I still remember the first time I saw him.  He was stoic with his brow furrowed in a constant glare.  That was on Earth, when I was cheuffered around town all the time.  It was in the middle of the school day, and I had just gotten back from a lunch date with my father.  He was a main man in the government and one of the highest payers for my education in the private school I attended.  Therefore, I had special privledges like these lunch dates.

That day, when my car pulled to a stop in front of St. Margaret Mary's Private School, and I stepped out of the vehicle, I noticed him.  He was leaning against the brick wall of the building, arms folded and his shoulders hunched.  It was obvious he was unfriendly, but he was still intriguing, like a person who sees a spider and wants to get a closer look even though they know that it is poisonous.  His clothes were not the dress pants and sweater vest of the boys' uniform, but a black tee shirt with a foreign writing on the front and a pair of baggy shorts that were not fashionably ripped.  His hair was thick and brown and covered the top half of his face when he leaned his head forward, which he was doing.  Despite the unfriendly and mysterious demeanor, I still started to start a conversation when I walked past; mostly to kill time until the next period.

"What are you doing out of school?"  I hoped my voice was polite enough.  He seemed like he would anger very easily.  "Decided to skip?"

I waited a moment for him to respond, but h didn't budge.  Like talking to a rock, I though to myself.

"Hello?  Did you even hear me?"

But still Rock-boy didn't even twitch.  Without warning, the bell signalling the next class rang and I felt myself jump into the air.  My eyes glared at the school building before turning to Rock-boy again.  He had moved out of his slouched position and stood up straight with his face still hidden.  That's when I heard the motorcycle over the droan of the students inside the building.  I watched as he approached the road and waited for the motorbike to pull up beside him.  The driver gave me a wave as Rock-boy boarded before zipping off into the noontime air like a gust of wind.

I saw this same scene several times during that school year.  Usually when I returned from lunch dates with my father.  Everytime I saw him, I would saw something new to Rock-boy, and even openly named him so.

"That's what I've named you in my mind, I hope you don't mind," I told him one particualarly hot day.  I had wanted to return to the cool air conditioning of the school, but I just had to tell him what I thought of him.  Maybe then he would liven up.

"Now, whenever I see you, I will calling you Rock-boy," I concluded to him.  As usual, he didn't say a thing if he actually heard me.  But he did hear the motorcyle, because everytime I heard the distant sound of it, he would straighten up and walk to the side of the road.  The driver of the motorbike always waved at me.  By this time, I waved back to him or her; I had never seen a good view of the driver.

***please hold any minor editations, like grammar and use of words.  I can always go back and rephrase everything, but editations towards the actual story would be much more helpful.