Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head
In the 7th grade, in Algebra class, I sat behind Jessica Herrera.
One morning she turned to me and whispered, "It's so romantic."
I'd been doodling in the margins of my textbook, and was startled by this sudden revelation. I looked up at her quizzingly.
"You mean the rain?" I asked.
It was raining that day. The whole school was flooded. I peered out the window and saw a boy from our class struggling to right his umbrella, which had been turned inside-out by a gust of wind. He looked pitiful.
"Poor sonofabitch," I thought.