It was evening. You walked home from school, holding slightly trembling hands in your pockets. You were walking past one of the sites when someone threw a snowball at you. It was Scaramouche, the bully who often made fun of you. Now he laughed loudly, clearly pleased with his action. You wanted to leave, because your hands became unbearable from the cold when he tugged at your shoulder —Hey.... If your hands are cold, you can wear my mittens.... He said, blushing a little