You shake your head. "Women," you mumble under your breath. A cold breeze lofts through the forest again. You button up your jacket.
  
  > Eating Ice Scream
  She sits on the other side of the table. Her red hair rests in a ponytail as she devours her cherry ice cream. Melted dessert covers her chin and the table since she's using her left hand, but she doesn't seem to care. You've only taken three bites from your vanilla.
  
  "You feeling better?" you ask. She must've cleaned up her face before she arrived. There's not a trace of her tears.
  "Um, yeah," she says between spoonfuls. When she finishes the last scoop, she gives a nervous smile. "Hey... Thanks."
  You smile back. "I'm glad to help."
  She looks down at your bowl. "Are you gonna eat that?"
  
  You shake your head and pass it to her.
  
  "Hey, do you remember that time you fought Dick?"
  She chuckles. "And made a him barfing mess? Yup."
  "What caused the fight?"
  She shakes her head. "No clue. Don't remember."
  "Why didn't you hide your black eyes for the photos?"
  
  She stops eating. She carefully sets down her spoon and looks right at you. "School pictures are sent to your guardian."
  "Oh." She wanted her father to see her injured. She tried to get his attention.
  
  She looks down at her ice cream then back to you. She pushes the bowl to your side of the table. "You should have the rest."
  
  You nod. You eat the ice cream but don't pay attention to the flavor. It won't be something you remember. You'll remember Cerise's eyes. She's staring at you with a look you haven't seen before. You don't know how to read it either. You feel your hands sweat.
  
  When you finish, you both stand up from the table. Then, she holds out her left hand. You tilt your head in confusion.
  
  "Shake it, dummy."
  
  You reach out with my left hand and shake hers. It's warm. Her hand feels so warm. You both smile and flush a light red.
  
  "I don't think I've ever told you this," she says still shaking your hand. "But you're my friend."
  "You're my friend too."
  
  You feel the gaze of others on us. She does too, so you let go.
  
  "You wanna hang out tomorrow?" Her eyes look hopeful.
  "Sure."