After school, Lea stuck with me like glitter on craft paper - cheerful, chatty, and impossible to shake off. Not that I minded. It was nice, actually, having someone. Even if she did go on a little too enthusiastically about boys.

I wanted to sit her down and explain - gently, maybe with a diagram - that most men were useless, emotionally constipated disasters with God complexes and zero ability to load a dishwasher. But I kept my feminist doomsday speech to myself. No need to scare her off just yet. Instead, I nodded, smiled politely, and listened as she gushed about who did what, where, and how unbelievably hot he looked while doing it.

She was young, sweet, and blissfully naïve - like a baby deer skipping through a minefield. I couldn't be mad at her for that. Maybe one day, I'd hand her the manual on surviving the male species. Chapter One: Do not engage.

We followed the paved path out through the school's main gates, falling into step among the other students. Spring had dressed the bushes and trees on our left in bright greens and fluttering petals, which felt offensively cheerful. In five minutes, we reached the bus stop - two platforms, one heading into the city centre, the other to the outer suburbs. I needed the latter.

As we reached the platform, Lea paused and gave me a quick side hug, like we were already best friends. (Told you, she's warm. Like, marshmallow-warm.)

"You sure you're gonna be okay?" she asked, worry framing her face. "New place, new route, weird bus smells..."

"I think I've survived the worst of today," I smirked, trying to not think about my embarrassing encounter with Sir Turns-Girls-Down-A-Lot. "Like having to go past the boys' restroom. This'll be a breeze."

She giggled. "You're so funny, Miri. We should definitely hang out more!"

I gave her a casual salute. "Sure. I'll brace myself for more Raven fan theories."

She clapped her hands and looked at me with wide eyes. "You totally do remember his name!"

"Tragically, yes."

We both laughed. Her bus pulled up on the opposite platform, so she waved goodbye and with a short see-you-tomorrow we parted.
Then came mine.

The bus screeched in with the grace of a dying walrus, and before I could so much as blink, a pack of teenage boys swarmed the doors and claimed every last seat like it was Black Friday and they were fighting over flat-screens.

I blinked at the chaos. The bus was already packed to bursting. Fantastic. Standing room only. Because of course.

I climbed aboard and wedged myself between a wall of backpacks, elbows, and testosterone.

Two other girls stood nearby, both blonde and clearly unhappy about the situation - until I "accidentally" nudged myself a little closer to the guys behind me, giving the girls more breathing space. Judging by their cheerful small talk, my efforts worked out. The thanks I got for it though? Nothing. They kept chatting about lip gloss and test scores like I was invisible.

Whatever, I knew I was doing a good deed. I was basically a public transit saint.

Trying not to eavesdrop, I dug through my jacket pocket at the next stop and plugged in my headphones. Finally - a bubble of peace. My favourite band wrapped me in the kind of sound therapy only angsty lyrics and dramatic guitar riffs could provide.

Then, suddenly, I felt it - that weird, prickly sensation of being watched. I glanced around, subtly, but couldn't pinpoint anyone. Maybe, when you're sandwiched between twelve teenage boys and a driver with a questionable moustache, paranoia was just bound to kick in.

Several stops and songs later, the bus finally began to empty. One of the blonde girls had gotten off earlier, and as soon as a few seats opened up, the second darted into one like it was a game of musical chairs. I stayed where I was, gazing out the window like a disaffected poetry major. I had to ride until the last stop anyway. Might as well brood dramatically.

Still, the feeling of being watched wouldn't leave. I refused to look again. That would've made it real. And I wasn't going to be the girl who freaked herself out over nothing on her first day of school. I've embarrassed myself enough for one day already.
The neighbourhood where we now lived wasn't winning any beauty contests. Gray apartment blocks stretched out on my left like soulless Lego bricks. Occasionally, a sad-looking tree or lopsided bench interrupted the concrete monotony. It was mostly old folks or families who couldn't afford anything better - no briefcases, no power heels, just tired eyes and discount groceries.

A ten minute walk from the bus stop to our new apartment.

The bus finally reached its end and I, as well as a couple of other passengers that I didn't really give much attention to, stepped off the bus. I turned right into the same direction the bus drove off, and strolled slowly down the sidewalk. I wasn't in a rush to get home. Yet, that weird sensation - the prickle on the back of my neck - lingered.

Probably just nerves, I told myself. After all, I'd spent the last half an hour pressed against a dozen teenage boys on a moving vehicle. If that didn't make you feel watched, nothing would.

As I turned onto the street that led to our apartment building, I was scrolling furiously through my playlist, trying to find the song-something upbeat and funky, to get myself off this paranoid feeling. My thumb was mid-swipe when my foot caught on a crack in the pavement, because of course it did.

I let out a surprised yelp as I stumbled forward, arms flailing like a deranged windmill. My phone slipped right out of my hand, earbuds yanking free from my ears, connected through cables, as it launched through the air in a perfect arc of doom.

And because fate has a sense of humour, my foot came down squarely on it before I could catch myself.
Crunch.

I froze, one leg awkwardly bent like a flamingo mid-panic attack, and slowly lifted my foot. My heart sunk deeper than the Titanic. The screen was spiderwebbed. Could a casing have prevented worse? Should've gotten a casing. I stared at the wreckage, wide-eyed.
"Oh. No. No, no, no. You didn't deserve this."
This phone was with me for more than four years now. My mom gave it to me on my 13th Birthday, all smiles. It was by now a little outdated, but it's done me a good service all these years. I should've been more careful.

I dropped to my knees like I was in a war movie. Cradling my phone in both hands, I let out a theatrical gasp.
"Oh, Pixel... you brave, reckless fool. I told you not to fly without a case." I slowly stood up straight again, holding the lifeless screen up to the sky while trying to turn it back on by pressing the power button. No success, it remained lifeless.
"You were my best bud, my flashlight, my therapist in the dark hours of the night... and now you're just-just digital roadkill."
A pause for effect. Then a whisper: "You died way too young." I sighed heavily. Now, I really had to get that part-time job as soon as possible. Better had been yesterday.
Behind me, a soft snrk cut through the silence. I froze.

Then: a low chuckle. Dry. Familiar.

I turned, slow-motion horror movie style, to see-yep. There he was. Raven Payne--which had yet to be confirmed-stood a few meters back, one arm across his stomach, the other hiding his surely amused smile behind his hand. He's clearly trying not to laugh and failing miserably. I could tell by looking at his eyes.
"What the hell-" I began, already halfway to murder mode.

"Touching funeral, Wildcard," Raven said, his voice full of barely-suppressed laughter. "Shall I send flowers?"

I stared at him. Was he making fun of my misery? He did not just call me Wildcard again. And on top of that, what was he doing here?!

"You again? Really?" I said. "Did you seriously follow me here just to mock the tragic passing of my one remaining source of joy? What are you, a stalker?" I barked, stomping toward him and finger pointing in his direction like I was selecting him for execution while holding my shattered phone like a broken relic of a fallen empire.

He shrugged, the grin still playing at the corner of his mouth. "You okay, Wildcard?" he asked innocently. "Looked like a fatal injury back there. Should I call next of kin for the phone?"

He stayed where he was when I finally reached him. He didn't flinch, didn't back off. That annoyed me even more. I came to a halt half a meter from him, jabbing my finger toward his chest like a loaded weapon. His chest was... unfairly solid. And warm. I tried not to notice that.
"Stop calling me that!" I shot at him, looking him straight into these ice-blue eyes. Up close, I realized just how tall he actually was - at least half a foot taller than me. His presence filled the space like he belonged in it.
He glanced down at my finger that was still poking his chest, then slowly, deliberately, curled his hand around mine and pushed it gently down.

My heart did a weird little somersault due to that unexpected contact.

What was that about?

It wasn't because of him. Obviously. I didn't care about him. At all. It was just... strangers rarely touched me. That's all it was.

"You could just tell me your name," he said smoothly, "so I might not have to keep calling you 'Wildcard'."

I yanked my hand back like it burned and folded my arms again, annoyed at how warm his hand had been - and how I'd noticed.

I hesitated. Still questioning why he was here.
"You tell me yours first."

A grin. "Fair enough. I'm Raven."

I raised an eyebrow. "Raven... Raven Payne?", I inquired. My guts told me he was the one Lea was talking about, but I had to hear it with my own ears.
His smirk faltered-just for a second-but he recovered fast.

"Depends. Is he in trouble?" He lifted his right hand and started scratching his neck.

"If he's stalking me, then yes."
"In that case... maybe I'm his cooler, more athletic cousin."
"So you are Raven Payne. The guy my classmate was gushing about this morning."
He looked smug, like it wasn't news to him that people were talking about him every day. "Did they say devastatingly handsome or just painfully charming?"

"Neither," I lied. "She said you were a pain in the butt."

He scoffed again. "Then she wasn't wrong."
I rolled my eyes, totally not giving him my name in return. Deep inside I hoped he had forgotten.
"So, if you weren't stalking me, what are you really doing here? And don't lie to me. There's no way you live here. You look like you dry clean your sneakers." I questioned, eyeing him. He looked way too clean-cut for that - brand-name green Chucks, well-fitted jeans, and a sweater that actually matched. He probably didn't even know what second-hand meant.

He followed my gaze down to his shoes, then back up at me with a bemused shrug.

"Okay, harsh," he said. "But, no, I don't live here. I've got training nearby."

"What kind of training?" I asked. "Stalker 101? 'How to Subtly Lurk Behind Girls Without Getting Mace'd'?"

He chuckled again, clearly not offended enough. "Pretty sure that one's an elective."

I decided to give him the benefit of a doubt, as it seemed Raven had a comeback for everything I threw at him. My ammunition reserves of sassy comments run out again. I decided I've lingered long enough in the company of Raven 'Stalker' Payne. Silently I slid my broken phone into my jeans pocket.

"Will you be okay?"
I was momentarily thrown off by the flicker of genuine concern in his voice and worries in his eyes when I looked back at him.
"That phone looked like it's been through some things." He pointed at the shattered electronic device that was now hiding in my pants.
"I'll live," I muttered, brushing a stray hair out of my face, feeling caught off guard by his sudden sensitive side. "Though I may start hearing voices without music to drown them out."

"I could hum," he offered, deadpan.

I glared at him. "You hum one note and I swear I'll throw this broken phone at your perfectly symmetrical face."

He raised his hands in mock surrender, backing off a step with a smirk. "Relax, Wildcard. Just trying to lighten the mood."

"And I'm just trying to avoid a prison sentence," I countered sweetly, also taking a step back, ready to finally leave the situation.

"I'm Miri, by the way.", I added, even though he hasn't asked again. I offered it willingly, just in hope he would stop calling me that ridiculous nickname.

"Miri," he echoed, seemingly thinking. "Is that short for something?"

"Mirona," I muttered, instantly regretting it.

"Mirona." He tried it out like he was tasting it. "Fancy. But I think I'm still gonna stick with Wildcard."

I groaned. "Whatever. Just don't stalk me again."

"Can't make any promises," he said, while I was already bringing distance between us again.

"Stalker!" I turned to make my leave, not sparing him another glance. He was way too irritating to deal with.

"Wildcard!", he threw at me again and added "Oh, and RIP Pixel. May he charge in peace."

"Don't talk about him like you knew him!" I shouted, shaking my head in disbelief and flipping him the finger as "good-bye".

I could hear Raven's quiet chuckle behind me, as I stormed off in a huff after that last sentence. Annoyingly, I didn't hate it.

To be sure - not that I was paranoid or anything - I turned the corner, walked two buildings down, and ducked behind a stairwell to wait. Five minutes passed. No sound. No footsteps.

I peeked out.

No Raven.

Good. He probably got bored. Or really went to his ominous training. Or hit by a car. As long as he didn't follow me anymore, I was fine with whichever.