❝Be somebody who makes everybody feel like a somebody.❞

I've grown up endlessly replaying those words in my head. Be somebody who makes everybody feel like a somebody. In simple terms, I've always thought it meant that I should be kind. That I should make someone—everyone—feel like they're human. That's what we all were anyway, right?

I heard the quote from my mom. It was the last thing she told me before she... well, that's a story for another time. But anyways, I've cherished those words my entire life–clung onto that last memory I had of my charismatic mother. I lived by it. It's why I am the way I am. I'm the nice girl everyone gets along with.

Some would call me a people pleaser, though the term made my nose crinkle. It offended me, even. Partly because it implied that I was just another empty-headed follower in a world full of them, and partly because I knew it was true. I don't think I've ever gotten in a real argument with anyone. I've made lots of friendships, too. Though, most of them were temporary. Actually, not most. All of them.

I gripped my bicycle handles tighter and pedalled faster through the town. I knew the howling wind would do no good for my hair. It was always so difficult to maintain those tight curls of mine. I loved my brown locks. My thick head of hair was annoying to handle at times—all the time—but still, I loved it.

It took a few years, but I managed to embrace every aspect of myself, from my full hair to my light-toned complexion. My father was a swarthy African-American, and my mother was as pale as snow. I guess that made me fall somewhere in the middle of the spectrum.

Of all my individual features, the one I adored most were the freckles that dotted my face. You couldn't see them unless you were up close to me, but once you noticed them, it was all you saw. They reminded me so much of the ones my mom had. It was like I had something that connected me to her.

I peeked a glance at the night sky. The stars were mesmerizing, though the brighter they sparkled, the more I was reminded that it was getting late. My aunt had told me to be back before sunset, but I couldn't fathom it. I didn't wanna go back to that empty void and be met with all of the boxes that needed unpacking, or those blank, white walls. Moreover, I couldn't plaster a smile on my face and tell my aunt that everything was perfect.

Honestly, it wasn't. I was tired of the constant moving. This was the fifth time we'd moved to a new house in two years. My aunt was always open to change—too open. Although, she took me in when no one else would, so I wouldn't dare complain.

With my pent up thoughts accumulating, I subconsciously began to pedal faster down the empty road. The breeze tickled my face and goosebumps snuck onto my arms. Feeling risky, I closed my eyes. This quickly proved to be a mistake on my part, when—

"Watch out!" someone yelped.

A loud gasp escaped my plump lips. I made a poor attempt at swerving, but it was to no avail. I crashed into the unsuspecting victim and flew off my bike, landing on top of the poor guy with a groan. At least his body broke my fall. Still, I cringed in pain and reluctantly pried my hazel eyes open. I was met with a contrasting pair of dark eyes that were alarmingly close to mine.

I quickly scrambled off the guy, brushing the debris off my shirt as I stood up. Once I got a good look at the stranger, a scream helplessly escaped my lips. There was blood all over the front of his white tee. Either he'd just gotten his period, or he'd just committed mass murder. The latter seemed a bit more likely.

"Hello to you too," the stranger winced at my high-pitched scream. Nonetheless, he effortlessly bounced up and retrieved the skateboard that he'd fallen off of. As he did so, he cast me a boyish grin. A dimple formed on his right cheek.

The stranger ridiculously towered over me so I took a step back, partly in fear, and partly so I could look at him without having to crane my neck up. Once I got a good look at him, I suddenly wished I hadn't, because he had the type of gorgeous face that could make a girl go crazy. The lazy smile he bore certainly didn't help. His dark hair was perfectly tousled, and his skin was evenly tanned from the summer's sun. The streetlight next to us accentuated his muscular, though lean build, and I suddenly found myself holding my breath. If he wasn't covered in blood and didn't quite look like an axe murderer, I might've even asked for his number.

"Are you alright?" the illogical part of me asked.

"I'm fine," he mused after a moment, looking slightly surprised by the question. His piercing dark eyes followed my line of sight to his blood-stained shirt. "It's... ketchup."

I cast the stranger a look of disbelief. "Okay."

He was obviously lying. Not quite in the mood to get murdered, I snatched my bicycle from its position on the ground and prepared to hurry off.

"Why the hurry?" the human skyscraper queried. His silky voice urged me to turn around and meet his scrutinizing eyes once more. It was like he was basking in every detail of me, from head to toe, and I felt my cheeks heat up.

I only answered him when I was already on my bike and ready to leave. "I don't know. I'm not really in the mood to become your next victim."

He chuckled in amusement and slightly jogged after me. "What's your name?"

I contemplated answering. What did it matter anyway? He was just a stranger, and I'd probably never see him again.

"Rose," I finally called back. By then, I was already halfway down the empty town street, leaving the stranger to his lonesome.

I didn't need to look back at the guy to know he was smiling when he shouted, "I'll see you around, Rose."

For some reason, I liked the sound of my name on his lips.

"Hopefully not," I playfully yelled back.

Even when I turned the corner, I could still hear the stranger's barking laughter echoing down the street. The sound warmed my insides, though I forcefully rid my thoughts of the guy and peddled faster, deciding that it was about time I headed to the house I couldn't yet call home.

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