• She could honestly say that the faces of the people in front of her had paled more than a concrete statue in some museum. She brushed off her knees, and looked up at them once more, before adjusting the strap of her backpack, wandering past them, adjusting the pony tail in her hair. The air had a distinct chill to it right now. As if by her falling from the table and landing on her knees was so crazy? She'd done it before, she'd do it again.

    But one person kept his eyes on his paper, covered in scribbles and notes about something unreadable, and she leaned over him, draping her free arm over his wide shoulder. He didn't look up, just chuckled, his smirk widening to reveal a few teeth, his writing slowing as she approached.

    "Hey, old man."     She started, the paler faced boy looking up at her with murky brown eyes. If the bystanders were pale, he was a ghost, but not from shock.

    "What, kid?" The other asked, and let his pencil clatter onto the beaten, scratched up desk. She removed her arm. "You trying to bust a knee cap, or just give a bunch of light-weights some kind of premature heart attacks?" He asked, nudging her leg with a boot clad foot. He shook his head, and then scratched a hand through his messy black hair, blinking up at her.

    "I hang out with you, don't I? I think the answer is pretty simple, Dami-" She began, but felt the teachers hand on her shoulder, making her jump softly, green eyes widening softly. The woman's scornful face was fixed on the girl, and she started to speak.

    The brunette turned around to listen to some speech on being safe in class, and how her reckless behavior was quite unlike her. She shrugged, and shifted her weight to her left side, off of the more throbbing knee, sliding her hand into her faded jeans pocket. The red and orange flannel top she wore adjusted with her movement, and she barely paid attention to anything, save the few words that had a drip of meaning to her.

    A distinct odor wafted up from behind her as a rustle and clamor slit what seemed to be silence in her mind. Her barely lucid mind snapped back into consciousness to turn to look at the taller male, and she tilted her head.

    "You know, she's writing you a detention."

    "So? You won't be alone today."     She said, smiling a bit. She started to walk to her own desk, her old, worn out gray chucks making heavy throbs on the tile, in time with the throbs of her knees.

    "Kid, you're crazy. One crazy little brat."

    "And you're one crazy old coot. We're one in the same, that way."     She said, sitting down, wiping the shoe marks from the desktop.