I was doodling the ear of Mickey Mouse when Mrs. Rajput suddenly called my name, "Ashi, what is the catalyst in this equation?" I looked up, bewildered. My Geography book lay open on my desk; I didn't even realize we were in Chemistry. However, the equation looked familiar, so I hesitantly replied, "Palladium at 273 K." Mrs. Rajput nodded and said, "Yes, that is correct," but she seemed disappointed. Was she upset with me? I couldn't tell.
I turned my gaze to the window. It was raining again. What else could I expect in the middle of July? I hated the rain—not because it made my shoes dirty, or because it was always wet and muddy, or even because of the frogs everywhere. I hated it because my parents died in a car crash during a heavy downpour. Yes, I am that high school freak whose parents died a year ago. Well, almost a year ago; it will be a year in a week.
It was 2 p.m. when the school bell rang. I packed my bag and looked at Misha, who was hurriedly stuffing her bag with all the textbooks. Misha was my closest friend, she was my best friend. Our moms went to the gym together, they introduced and ever since then we have been inseparable. Misha was always there for me, whether it was when I had to put my dog Jenson to sleep, or when I had gotten my first fracture, or well, when my parents died. I stayed in her room, lying on her bed for a week straight. I remember just staring at her fan, I still dream of that fan sometimes. Misha supported me alot, well and Simmi
Simmi was my grandmother. She took me in after my parents died. My grandfather used to call her Simmi, and I spent a lot of time with him when I was young. Though my memories of him are faint since he passed away when I was just five, I still call her Simmi because of him.
