She was running at a nice clip, not even breaking a sweat with her arms flailing in gestures as she spoke. I, on the other hand, trailed behind, unable keep up with that damn swinging ponytail. I tried to focus on that, and not on the fact that she wass bringing me out into traffic that could care less if they got a new hood ornament from Oklahoma.

I started to wheeze and tried to get her to slow down. I couldn't talk, though, because of lack of breath. Not that it would make a difference anyway, she was blabbering on and on.

She finally turned around saw me resting my hands on my knees, wheezing into the concrete. "Hey, Okie boy, you gotta get that butt into shape! I saw you take a second donut yesterday. Do you want to have to put hazard lights on that behind that is behind you?"

I looked up into the accusing eyes and gave her the finger. She laughed, "Ike, you are a trip. Do you need some water? There's a CVS in front of the Prudential. I'll get you some."

I started to straighten up, and stretched out a bit before starting the abuse to my body yet again. That's when Sara bolted into the street without giving me, or the on-coming cars, any warning. The next thing I knew, I was apologetically waving to the drivers so they didn't run me over just for sport. One thing I learned from living in Boston is the point system. Drivers in Boston are evil, plain and simple.

Sara turned around to look at me, yelling, "Ike, hun, what the Hell are you doing? That's a good way to get your butt run over. Let's go! I'm losing my jogging vibe here."

I looked up just in time to hear some idiot honk his horn. Bad idea. Sarah, my dear loving friend who I want to strangle half the time I'm with her and hug her the other half, started a screaming match in the middle of Commonwealth Ave.

I was mortified. I just wanted to walk back to my room. I'm not one for confrontation, but Sara definitely is. I was ready to call it a day when I saw Sara head off toward the loud-mouthed driver.

Energy flowed through my legs as I ran over to her and held her back while the moron gets out of his car. Sara was ready to scratch his eyes out, and was tearing into me in the process.

I hauled her sweaty butt back across the street while she threw colorful epitaphs his way. "Oh, yeah? Wanna piece of this? I could kick your ass any day of the week!" She started flailing her arms and pointing her finger. "I could even kick your fat donut-eating ass while I was sitting in church on Sunday morning!"

I was trying to calm her and the other drivers. "Please, just let it go. It's not worth it."

It appeared that Sara was listening to me when the idiot decided to speak. "Girlie, don't push your luck. Go back to the kitchen and bake some cookies." Man, I really wouldn't do that if I were you.

She bolted - not that I blame her - and went for his throat. I pulled her back by her shirt, and watch on helplessly as she wiggled her way out of it and attacked him in her sports bra. She got to the car before I could grab her arm and pull her towards the Boston Commons.

"That is so typical. Goddamn, fat ass pigs with nothing better to do than watch their wives slave in the kitchen while they scratch their ass and burp up cheap Budweiser, watching ESPN," she said as I took her arm and led her away from the vehicle.

I rolled my eyes. You get used to Sara after awhile, honest. "I think that's a bit of a generalization, don't you?"

She put her shirt back on while giving me a look that said, "What the Hell are you talking about?" and started running again.

Back at the room, Sara attacked my stack of nicely cleaned towels and proceeded to wipe the sweat of her body. She peeled her sports bra off while wheeling on about women's right to burn bras, or something. I usually tune her out when she goes off on her tangents. She had made it up to the fascism of stiletto heels when Jordan came into the room.

He threw his jacket onto his nasty smelling comforter and turned his attention to Sara. I just laid down on my bed and put my arm over my eyes. Whenever Jordan and Sara go at it, I get a headache.

"You know, Sar, when are you going to realize that Ike ain't the guy for you, and you need a man who can make you feel like a real woman?"

She turned her attention to his reflection in the mirror and rolled her eyes. "Could you move? You're gonna shatter this thing if you don't knock it off. I don't think any mirror should have to put up with an ego that large."

He leaned against the wall, all cool. "You wanna know how large other things are?"

Sara actually laughed out loud. This is how it is with these two. "Are you serious? Who talks like that? Jesus, you talk like you just stepped out of a cheesy B-movie. Get a grip and move on, please."

He stood up and tried to make himself look vulnerable. "Hey, I'm down with women's lib. I can be sensitive to chicks' needs." I could actually feel Sara's eyes roll as I was laying there.

"Jordan, you know what? Why don't you just stop with the vaguely shaded comments about wanting me to ride you like a Goddamn pedigree, and get to the point. I know you want me. You are, for some reason, not getting the point that I DO NOT want to date you. Please, save us both the time and stay away from me. You disgust me, and I wish you would crawl up and die on that flea infested THING you call a bed."

This shut him up for a few seconds, but then he leaned forward, whispering, "You're not one of those lesbo chicks, are you?" He straightened up and said, all smug, "Cuz if you are, one spin in the sack with me and you'll be a changed woman."

After Sara picked her jaw up off the floor she gave him one of her usual warnings. "I could bring you to your knees in pain with three fingers, and could kill you with my eyes closed. So please, take your BS talking mouth away from me before I take your teeth to meet your ass ... the hard way."

Jordan slunked out of the room, but a few days later word got back to me he was spreading it around campus that Sara was not only easy but also gay. There were no limits to Jordan's crude behavior.

I worried about her - especially since she's so cocky sometimes. I was afraid that someone was going to try something on her, and she wouldn't be able to protect herself. She was constantly jogging between the two campuses and even though they aren't miles apart, she'd show up at my door at all hours. I couldn't even begin to fathom what could happen to her at that time of night.

She tells me I worry too much; I tell her she's too trusting. Someday we'll meet in the middle ... I hope.

Free time is a dangerous thing. It's like a drug - very addictive. With the band I was on a fairly rigorous schedule, and didn't have a whole lot of free time. Now, though, I had it in spades. And it was making me ... well, lazy.

It was so easy to cut class, especially English Comp. The professor never took attendance, and therefore didn't know me from Jordan. Jordan. That was another reason I felt inclined to skip Comp. Having to share a living space with that sorry excuse for a human being was bad enough - a classroom as well is more than I can bear.

So I decided to take a private tour of Boston to familiarize myself with the area more. Whenever we went out, Sara and Scott always led the way, and I just followed them around. I figure if Boston's going to be my home for the next four years, I might as well know my way around it.

Today was exceptionally cold for September, and I mentally scolded myself for not wearing a jacket. Actually, it wasn't so much cold as it was windy. I'm sure my ears were red from the wind, since I no longer have long hair to protect them in this sort of weather. I rubbed my hands together to warm them up, and them shoved them in my jeans pockets. I toughed out the wind for a few more blocks, but finally I couldn't take it anymore. I opened the door of the nearest building and walked in.

The smell of coffee greeted me as I entered Starbucks. I immediately felt at ease, and the smell of hazelnut made me feel at home, even though neither of my parents are big coffee drinkers. It was slighly crowded, yet surprisingly quite inside. Some of the tables were occupied by couples, while students sat at the others, studying and littering them with various papers and books. The only sounds that could be heard were some quite conversation, the turning of pages, the ring of the cash register, an older woman sitting in the corner slurping, and the Wallflower's "One Headlight" softly playing in the background.

I walked towards the register and studied the menu on the back wall. I needed to drink something warm to get the chill off. A girl with brown hair only a few inches longer than mine wearing a green Starbucks apron stood in front of me on her side of the counter. "May I help you?" she asked.

"Do you guys sell hot chocolate? Or just coffee?" I asked her. I'm not much of a coffee drinker, and quite frankly really don't know much about the beverage. And I hadn't had cocoa in so long that as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted it to be on the menu.

"We have hot chocolate. Is that what you want?" she asked. She didn't wait for an answer, and moved behind the counter towards the cup dispenser.

"Yeah."

"Size?"

"Medium is fine."

"Regular?"

"Uh ... yeah, I guess."

She wasn't giving up. "Regular regular or child's regular?"

I was slightly offended. Did I look like a child? "Regular regular." I had heard comics joke about your inability to order a simple drink at Starbucks, but I never thought it would happen to me. "Hot chocolate. Simple. Easy. No sneaky flavors or foamy condiments to go with it."

"Okay ... one regular regular hot chocolate, simple, easy, no sneak flavors or foamy comdiments to go with it coming right up," she said.

I was intrigued by her wit, but annoyed at her lack of respect for a fellow "young adult." She looked like she could be a student, and I thought all college students stuck together in their fight to make it through these required four years of torture.

"Okay ... that'll be $3.56," she said, setting the cup down on the counter in front of me and punching the register keys. I handed her a five. "Okay ... out of five ... $1.44 is your change." She placed the bill and coins into the palm of my upturned hand. "Have a nice day," she said, raising her eyes to meet mine. She studied my face for a moment through squinted eyes then said, "You look familiar. I've seen you somewhere before."

I held my breath for a moment, unsure of how to react to her statement, or if I should at all. With the exception of Jordan's big mouth, I've managed to remain anonymous here in Boston, and I really wanted to keep it that way. Guess I was just gonna have to hope whatever happened, she wouldn't make a scene. "You have?" I responded.

"Yeah, yesterday..." Her voice trailed off as she tried to remember where she last saw me.

Yesterday? Well, she wasn't making a scene, but did have me confused. I don't remember her and I've never been in here before. How could she have seen me before? Maybe she goes to Berklee, but I didn't think she was in any of my classes. "Are you sure? Not to be rude, but I don't recognize you."

"I was blading to work yesterday, and there was all this commotion on Commonwealth Ave..." She pursed her lips in concentration, and tapped them with her right index finger. "There was a girl yelling, and some guy dragging her away from a car ... You! That was you! That's where I've seen you." She smiled, relieved to have the mystery solved.

I breathed a sigh of relief, unaware I had been holding my breath to begin with, and blushed. "Yup, that was us. Sara was the girl who was yelling. I was just trying to keep her from getting herself killed." I smiled to myself. If there was one thing Sara knew how to do, it was get peoples' attention. "I'm Isaac, by the way," I introduced myself.

She smiled. "I'm Lynda. So, does she always do that when you go out?"

I laughed. "She's like that even if we don't go out." My mind took over for me. "You blade? I haven't had much time for that lately, but I'd love to go with you sometime." Don't know why I said it. I just did.

She eyed me, and then eyed the man who materialized behind me in line. "Uh ... hold on. Go sit and give me five minutes." With that, she dismissed me and went to help the next customer.