Can you keep it?

A loud noise interupts my quick, in locker study session for my upcoming French test at 9:30. Someone shoves into me and before I can turn around, all my flashcards fall onto the wet, muddy floor. Then some muddy freshman trudges right on top of them, and they go from neon pink, to sleet. " Watch where you'r-" I look into his eyes, and boy, were they eyes. He lets out a cocky smirk, as if he knows what he just did to me. But before he leaves, or tries to smile, or anything stupid like that, I continue. " You just knocked over my flashcards" I mention, gesturing to the heap of cards on the floor. He shrugs, as if that was his only purpose in life, he starts to move away, but I stop him. 

" I've never seen you before. I'm Chaplin, and despite the fast that you are extremely klutzy, you are?" He lets out something in the means of a groan and a sigh and explains to me the way a kindergarten teacher would, " I'm Adam Charles- " he makes a gesturing motion as if I should be completing his sentence. " and you're new here?" he moans, because he must have so much more to do, and replies with a taut " Yes. " Why would a senior like him be transferring schools so close to graduation, without a reason? Like me. " So I guess we're locker buddies" I say, in a way old chums would. He lets out a grim smile, mumbles some sort of apology for knocking my cards over, and excuses himself for class. Which doesn't start for another 25 minutes.

There was something about him eerily familiar, whether it was the glimpse of his handwriting I saw on his notebook, or the way he looked at me. Whatever. Nothing should faze me now, only a few more month until I graduate, I needed those scholarships, I needed to stay focused on the prize. 

Then something hit me like the dodgeballs in gym. The Letter.