7.

Rain tapping tumultuously on my window woke me the next day. I checked my bedside clock and it was 7:30, but the light outside begged to differ. If I hadn’t put my trust in that clock to wake me up on time for the last 6 years and if it hadn’t served me faithfully, I would’ve been positive it was, in fact, the dead of night. Thick black rain clouds nullified any prospects of morning light and the day felt as cold as hell.

I wanted to crawl back under my covers and curl into the foetal position, but the rain had other ideas. It banged louder and louder and as loud as goddamn possible until I threw off the covers and exclaimed, “Okay! I’ll get up.” I had to go meet Hardy in an hour and a half, anyway.

Showering, eating, and then getting dressed (in that order, too) were fairly uneventful. I’d done it all by eight o’clock and decided to leave for town, wearing a parka, as the rain continued relentlessly. Someone had pissed off the gods and we were all paying for it.

The rain is a sad thing for me. Whenever it rains all I can ever think about are funerals, crying, and the homes of thousands of tiny creatures being destroyed. I usually retreat and do something reclusive when it rains, but I wanted Hardy to see Echo; I wanted to confirm that I wasn’t going crazy.

I was one of the very first people at the Mojo Café that morning. The chairs and umbrellaed tables that normally adorned the outside were all absent and the usually-open door was closed, with nothing but a tiny card to signify that the café was open at all. It was quarter to nine when I arrived and nobody was there but two employees, both of which I’d never seen before. I must have startled them – a hooded and drenched, solitary figure – because their conversation came to an abrupt end and they paused to stare.

“Are you a friend of the band?” One of them, a guy, finally asked after a moment of hovering awkwardness.

I raised my eyebrow and shook my head. There was a small stage at the Mojo Café, in the furthest corner of the building, which was the home to a lot of mediocre talent. It wasn’t so much of a stage as a slightly raised, wooden platform, but it was a point-of-focus nonetheless. Chintz chairs were placed randomly before the stage, giving the place that snazzy air that they were too obviously aiming for. Elsewhere, there were regular wooden chairs with wooden tables placed about in true café-fashion. It really was a regular, normal place, but I liked it. In the Mojo Café, you felt disconnected from the world – as though nothing mattered but the café and what was happening there and then.

I found a two-person table and removed my dripping parka. Another thing was that it was always warm in here, no matter the season. It’s corny, but you felt warm on the inside and the outside. And rainy days like these could magnify your appreciation of it tenfold. I ran a hand through the blond mop upon my head. I needed a haircut.

The two employees had completely abandoned their conversation, turning their attention to me. The guy, apparently the more extroverted of the two, ditched the counter and came over.

“Hey, bro,” he smiled, revealing smoke-stained teeth. He had these fuzzy, black dreadlocks and probably thought he was the coolest guy in the world, but he seemed completely congruent with his surroundings. “Rain’s beautiful, huh?”

I smiled obligingly. “Not really. I can’t help but feel someone’s angry or something bad’s happened when it rains, y’know?”

At that precise moment his countenance morphed slightly, barely perceptibly, from one of a congenial stranger to that of a wary waiter. “Okay, bro,” he replied, with a stretched, inexplicable vibrato on the word ‘okay’. “Want anything, though? Coffee? You waitin’ for someone?”

I looked into his inky, dreadlock-surrounded eyes and thought that he must really like the rain. “Yeah, I’m j –”

Just then, three guys came marching in loaded with musical instrument cases, bringing along with them the outside’s foreign air.

“Hello,” one of them shouted.   “We’re here; we’re here.” You could tell he was meant for entertainment, though he only seemed to be roughly my age. The world is split into two, I guess: those who are destined for something, and wanderers – the lost. I fit into the latter, but I don’t really mind.

“Can we just set up, then? Sophie’s coming with the amps in a sec.” The dreadlocked guy and his quiet female counterpart instantaneously made some sort of reply of assent, but I couldn’t make out what was actually said as my heart had skipped a beat and my mind focused on the name Sophie.

Sophie Merryweather was a girl from my school that I had managed to silently fall in love with from the beginning to the end. I was completely aware that this Sophie may be a completely different one to ‘my’ Sophie, but – trust me – it becomes a conditioned reflex to freak out when you hear the name of your 5-year-unrequited love.

As the three musicians set up on stage, there was a struggle at the door.  My seat being closest to the door, I offered to help out. Besides, this way I could quell the unbearable suspense that had rapidly arisen within me.

I approached the door and opened it. A gust of raging wind blew in a sheet of rain, momentarily blinding me, but shortly thereafter I identified the Sophie.

It was her: Sophie goddamn Merryweather. Her jet-black, shoulder-length hair was pasted to her face, hindering her sight, and the two large amplifiers beneath both of her arms were jeopardising her balance. The rain and wind blew ever-harder and Sophie just stood there, looking pretty helpless.

“Yeah, thanks a bundle, guys.” She spoke with the raspy voice of a singer. D’you ever notice that? Real good singers always seem to have this distinct speaking voice, exclusive only to them. Maybe it’s just me.

Anyway, she hadn’t noticed I was standing right in front of her because she was too busy standing there, trying to emphasise the ridiculousness of her situation by getting wetter, I guess. I took an amp from her and told her to come in before she drowns.

“Hey, I know that voice!”  She exclaimed in her loud giddiness.  She bounced into the café and shook her hair around like a big wet dog. It was little things like these that made me enamoured with Sophie – her ability to become overly excited at hearing a voice she recognised and the way she shook her hair. It was just different, I guess.

With her hair now in a large puff, but her vision unhindered, she gasped at the sight of me. I wasn’t too sure how to react at a gasp-greeting then, and am still unsure now, so I simply gave an awkward wave and said, “Hi.”

“Myles! What are you doing here?” She yelled, her amber-brown eyes wide with shock.

“Why? Shouldn’t I be here?”

“No, no, don’t be silly; I just didn’t… I didn’t expect to see anyone from school ever again, really. Nobody ever hangs out at the Mojo.”

“I do,” sometimes.

“I’ve never seen you around! Come on, let’s give the amps to the guys and then we can chat.” She smiled this full smile that exposed all her teeth and made her look beautiful. Sophie was always smiling that way, and winning over everyone in the process.

So we handed over said amps and resumed seats at my table. The intimacy of the two-person table immediately got me all anxious and ridiculous. She propped her head up with her hands, her smooth elbows leaning on the table and her golden eyes ceaselessly connected. I’d never had a conversation with her like this; it was always a distanced infatuation.

“Now you know my secret, Myles. I’m in a band.” She smiled again.

“You could always sing.” I half-gulped. Damn it, she was making me ridiculous. Girls and their witchcraft!

“Aw, thanks. I was never gonna go onto college or continue education or anything. We’re gonna try to make it big; get our music out, compose a message. That’s why I never really expected to actually see anyone again.”

“But you were, like, popular. How many numbers did you get on our last day? What about all your friends?” Sophie was one of those Loved Kids. She had talent, she was beautiful, everyone adored her, and she got on with everyone too. This seemed odd coming from her.

“Ah, none of them were really my friends. I knew a lot of people and got close to them simply due to whole school-situation, y’know? These are my real friends.” She waved over to the band just as one of the guys struck a chord.

I nodded. I suppose she understood what I left too late to understand. Those friends were literally just a convenience of proximity. It was a depressing thought, but I guess it helped with the whole loneliness situation. A bit.

I glanced at the café’s clock; it was eleven minutes past nine. “Hardy was supposed to meet me ten minutes ago,” I said.

“Oh no, I can’t stand that guy.” She frowned despairingly and I laughed. Not many people could, but I needed to show him Echo. Echo!  She had momentarily taken a place at the back of my mind – I was actually being normal.

Thunder roared outside and, just then, Hardy stumbled in. He and his lanky frame surveyed everybody in the room at a sublime speed and, I swear, I heard him groan. He made his way over to our table somewhat reluctantly.

“You acquired a date…” He spoke harshly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sophie spat. My heart sunk slightly. I mean, I know it wasn’t a date, but my heart still sunk.

“Myles, I don’t feel worthy in the presence of such Majesty, so please, may we take ourselves elsewhere?”

“What the fuck is your problem?!” Sophie yelled. The guys from the band immediately stalked over, standing behind Sophie like bodyguards. “What’s going on?” One of them added.

I interceded, “Nothing, nothing. Hardy, the weather’s crazy…”

“Oh, for the love of God, how did I know you were simply seeking attention? You’ve wasted my time, Myles.” His voice dealt bundles of guilt as though I’d committed the most horrible felony.

“What’s he talking about?” Sophie asked.

“Is this guy causing trouble?” The dreadlocked employee shouted from afar.

“Fantastic!” Hardy yelled. “Myles, if you and Her Grace don’t need me any longer, I think I’ll be heading off.”

“Hey, I don’t like your tone…” One of the band-guys said. Hardy laughed contemptuously in his face and made his way out.

Man, there was way too much going on.

“Sophie, I’m going to need to go after him,” I said and stood, re-donning my parka.

“As long as he’s out of my sight, we’re cool.” She sighed.

I frowned and ran out into the tempestuous day. Goddamn it, Hardy.

5.

She was right there when I woke up, leaning over me, looking anxious – worrying whether I was okay, I suppose. I knew she’d rescued me because she was as drenched as I was. There Echo stood, just watching and waiting. It was weird at first, but I guess that’s what you do after you’ve saved someone and I probably owed her some gratitude.

I opened my mouth to utter a ‘thank you’, but instead produced a strangled croak. My throat still burned. I squirmed about, struggling to sit up, deciding that maybe I could gesticulate my gratefulness instead. To this, Echo responded oddly. Now, I know by now I should have understood that Echo was insane, but it still surprised me. As I sat up, she took a few steps backwards as though she was afraid of me or something – as if whatever touched me had an unspeakable disease that I’d decidedly caught from interaction.

“Echo,” I managed to croak. With this, she bowed her head resolutely and ran away. “Wait!” I called, my throat searing. My advice to you is not to scream after taking in far too much water too rapidly.

But anyway, that was it. I’d gone back to finally get over Echo, but instead: someone stole my bike; I was attacked, and then Echo saved my life and ran away afterwards. I was absolutely confused and my brain was wracked with intrigue.

I wobbled into a stance and frowned at the fact that every goddamn muscle in my body ached with a terrible vigour… and I had to wobble all the way home that way, too… just fantastic. What the hell was it that could push someone into a lake and cause them so much pain?

It took me about three hours – I kid you not – to get home. It was as arduous as anything you can imagine, but by the end of it I kind of became accustomed to the pain and it was part of me. I’d like to say that that’s my attitude to everything and that’s how I manage through life, but it’s not. I’d also like to say that as soon as I got home I didn’t grab my phone and immediately ring a so-called friend to tell them what happened – that instead I just removed my wet clothes and endured my loneliness like a man, but I didn’t.

I did have a bit of pride, though. I didn’t phone one of my ‘better’ friends; they obviously didn’t deserve it. In fact, I called one of my very worst friends. His name was David Hardy and he was one of those guys whom everybody calls by their last name as opposed to their first. I guess it had something to do with the catchiness, the ring it had to it, but I know beyond a doubt that it was also attributed to him due to his nature. Hardy was the hardest motherfucker to please, ever, in the history of time. He didn’t like anything; he found nothing funny… Man, Hardy redefined the word ‘pessimistic’. Surely you’ve seen or read Winnie The Pooh, right? There’s a donkey from that called Eeyore who, compared to old Hardy, seems like the happiest creature to walk the earth.

After a few rings, the line finally connected and I was met by the quintessential ‘Hardy’ greeting: “What?”

“Hey, man, it’s Myles,” – that’s my name, by the by – “how’s it going?” I regretted this casual utterance as soon as it slipped from my mouth. Hardy was not one for small talk – if you didn’t have anything good to say, he would rather you didn’t speak at all.

“Here we go… What do you want, Myles?” If you didn’t know Hardy, you wouldn’t be able to stand him. But I did and I knew this was all part of the package.

“Hardy, I’ve got the maddest story to tell. Yesterday, man, I was bored as hell just sitting at home doing nothing, like, really really bored, so I decided to take a bike ride. I didn’t know where I was gonna go, but I just rode. So, I came to this lake nearby that mountain. You know that mountain they’re always on about in Geography? What’s it called? Anyway, I rode up that way and came by this lake. And at this lake was this girl, Hardy, she was honestly beautiful.” At this point, Hardy made no point of suppressing an all-too loud sigh, but I knew if I gave in he’d hang up. I was in my stride.

“Really, Hardy, imagine all the girls at our school – or our alma mater, what the hell do we call it, now? Anyway, Hardy, imagine all of them; some of those girls are really pretty – albeit bitchy, but nonetheless – they can look really nice when they want to, can’t they?” I paused long enough for effect, but not long enough for him to respond. “Well, this girl at the lake… Let me put it this way, if she came to our school she would instantly be hated by the girls and loved by the guys, d’you know what I mean? Agh, no, that doesn’t do her justice, man. She truly is the most beautiful female I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t –”

“Hardy, you can’t understand unless you’ve seen her. Anyway, that’s not even the weirdest part. I mean, firstly, what is she doing just chilling near this obscure lake? Why is she there? That’s the thing. Her being there is weird, but she was the one getting really angry at me for being there like she owned the place. It really is bizarre.”

“MYLES! Stop rambling and get to the point. Why do I need to know this? Of what concern is it to me?” Don’t ask me how, but Hardy always managed to sound expressly posh. He didn’t come from a particularly wealthy background; he went to the same shitty public school as me, but he managed to always sound so damn eloquent. This might have something to do with why he had few friends. Nobody likes somebody who sounds like they’re trying to be better than them. I kind of pitied him, though.

“Hardy, I was attacked by a creature up there and she saved my life. One moment she hates me – I think she told me I ruin everything – and the next moment she’s saving my life and running off into the woods.”

“Sounds like Superwoman,” Hardy drawled, every syllable dripping with sarcasm. “To me, she seems like a bi-polar feral child. It won’t do you any good to go back to her. I assume that’s why you called me, for advice?”

“She’s not crazy-crazy or anything; she seems… I don’t know, but she’s not feral, though. “

“Well, if what I say has absolutely no import, then why have you called me?” Every conversation with Hardy was like a battle.

“I…” Shit. If I didn’t come up with something fast, I’d have lost him. Why can’t people understand that sometimes you just need to talk? “You’re smart, Hardy. I need your help.”

“With what?” He asked, his voice filled with scepticism, completely unmoved by the cajolement.

“I don’t know, man. Can’t you come down there with me, make sure I’m not going crazy?”

“You want me to meet your Psychotic Saviour by the Lake Side?” He said, mockingly.

“Please?” I can’t believe I’d stooped so low. In retrospect, sometimes I think Hardy did it on purpose, you know? He assigned himself such a persona so as to capture the other social rejects, like a large sarcastic spider with a web spun of scorn.

He laughed a deep, hearty laugh before replying. “Okay, Myles. Only because this could be rather interesting, but I shall join you in meeting this fantasy girl.”

“Wait, don’t you believe me?”

“Of course not,” he sighed deeply. That was another one of Hardy’s many charming qualities: he did a lot of things ‘deeply’. “Don’t think I’m oblivious to the fact your friends have probably completely severed contact with you. This seems like an elaborate act in the name of loneliness.”

“Hardy, meet me at the Mojo Café tomorrow at nine and I’ll prove it to you. Bring your walking shoes, too.”

“Indeed,” was his last word before he hung up. I had absolutely no conviction, or trust, that Hardy would appear, but in the state that I was in, I knew I’d wait. And I swear, Hardy knew it too.

3.

I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t stop thinking about her. And I don’t mean that in the gushy, romantic way either. I won’t lie – she was beautiful, extraordinary, but it was in my best interest that I didn’t fall in love or anything. Girls are like that; they infect your mind and strip you of your sanity. You might think they’re these perfect creatures, but believe me when I say: they’re out to destroy us all, one heart at a time.

So, when I did think of Echo, I made sure not to think of her perfect body or her encapsulating eyes or her sweet voice. I made sure not to postulate this near-infallible creature and then agonise over why the hell she was so rude to me. But why was she so rude? I didn’t understand what I had done. Moreover, what was she doing there? Why was she dressed so incongruently with her surroundings? She seemed like she had just got back from her prom, not as though she’d taken an hour-long bike ride to get there.

I thought about going back and not going back and what it’d do to me if I didn’t go back and what I’d say if I did go back. What made me think she would even go back?

I shook my head despairingly the next morning, having dreamt of Echo strolling about the lake. I needed to stay away, some sort of distraction. Instinctively, I grabbed my phone to check for messages. Nothing. My friends, who I was beginning to suspect I would never see again, weren’t there for me. Telling my parents was out of the question. I mean, they’re cool and all, but – as a rule of thumb – you don’t talk to your parents about the mysterious, bitchy, but most beautiful girl you met at the lake (which, incidentally, they don’t know about) who is in the process of stealing your sanity. Besides, it was nine o’clock and they were already off to their hot-shot jobs, which they had in order to keep me happy. We teens have high demands, apparently.

Anyway, my point is, I had no distractions. I sat in my bed, tossing my obsolete mobile from hand to hand and thinking of Echo. She was like a song stuck in my head and, for me, the only real way of ridding my mind of said song is by listening to it. I had to go back. I was always going to, anyway. I jumped out of bed resolutely, deciding that I would go back, see that she wasn’t there, and return back to my friendless life.

There wasn’t time for breakfast; I had to get this done and over with. I grabbed a few cereal bars and took off, in practically the same clothes as the day before. The journey was the same, but it felt different. The wind blew my hair everywhere and the novelty of adventure was lost to me. Instead, I was worried. Fear coursed through my veins for many a reason and I knew exactly why, but I refused to make it a conscious thought. I hated myself for it; I honestly did.

The infinitesimal incline (that you can feel all the same, after an hours’ ride, by the way) began to flatten and I arrived at the lake. Absolutely nothing had changed. It was still as scenic as yesterday. The mountain loomed overhead like some great protector and the lake multiplied the world’s beauty. It was nice that no one was there, but it could still feel so welcoming, so tranquil. It made me think of the expendability of friends or even love or parents. The truth is, when it comes down to it, your happiness depends on you and you alone. It’s relative to how you receive experiences. So when Echo didn’t appear, I was actually glad. Who needed her? This place was mine; the perfect escape.

I lay in some grass and spread eagle, as I would at home on my room’s carpet, and closed my eyes. The chirps of birds, the baying of animals from the mountain, the soft ripple of the lake – it all welcomed and encompassed me, until the thin line between being human and belonging to nature faded and I understood what it felt to be free. I didn’t need anyone.

“I thought you’d be back,” she sighed.

Shit. I was instantly broken from my state of meditation. Shit, shit, shit. I kept my eyes closed, fancying she might disappear that way. I was in an awful panic, honestly.

“What do you want … whatever-your-name-is?” She prodded my side with a bare toe, forcing me to spasm. So much for playing dead.

I inhaled, preparing myself, and then opened my eyes while simultaneously propping myself up. “Hey, you,” I proclaimed in my falsest, most ironic voice.

“Go home, for the love of God.” She frowned, her eyes fierce.

I’m not going to lie – it hurt. She stood with her hands on her hips, staring directly at me, showing no signs of humour. “Why do you hate me so much?” I tried to say without sounding too hurt. I’m not sure if it worked.

She tucked a strand of her hair behind her left ear and turned to the lake. She wasn’t going to respond; I knew it.

“Listen, until I get answers, this is my place as much as it is yours.”

“That’s the problem with people like you; you think just because you found a place, it automatically becomes yours. Don’t you see the fallacy, the injustice of that logic?” She had her back to me, but the tone of her voice implied desperation. Why was she getting so worked up? Women are crazy; I swear to god.

“I… The only reason I said that was because you’re acting as if you own the place!” I rebuked.

“No!” She yelled, spinning around and shaking every leaf of every tree in the vicinity. Her ire made me fear my safety. “I bet you think it’s normal, don’t you? Humans have been storming upon land that isn’t theirs forever, haven’t they? Finders – keepers?”

“No… W-what’s your problem?”

She opened her mouth to unleash another can of whoop-ass on me, but suddenly paused. She looked out into the trees and her wild look of fury was replaced with one of steely determination. She glanced over to the mountain and then back at me. What was she doing?

“You ruin everything,” she spat with stark disgust and suddenly ran nimbly off into the distance.

She was gone. I stood there feeling a sense of urgency in the atmosphere, but at a loss as to why I needed to be urgent. All the same, I ran in the opposite direction – the direction of my bike.

It wasn’t there. I looked around, completely and utterly confused. I knew I had left it there because that’s where the path back to the road was. No one could have stolen it, could they?

I ran to catch Echo, but the attempt was futile. Who was I kidding? I had no idea where she went. Goddamn it, I was losing my sanity. The sweat of fear humidified my hair, causing it to paste disgustingly all over my face. I was dizzy, but immobilised: scared and agitated.

There was a low rumble nearby. It wasn’t the rumble of a car or even the rumble of thunder. Thunder I could handle. This was the low rumble of a beast. It was coming from my three-o’clock, in the trees. I had no means of escape and the only other person around had already run off. Hyperventilation kicked in and I stood there, waiting for something to happen.

And it did. The next sequence happened inexplicably fast. A great black shadow knocked me from my feet and dragged me into the lake. The force at which we hit the water threw me into unconsciousness. Or at least that’s what I assume happened because when I woke up, I was drenched in water.

1.

Something you need to know about me is: I get bored. Most sixteen- to seventeen-year-olds have experienced this phenomenon a great multitude of times and it often plagues their lives. Now, don't get me wrong, I am just like any other regular teen. However, the difference between me and, perhaps, you is that I view boredom as a blessing.

Come those long, solitary days of summer, I got bored. My mom and dad were off at work every week day and, being an only child, my only companion was my computer. Most kids can spend hours at a time on that hypnotic beast, but I don’t understand how they do it; I really don’t. It’s a complete waste of time; the internet is a facsimile, an artificial representation of what’s out there in the real world. By falling under that machine’s hypnotic glare, you’re never really moving forward – or moving at all. Some people see it as the symbol of mankind’s progression, but I think of it as the complete inverse. But, anyway.

I was lying down on the floor of my room, letting my body sink into the thick carpet – as I often do – and just staring at my magnolia ceiling, thinking. It had been roughly 3 weeks, 2 days, and 13 hours since school was out and roughly 3 weeks, 1 day, and 13 hours since I’d had any form of communication from my friends. It was depressing, really. I’d always thought that the teachers must be bullshitting us; I mean, how could our 4-year-long friendship just suddenly sever due to this one milestone in our lives? But damn it, they were right. Or maybe they weren’t and my friends were out having the time of their lives together and simply weren’t including me. Goddamn it, they were depressing thoughts.

I’m not the type of kid to sit around and mope about depression and write poems and paint pictures depicting the world’s inequities, but, damn, it was getting to me. I swear to god, loneliness is a pressure that resides inactively in our ribcages. When something triggers it, it comes down hard on the heart. That’s how it felt, anyway. My heart felt like it was being pushed together by an invisible force, forming thousands of micro-cracks. But, like I said, I’m not the type of kid to sit around and mope. If I didn’t do something, I’m positive my heart would have been decimated by loneliness.

I bounced up to my feet and slipped on a shirt and some shorts. The weather outside was beautiful – like, magnificent – and I was here staring at my ceiling thinking about pain? You have to believe me when I say, that wasn’t me at all.

I rushed downstairs, grabbed my keys, and went into the garage. In there was a slick ultramarine mountain bike I got for my birthday a few years back. It was a terrific little thing, but honestly, I hadn’t had much time to use it. School really can dominate your life. But, well, now I had the time and the reason to use it. What better way to take care of your problems than ride away from them?

I removed the bike from the garage, mounted it, and began to ride. I wasn’t thinking about where I was going; I was just riding. It’s a nice feeling, you know, to ride on the wind and not really know where you’re going to end up. It’s exhilarating. I think every kid’s computer should be replaced by a bike.

Geographically, my town is situated at the foot of an extremely large mountain, so whenever you travel north, you’re always going up a barely perceptible incline. This is about the only thing I listened to in Geography and, in retrospect, I’m glad I did. Once I’d ridden through the uptown district, I would have had no sense of direction otherwise and would have turned back, fearing getting lost. But I didn’t. I pressed on until the scenery became more beautiful and I came to something I hadn’t even known existed.

The roads had turned to dust trails and the domineering glare of skyscrapers had turned to the grandiose presence of trees. Directly ahead was the mountain, immense and teeming with unidentifiable noises. However, between me and the mountain, was a wide expanse of water, reflecting every aspect of the nature surrounding it, creating this sense of a double-world. Here lay this lake, delicate and alluring, that I had no idea existed. Boredom can be a blessing.

I dismounted my bike and approached the lake and became part of the scenery, part of this other world. Normally I’m rather pathetic in appearance, but I swear this lake made me beautiful. My too-long-for-a-boy blond hair seemed intentional rather than born of laziness; my skin glowed with a radiance you don’t really get downtown; my brown eyes accentuated by the trees’ rugged trunks. It didn’t do much for my inherent skinniness, but it certainly was an improvement. I felt good.

Too preoccupied in gazing at this reflection of me, I hadn’t noticed this girl arrive and sit on a boulder. I probably wouldn’t have ever noticed her, had she not called out to me.

“That degree of vanity is dangerous, you know,” she said, the hint of a frown in her voice. Her voice sounded like a soft tinkering of bells, like a beautifully constructed symphony of sounds compared to the excited screeches of the girls back at school.

I turned to look at her. She was dressed in a translucent, silky white material that revealed a stunning body beneath. I’m not one to objectify women, but, believe me; you would have been amazed, too. Her curves manipulated the material, making it clingy in some places and elegantly flowing at others. The dress reached her thighs, exposing her legs and feet to sunlight. She wasn’t wearing any shoes.

She bounced off the boulder and strolled towards me with the poise of a ballerina. Standing next to me, she looked into the reflection. She said something, but I wasn’t paying attention. As she got closer, I could decipher her facial features and they were just as – if not, more – impressive as her body. She had wavy brunette hair; a small and cute, pointed noise; her lips were a radiant pink, and her eyes a shade of blue that I’m not sure of how to describe. They seemed to incorporate every shade of the colour, with the lighter on the outer side and the darker nearer to the pupil. It was truly fascinating.

“What’s so fascinating about it?” She asked, a thin eyebrow raised. I could feel the blood surge to my face and wondered if I turned every shade of red.

“W-what?” I asked.

“Your … reflection? Why were you staring at it for so long? It’s never good to be that self-centred.”

Relief rushed through me like a wave, dousing every fire ignited in my face. What the hell did I think; she could read minds? I laughed inwardly.

“Oh… No, no, no, it’s not… I’m not … Honestly, it’s just the scenery; it’s so pretty,” I said, staring too directly into her eyes. I turned away, pretending to admire the surroundings.

She seemed unimpressed. She sat down, stuck her feet into the water and asked, “What are you even doing here?”

I was shocked by her hostility, but then annoyed. She didn’t own this place. “I want to be here,” I replied, stoically.

“Well, you shouldn’t.”

“What? Who are you to tell me…?”

“I’m Echo.”

“You’re … Well, okay, Echo, that wasn’t my question. I meant what right do you have? You look, like, 7 – shouldn’t you be getting home?” This was a lie. I was frustrated; she didn’t look seven; she looked my age.

Echo looked up at me studiously. Then she smirked and turned back to the lake.

“Well?” I asked, infuriated by the lack of response.

“You’re right; the lake is beautiful.” What?! What the hell was wrong with her?

“Okay, Echo,” I sighed. “You know what, you’re right. I better get going. I don’t have time for crazy girls who suddenly appear by the lake.”

“Good,” she said, somnolently. “Good, go.”

I almost tore my hair out. How frustrating could somebody be? I grabbed my bike and rode back home, repeatedly telling myself to keep away.

But I knew I wouldn’t.