Full Summary: My only real friend is a boy whose face I have only ever seen through windows when I was a small girl. Now I have been given a chance to attend the same school as him, to walk the same halls as him. But he doesn't even remember who I am and what's worse; even if he did I don't think he'd care enough to say two words to me. I don't know how, or why, but he's changed and I don't think it's for the better. I just hope I can get through to him before he's not there anymore for me to get through to.


When I was a young girl I lived in a large white house. My mother wouldn't allow decorations on the walls and I wasn't to go outside and play with the neighbors so the windows were my decoration and my outside.

They were better than regular paintings because behind them was a real world and in that world the people moved and went about their business. In that world time passed and sunsets were fleeting.

I could move to the left or the right and a whole new edge of scenery would be exposed. The windows in my room were the most beautiful paintings on the planet to me.

My father bought me a set of acrylics and several small canvases for my eighth birthday. He told me I could paint the windows onto them. I noticed immediately that every time I tried to paint reality onto my canvas the people would never move. I could step to the left and the right but I would never see anything new in the art that I had created. My paintings were inferior to those outside the window. But I never gave up. When I ran out of paints, my father bought me more and I continued doing everything in my power to capture the world outside that eluded me through nothing more than a simple pane of glass.

It was on a bright day in the middle of summer when I fist saw the boy. The house next to mine belonged to a family that my mother referred to as the Coopers. I didn't understand most of the words she used at the time to describe them, but now I can't imagine she held them I any sort of high regards.

Their son was roughly around the same age as I was but I had never seen him before. I had imagined him many times to be something like a sweet curly haired blond boy with bright green eyes and an infectious smile. But that wasn't quite the boy I saw when I looked out my window that mid-summer afternoon.

Only a fence and a few feet separated our homes. I was painting the pale siding of his house and the bulbous bay window that stuck out of it when his face suddenly appeared there.

His hair was short and dark and gelled up into something of an out-of-date fauxhawk for what was our early twenty-first century childhood. I couldn't make out the color of his eyes from so far away but I was fairly sure they weren't green. His smile, however, was quite the infection, but disappeared just as quickly as he did.

I sighed and went back to my painting, not expecting him to return. Several minutes later however, a muffled knock caused my head to peek above the canvas and find the boy sitting on the bench of his bay window holding up a piece of paper with large messy handwriting scribbled on it.

What's your name?

I blinked at the paper and then rushed away from my painting and across the hall to where my father's office was. I heaved a big stack of his Xerox paper into my room and wrote my reply with a thick sharpie.

Devin, what's yours?

He was apparently ready and waiting as well because he spent several seconds bent over something and then hastily put up his reply.

Zachariah, is that a girl's name?

I don't think Zachariah is a girl's name.

I meant is Devin a girl's name?

Of course it's a girl's name! It's my name!

Okay haha. How old are you?

I'm eight. How old are you?

Ten. He drew a stupid looking face with its tongue coming out.

Is that a potato?

No! It's a face. What school do you go to?

I don't go to school.

Oh. You must be pretty stupid then.

I am not! I'm home-schooled!

That sounds lame.

You're not a very nice boy.

I'm just being honest.

That was the first conversation I ever had with Zachariah Cooper. It was on Xerox paper through two panes of glass fifteen feet apart.


A/N: Just to warn you, this is not going to be a quick story although that doesn't mean that the story won't be quick paced. There's a lot to tell about these characters and as a result, there's a lot to write. I'll keep fillers to a minimum, and try to update as quickly as I can. Any feed back you can give on the story would would be greatly appreciated. C: