Vince was fifteen years old. He went to a regular grade "B" high school, was a regular "B" student, and was altogether unremarkable. Like most other adolescent boys his age, he had hormones that sometimes made him feel like he would die, but he had uncanny self-control. However... there was this one girl that happened to share all six of his classes. She was pale, small, and had light brown hair. Green eyes that seemed to know more of the world that she let on gazed out from below brunette bangs.
For some reason, she always seemed to be crying, or at least as if she had just stopped crying. She went to the bathroom at least once a day, and often when she came back, she would look like she had been crying. Her name was Cassandra. And to Vince, she was beautiful. He didn't know why, as all the other boys didn't pay any mind to her, but to him, she was special.
He would wonder why she cried, and would always think how beautiful she would look if she smiled.
He had never seen her smile.
* * * *
Vince had lived in the same house for his entire life. So had Cassandra. They lived on the same street, him somewhere in the middle, and hers down about five houses, on the corner. Vince wasn't the most sociable person, some might label him anti-social. He also wasn't interested in exercise; he stayed lean by metabolism alone. He did love walking at night to clear his mind, however. Late, when everyone else in the house was asleep. He lived with his mom and two brothers. He didn't love them, he tolerated them.
It was a little past midnight. He walked down to the corner, and was about to round the corner, when he saw a light in a window. It was Cassandra's house. He looked around. Timidly, he walked up the lawn and peeked into the window. It was a spartanly furnished room, with a queen-size bed that had a green cover, a shelf, a table with a few papers, and a chair. And Cassandra, sitting on the bed, back against the headboard, knees tucked under he chin, hands wrapped around her legs, crying. Sobbing into her knees.
Vince had trouble deciding what to do. There was the girl that he had secretly admired since he could remember, crying. Would tapping on the window be wrong? Could he do it? No. His mind said to tap on the window, but his body didn't listen. He stood there, looking. Again, he tried. He thought to his arm move! do something! but nothing happened. The other part of his mind was second-guessing, telling him what trouble he'd get into.
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