Art was good. We all have forever. That twenty minutes was mine.

Kids staggerd across the room, ones that normally weren’t there. The teachers drifted, not really caring about who or what, just that we’d all be gone for two whole summer blistering months in just a matter of hours.

Cyd was back. I pulled out my ipod and split the headphones with her. Rainbow Veins popped and bounced pretty and optimistic in my right ear, Cyd singing along with Owl City.

We swapped yearbooks, brainstorming all the adventures we had tripped and flirted with in just the past schoolyear.

“Oh, God,” she sighed, “Not him.”

I burst into hysterical laughter. “How he kept talking about that boy he made out with..”

She rolled her eyes and Casper sat in front of me, legs stretched out in ease.

I aligned my feet with his, mocassin slippers to shredded Vans, sole to sole. Soul to soul

“Hey, girl,” he sang.

I gave a petite wave and, while he looked away, stole his yearbook. I decided I wasn’t done writing to him.