Emily consciously rushed through the wet concrete, splashing the clear water along the way, heading to the school parking lot. A few students lingered by their vehicle with umbrella, talking. Emily pressed the key lobe of her old hybrid car, opening the driver’s door, pulled the handle and dove inside. She flung her dripping wind breaker to the passenger’s seat, followed by her messenger bag on the passenger’s floor. She felt damped here and there on her body but overall thought she survived the rain’s onslaught. She looked over her shoulder, behind her seat, and knew what she would discover there. Lying in the mid-section was her white umbrella, staring back at her as if she was stupid for not taking it in the first place. She rolled her eyes. With the key within the ignition, she started her engine, eager to leave the grounds, like anyone would on Friday.
“And when my heart hurts, it hurts deep,” Emily muttered those music words that seeped through the radio speaker. It relaxed her, the singing, the drive back home, and now that she was getting used to the rain around her, she felt its drumming sound on the earth relaxed her too. It seemed symbolic, as though washing the stress of school and the prospect of more schoolwork. She kept on muttering the song, tapping the beat on the tip of her steering wheel. Looking through the wiper that vexingly swept away the water, she noticed both side of the banks were grasses, further down distant buildings. She hasn’t yet reached the highway that would swoop her to her residential area. It was merely ten minutes before she arrived at the ramp, when a new song from the radio swarm around her and her cell phone rang. For a lack of better judgment, Emily shoved her hand into her pocket and brought it out. She glanced at the screen before facing ahead again. No name appeared, however the phone number looked familiar. For a fraction of a second she thought whether to answer it or not—the phone continued to ring merrily—and she decided to…