Mom pulled the car into the driveway and I quickly slipped out of the back seat. Anna had a smart comment for me as I scurried to the door; "Where's the fire, speedy?"

"I have to pick up a bit," I said, "I didn't know you were coming over." I swung open the side door and kicked off my shoes. "Just give me a minute." I thudded up the stairs to my bedroom, where I opened the door to find a grisly scene of dirty laundry and sketchpads thrown everywhere imaginable. Clumsily, I began scraping the clothes into piles away from the furniture, freeing up space on my bed and futon for Anna to sit.

I heard her footsteps approach from down the hall just as I finished compressing a clump of laundry into my closet. She tossed her backpack on the futon and flopped onto my bed. "You don't have to clean you room for me," she said, "I'm not offended by the fact that you live in here."

I began bunching up sketchbooks and loose drawings and slipping them into empty spaces on my bookshelf. "If I'm having someone over, I'm cleaning my room," I said, "I'd rather my crap not be all over the place."

Anna rolled over onto her stomach, kicking her feet up. "Whatever," she said, "I won't stop you." I fought another urge that was begging me to immortalize this moment; a sketch of her lying there on her stomach, chin resting on her knuckles, feet kicking lazily in the air as her long, red braids swayed back and forth from the momentum of her legs. I blinked rapidly, feeling the back of my neck burn red as I noticed I was staring. "Micah, can you toss me my backpack?" I looked over to where she had left it.

"Really? You're, like, a foot away from it."

She grinned. "But I'm exhausted, Micah! I don't know if I'll make it!" She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, feigning a swoon. She peered slyly out of the corner of her eye.

I smirked, shaking my head. "Oh, how tragic." I grabbed on to one of the shoulder straps and lobbed the bag onto the bed.

Anna wriggled over to it and undid one of the pockets. "My hero," she exaggerated. I chuckled to myself. She pulled a notebook out from the depths of the bag and started spreading worksheets out over my comforter. "Frigging algebra, man," she huffed, "Mr. Howard really piled it on tonight."

I slid my backpack over to my desk and opened it up, unpacking a textbook and some notepaper. "I heard that Howard was a bit of a pack mule for problem sets," I said. "Lucky for me, I have Yancey."

"Shut up," Anna said, smacking her hand down on my bedspread. "How did you get Yancey? She's, like, practically retired!"

I shrugged. "The stars aligned, buddy, I don't know what to tell you." I patted my textbook a couple times. "Problem set four on page twenty-six, and 'have a fun afternoon.'" I smiled. "I don't know if I'll be able to do that second assignment, it sounds pretty tough."

Anna tossed a pen at me. "You suck sometimes, you know that?"

"Hey, hey; what do they say about counting chickens?" I threw the pen back. "I do have maybe four years worth of reading to do for history, remember? You didn't have football practice yesterday afternoon, so you probably had plenty of time to get it done."

Anna laughed. "That's right! Ha! You're not going to sleep tonight!"

I shook my head, sliding my desk chair out from the table. "Thanks for the support, Anna; I can always count on you."

She gave me a sarcastic two-finger salute. "I aim to please, 'Sir!'" I laughed as I sat down and flipped open my algebra book.

The room was quiet for a while while the two of us plugged away at our work. Mom popped in for a moment to let us know that the pizzas was here, and we went downstairs for a minute to grab a box and something to drink. As we started carrying the pizza and liter of Coke upstairs, we were reminded by my dear Mother that soda was very difficult to wash out of bedsheets; Anna was guilty of spilling many things in all the times she'd come over. Good-natured banter aside, she was actually a much more careful person than her reputation gave her credit for. She put her cup of soda on the nightstand, even sliding a napkin underneath as a coaster.

We took our time in eating, since neither of us wanted to get back to work. I asked her if she was excited to be on the cheerleading squad. She shrugged, taking a bite of pizza. "I would say so; yes." She bobbled her head from side to side. "I think the senior girls might not like me, but it's whatever."

I raised an eyebrow. "Not like you? What are you talking about, they hardly know you."

"Yea, but they know Elsa." She herself raised an eyebrow, shrugging again. "My sister isn't exactly one to go out of her way to make friends."

I stuffed the butt of a slice of crust into my cheek. "That's stupid," I said. "They're stupid."

"They're people." She flicked oregano flakes off her fingers and onto her plate. "I'll just have to work extra hard to try and be their friend." I captured another portrait in my brain, filing it away to draw later. It wasn't exactly in that moment, but sometimes I added my own touch to the portraits I drew; Anna sitting lazily, one leg tucked underneath her body, a slice of pizza hanging from her mouth. It was a very Japanese-looking image—my years of practice drawing Goku had heavily influenced my current style—and I started to wonder if I was actually coming up with it from my own mind. It was too Japanese-looking, more authentic than anything I could conjure up on my own. Connecting the dots between manga and pizza, I realized that I was actually thinking of a C.C. fan art I had seen on the web, and I quickly scrapped the idea. Although, I bet Anna would adore a Cheese-kun plush.

Anna pushed her plate aside and rolled back onto her stomach, picking up her pencil and getting back to work on one of her algebra worksheets. I grabbed another slice of pizza from the box and slid my history textbook off the shelf. I decided I would read two chapters before rewarding myself with a little break, and I flipped to the assigned readings and got underway. I read slowly, as I was a pretty slow reader anyway, but I also because I was distracted by the fact that Anna was here. Half of my mind was occupied with reading the textbook, the other half was on edge, ready to respond to whatever she might say. Slowly, surely, I managed to make it through the first two chapters on the Romans or something and reached over to the side of my desk where my guitar sat. "Hey," I said quietly. Anna looked up from her work. "Do you mind if I noodle around?"

She shook her head. "As long as you don't start slamming out power chords and blow me out the window." She returned her attention to her work. I moved over to my futon and started tuning up.

I had been learning the guitar since I got a Fender for my eight birthday, so I had a bit of experience. Music was an art form, and I liked art, so playing guitar was just about as fun for me as drawing. Anna liked singing, too, which may have had something to do with my persistence in practicing. I finished tuning and slumped back in the futon, taking the pick out from between my teeth. I pushed down on a D-chord and strummed, shifting to B-minor, then G-major. A little bit of Billy Joel to keep everything calm. I liked calm music. Well, at least, I liked calm music in English. I listed mostly to Japanese music, an interest stemming from my regular anime viewings. But the English music I liked was stuff like Billy Joel, John Mayer, Ed Sheeran. Sometimes I would get adventurous and listen to some laid-back country, but I wasn't a huge fan. The only song I really liked was "I Don't Dance," but I hadn't learned to play it on guitar yet.

I mouthed the lyrics as my fingers strummed out the song. I just want someone/ That I can talk to/ I'll want you just the way you are. Anna was very much someone I could talk to. We'd known each other since we were babies; my family had lived across the hall from hers in a high rise apartment building in the city. My dad had gotten a job managing a plantation out in Aarondale when I was five, and we moved out here. It wasn't until sixth grade that Anna re-appeared in my class, having moved to her godparents' home in Aarondale with her sister following the tragic death of her parents. She'd made sure we picked up right where we'd left off, instantly trying to continue forging our bond from the moment she realized we were in the same class. That first lunch together had been painful for me, having become so used to sitting alone and keeping to myself. Anna's bubbly personality had thrown me for a loop, and her questions upon questions about what I'd done since I'd moved out here put me in a panicked state of mind. When she had mentioned how much she liked the doodles she saw on the papers I'd spilled, though, everything started to calm down. She thought it was cool that I liked art, and she told me she wished that she had talent like mine. That opened me up almost instantly.

Day after day, she and I ate lunch together. We got more familiar with one another's lives, what had happened since I'd moved, and what sorts of things we were interested in. Anna liked singing, of course, and she seemed to be a big fan of planning things to do. One day, she showed me a notebook of all the places she wanted to visit before she died some day. Rio, Milan, St. Petersburg, Hong Kong, and dozens more. I remember being awestruck that an eleven-year-old could already have so much she wanted from life, despite not knowing much about the world she lived in. I, on the other hand, didn't have much of a plan for the future. I liked art, I liked playing guitar, and I liked keeping to myself. There wasn't much more to who I was than that. I suppose in the present I could add that I loved Anna, but I didn't want to tell her that. And, back then, I didn't know how much she would come to mean to me. She was the most faithful person I knew, the most loving and caring friend I had; the only friend I had. The people I networked with online on my forums weren't even close to being considered "friends" when compared to Anna, and I would say those faceless usernames would be more "friends" than most of my classmates. Anna was that girl the country singers talk about in their lyrics, the one that stops the clock and makes their head spin; or, at least to me she was.

I prepped for the last chorus, shifting back to D and strumming down. "I don't want clever—" My eyes leaped up from the fretboard, seeing Anna swaying back and forth. She scrunched up her face and belted out the next word, "—conversation!" I smiled, leaning forward and moving on to the next chord. Anna sang out the next line too; "I never want to work that hard!"

"Oo-oo-ooo-oo-ooo!" I came in on harmony, letting Anna take charge of the melody. I moved my hand and strummed again. "I just want someone! That I can talk to! I'll want you just the waaay you aaaaare!"

I wiggled my finger to hold out the last note, and Anna rolled over on the bed and flailed her arms in the air. "Ahh, I love that song!" She looked over at me through upside-down eyes. "I'm all done with this stupid work."

I raised an eyebrow, picking at a couple strings. "Really? You did all those problem sets?"

She laughed. "No," she said, letting her arms flop onto the bed, "I never said I finished, I said I was done."

I cranked out a G-chord and let it hold for a few seconds. "Those two mean the same thing!"

"Says who?"

"The English language."

"Phoo, English." She rubbed her eyes. "I should be allowed to speak my own language."

I strummed one more chord and stood up from the futon. "Oh yea? And what would that be?"

"I dunno," she flipped her papers into the air, "Anna-ese or something. Why should I be the one to name it?"

"Because it's your language, you chump!" I tossed a pen at her. She laughed and threw it back.

There was a knock at my door, and I turned to see Mom standing in the doorframe. She smiled. "I hate to break up this musical study extravaganza," she said, wiggling her fingers emphatically—God, Mom, you're such a dork—, "but it's getting late. I can drive you home, Anna, if you don't mind packing up."

Both Anna and I looked at the clock, and saw that it was nearly nine. "Sure, Mrs. A," Anna said, "I'll be down in a minute." Mom smiled and slipped away from the door. Anna rolled her eyes. "Ugh," she said, looking at me.

"What?"

"That was so dorky." She put up her hands and wiggled her fingers, just like my mom had. "'Musical study extravaganza.'"

I burst out laughing. "Oh, God, I was thinking the same thing!"

Anna did the hands again, and I laughed even harder. She started laughing too, and the both of us had a good long chuckle. As the humor died down, Anna wiped her eyes and started fussing with the papers on my bed. "Huhhh," she sighed, "I guess I should get going."

I cleared my throat. "Yea, Mom'll drive you home like usual."

Anna blew a raspberry. "Can you just adopt me so I can stay here?"

"What?"

Her eyes widened. "What?" We stared at each other for a minute. "What, what is it?"

I blinked. "Did you…say something?"

She shook her head quickly. "Nope," she said. She stuffed her notebook into her bag. "Bye!" She jumped off the bed and scurried through the door, turning quickly to face me. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

Before I could say another word, she flew down the stairs. I walked slowly to the door, barely catching the top of her red head as it slipped out the door. I stumbled backwards into my room and collapsed onto the bed. Did I hear her right? There wasn't much else she could have said. I shook my head. "What…" I couldn't take it any more; I had to draw.

I threw open one of the drawers of my desk, grabbing my good sketchpad and pencils and stalking to my door before slamming it shut. I jumped onto my bed and propped the pad up on my knees. I touched the pencil to my tongue, tasting the chalky residue of the graphite, and made my first, crisp sketch line.

Quickly; you know Mom's going to be back before you know it.

A soft knock at my door drew my attention away from my history textbook. I turned my chair to face the door. "Yeah, come in," I said.

The handle rattled, and the door swung open. "Micah?" Mom stepped into the room, leaving the door open behind her.

I scratched my head. "Hey, Mom. Did Anna get home okay?"

Mom nodded. "Nothing unusual in the slightest." She walked over to the desk, wrapping her arms around my head and giving me a small hug. "You should go to bed, honey; you have school in the morning."

"Yeah," I said, "I'm just finishing this chapter then I'll go to bed."

"M'kay, sweetie." She bend down and gave me a kiss on the top of my head. "Anna said she had fun."

"Really?" I felt myself smile a bit. "Cool."

Mom let go of my head and walked back to the door. "I'm glad the two of you get along so well," she said. "I still can't believe that the two of you remember each other from all those years ago."

I sighed. "Me neither," I said. Mom waved as she closed the door. "'Night, Mom."

I shut my textbook. I had been waiting for Mom to come in, because I knew she would eventually; I had a couple finishing touches to my drawing. Moving the book to the floor, I looked again at the paper I had been working on:

Anna sat on the floor, leaning against a wall. She had one hand on her knee, the other on her face, brushing hair back from her eyes. She had a smile on her face, but a weak one; the kind of smile you put up to keep people from worrying about you—a smile I knew all too well. Her eyes were downcast, looking at her feet. All around her grew flowers, and although I hadn't colored them in yet, I knew they were going to be brilliant shades of red, yellow, and blue. As the flowers grew further from her, though, they became more withered, less vibrant. Over her head hung a raincloud, pouring water down on top of her, helping the flowers closest to her grow.

Underneath it all, I had written one short sentence:

What was she trying to say?