Barry could barely focus at school. The journal was always on his mind, each entry more mind blowing than the last. She ranted about people in her classes for over two pages before totally switching topics and talking about her two cats, Athena and Ares. Some of the things she wrote made him feel guilty because he had done those things she hated or upset because she was treated horribly at her school.

It was obvious that this journal held more than just words about her day because scribbled on the backs of pages or in the margins were fancy flowers or short poems. On one page was a list of songs she wanted on her playlist and another was a list of books she wanted to read.

Everything was a whirlwind of information, whatever she thought of, she wrote down. Sometimes her writing was smooth and loopy, controlled, normally on the days when she writes the least. Other times, her writing was so scratchy and the words are so close together he could barely read it. He assumed that she had received it as a gift last year, judging by things she talked about and what he knew about them.

It wasn't until he got home that day around 3:30, that he decided he should tell the girl that he had her journal. His phone wasn't top-of-the-line but it could take pictures and do all the things phones were supposed to do so he was content.

Barry: Hi, mystery girl. My name is Barry Atkins and I found your journal on the train last night. The picture might take a while to send but I promise before hand that it is yours. It's black leather bound and you wrote the return request in purple ink that blotched in some places. Just in case the picture doesn't send.

He didn't know how long it would take so he busied himself with schoolwork, solving problems and filling in blanks on worksheets. Barry wasn't the smartest kid nor did he like work but he could manage and it kept him busy. Anything to distract him from his father's actions.

Speak of the devil, Barry thought to himself as the door slammed and muddy boots stomped into the living room where he worked.

"What are you doing, boy?" his father demanded. Barry kept his head down but answered in a loud voice.

"Homework. I've got loads tonight,"

"Hmph. You better hurry up. Your ma won't be home till late again tonight. I'll have to take you to your job," he said, stomping off to his room.

"Sorry for being such an inconvenience," Barry whispered to himself. His mother, a nurse at the local hospital, had been working later this whole month. She said it was flu season and sports injuries but he couldn't help but think that maybe she did it to stay away from their toxic household. He couldn't blame her but it still hurt, both physically and mentally, that she left him here to fend alone.

Two hours later, his father had kicked him out of the house, shouting at him to walk to work, that he had plenty of time. It was true that he still had half an hour until his shift began and it wasn't too far away but his short-sleeved shirt wasn't very protective against the November cold when he hadn't been given a chance to grab a jacket. The only thing he had were several dollar bills, mostly ones and fives, maybe a ten, and his phone. He had also managed to grab the journal and stick it in his back pocket, where it stuck out at an awkward angle, slightly too large.

He took the train to work. It was easier than walking in the cold, plus he had the possibility of seeing the girl again. He sat in the same car, same seat, watching each blonde girl that got on the train with scrutiny before looking away. None of them were her.

"Next stop: Downtown Shopping Center," the woman's cool voice spoke over the train's bustling passengers. Barry stood and walked closer to the door. The journal and his phone were securely clutched in his hand and he hurried through the doors as they slid open. The shopping center was full of holiday shoppers, although there was over a month before Christmas. He worked his way to the bookstore, dodging large bags and people on their phones. It was a miracle no one died because of their lack of awareness in their surroundings.

"Hey, Bear. How's it goin'?" Gregory boomed as Barry darted behind the counter of the bookstore's coffee shop.

"Just great, Greg, just great," he replied, sticking the journal and his phone in a small cubby with his name on it.

"Cool, now here's a few orders I need you to take care of. This lovely lady over there," he winked at a brunette with a short skirt, "needs to ask me a few questions."

"Sure, Greg. Whatever you need," Barry muttered, staring at the complicated orders and the growing line.