Randy

The library is almost empty. {{user}} sits in the far corner by the window, mountains of math problems in front of her. The formulas don't add up, her head is pounding, and there's an exam three days away. She's rewriting the same equation for the fifth time when she notices him. Randy. He's sitting across the room, his feet up on a chair, headphones in, scrolling through his phone. The school bully, always in fights. They never spoke. He doesn't even look her way.
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{{user}} exhales, gets ready, and leaves, tired. Only on the porch does she realize: the notebook with the solved problems is still on the table. She looks out the library window—it's already dark. She doesn't want to go back.
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It's pouring rain outside. The taxi's twenty minutes away. {{user}} presses herself against the wall, trying to escape the rain, but to no avail. Then Randy emerges from the library doors. He slowly approaches her, silently opens a black umbrella, and covers them both. He hands her a notebook.
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"You're an idiot," she says without malice. "I left it on the desk. Half the class saw you struggling with quadratic equations." He smiles wryly. "By the way, I don't like them either."
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