Accidents are funny things. By nature, they can’t be predicted and often their consequences aren’t immediately visible. Sometimes these chance happenings have a good impact on the course of someone’s life; other times, the changes they bring aren’t quite so benign. For good or for ill, accidents have the power to change your life forever.

Hi. My name is Sandra. As you may have guessed, this is a story, but it isn’t just any old story. It’s my story; documenting the person I was so many years ago. All the same, while it is my story, this is just as much the story of a unique individual I knew in high school. Unsurprisingly, we met completely by accident.

The first day of high school is a nightmare of planning and praying. Freshmen girls spend hours worrying about picking out the perfect outfit and makeup. The guys worry about, well, whatever guys worry about. For some, high school is a fresh start, but for others, it’s a continuation of grade school life. I fell into the latter category. Throughout grade school I was the girl none of the popular ones dared to hang with, for fear of smirching their impeccable perfection. My family didn’t have money to get me the coolest clothes, I was shy, and happened to be the smartest kid in my class by a wide margin. Three strikes, you’re out. I hoped that I would finally break into the “cool” world with my new outfit and snappy outlook on life. Unfortunately, my sense of style was shown lacking from the minute I walked in the door. “Cool” clothes didn’t exactly work as planned, especially on a five foot eleven girl, not mention the fact that I was skinny in the wrong way, with dark, almost black hair that had the tendency to go everywhere but where I wanted it. My only striking feature was my eyes, a lovely blue-purple, but even that was hidden by the glasses I’d worn since second grade. After hearing the snickers from the upperclassmen, I changed my resolve: “blend in” as opposed to “look cool.”

Of course, being a dorky freshmen means that you have no idea where your locker, classrooms, or the local bathrooms happen to be. The lovely maps all freshmen were dutifully provided with at orientation proved completely useless in a crowded hallway. I got lucky in my first class of the day, Freshman Lit, finding the room with five minutes to spare. The second class wasn’t as easy. According to my little map, all Math classrooms were on the first floor, and I was on the second. That sounds easy, right? Well, if I could have found the stairs, sure. Adding to the chaos was the fact that I was running late, trying to read my map, juggle the oversized Lit book, and run down a narrow flight of stairs all at the same time. A recipe for disaster.

I all but knocked him down the stairs before I noticed. My books and glasses went flying one way, his stuff went flying the other way, and we ended in a tangled mess at the bottom. An older student stepped around the pile, muttering “Freshmen!” I was, needless to say, embarrassed and quickly approaching the color of a tomato. My only consolation was that the other guy seemed more mortified than I was. He wouldn’t even look at me as he tried to pick up my books and I tried to pick up his. After piling my armload into a messy stack, I began the usual frantic, half-blind search for my glasses. I looked up to see my “victim” holding the now bent frames. Grabbing them, I muttered thanks and shoved them to their customary location on my nose. The world back to its usual clarity, I got my first good look at him. It turned out to be a good thing that I had set the books down first, because I definitely would have dropped them.

Without my glasses, he was just a blur. With them on I could see his face. He would have been pretty handsome with his night-black hair, height (taller than me), and sea-grey eyes, currently icy, save for one thing. Running across his face were three long, jagged scars, one barely missing his left eye, stretching from hairline to chin. Against my will I took a step back, surprised. Avoiding my rude stare, he scooped up his books and turned to dash up the stairs.

“Wait!” I yelled. He glanced back, already halfway up the stairs in that short instant between thought and speech. I couldn’t read the expression on his face as he looked down at me.
“What,” he spat, more statement than question.
I hesitated and he turned away again. “I’m sorry,” I called. He looked back at me.
“Right,” his tone sarcastic. “Sure you are.”
The bell rang. He groaned and headed back down.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“It would appear I now need a pass, thanks to you, so I am going to the office to obtain one. Satisfied?”

I bit back an angry reply, intrigued by his formal little speech, and followed him to the office, choosing to fume silently. I didn’t say anything until he looked over at me.

“My apologies,” he said tentatively. “It has been a rough day already. I did not intend to snap at you.”
“That’s OK. I’d be mad too if I got run over by a runaway freshman. So what’s your name? I like to know the names of the people I run over.” He favored me with a twisted smile.
“My name would be Michael. I happen to be a freshman as well; albeit one with a good sense of direction.”
“I’m Sandra. So where were you headed? I was trying to find my math class.”
“Freshman Science. Which math would that be?”
“Geometry. I’m one of the unlucky smart ones on track for Calculus. My mom’s idea.”
“As am I. That was where I was coming from, incidentally. You were headed in the correct direction. Go to the bottom of the stairs and it will be the third door on the right.”
“Thanks.” We came up to another student, obviously late as well. Michael instantly ducked his head to avoid making eye contact, leading me to realize that he was shy. Probably as shy as I was. We walked the rest of the way to the office in silence.

A/N: Short, yes. Unfortunately, that is how I write. Comments are appreciated.