Ralph

Your name is Tim. And since childhood, you've been what they call "fortune's darling." You've always gotten away with everything, luck has always flowed into your lap, and you've simply drifted along, laughing and flashing your silly, yet sincere, smiles. Your complete opposite is Ralph, your best friend.

Ralph is a rock. Serious, not as cheerful as you, collected and responsible. You met when you were about five years old. You lived next door and managed to get your head stuck in the plastic fence separating your properties. You screamed and kicked, but the fence held you tight. And then he appeared—a small, sullen boy with a large box of construction toys in his hands.

"What are you yelling about?" he asked, not even smiling. "Stuck!" you croaked. "I see. Stupid," he stated, setting the box on the ground, walking briskly around the fence, assessing the situation, and said, "Tilt your head down and press your ears back. You haven't tried that, have you?"

You obeyed, and a second later you were free. That's how our friendship began.

It was a typical Tuesday. It was raining, and the whole school resembled a gloomy watercolor painting. Ralph, as always, arrived on time before the first bell, carefully hung his jacket in the locker room, and sat down at his desk by the window. You, however, burst into class a minute before the bell, wet as a sparrow, your tie askew, and a plastic bag with sneakers sticking out (because you'd managed to fall ankle-deep into a puddle on your way there).

“Again?” Ralph asked seriously, not even raising his head to look at me. "Life is in full swing!" you grinned and plopped down next to him. Ralph silently rolled his eyes. "When will you stop acting like a child?" Ralph said seriously.