(Disclaimer: I do not own PR, and thus, do not own the characters in this fic (with the exception of Mr. Nguyen , who's an OC, but only has a minor part in the story)

Basically, this is just a one-shot idea that came to my head while writing my other fic (thus I used the same name for Marissa's descendant as I used for her in the other fic), and wouldn't leave my head.

All types of reviews/critique are welcome. A few minor details of episodes referenced in the story may have unintentionally altered, or slightly out of sequence.)

--

Never Forgetting

The afternoon sun poured forth, streaming warmly through the gaps in the heavy blinds that covered the windows of the classroom.

That light hit me in hard in the one of my eyes, forcing me to squint just to see the dusty, green chalkboard mounted to the wall in the front of the class-- an otherwise passive and often ignored fixture in the room, until class begins and its voice, scratchy and soft but grating on the ears, demands your attention, reinforcing the teacher's lessons.

But, at this time, seeing as that the class had not yet completely gathered together from lunch, it was ignored.

Why didn't I choose to sit over in the back of the class, away from the windows? I wondered as I futilely tried to block the glaring light with one hand, at least until the desk closer to the windows got occupied and shielded me from the light or I had other things to focus on.

A gentle nudge from beside me brought me out of my silent ranting, alerting me that someone, presumably my best friend, was trying to get my attention, while simultaneously providing an answer to my question, Oh, right: Jessica.

Jessica Peterson-- a cheerful, round faced girl with a head full of silky, chestnut brown curls that were about as bouncy as her bubbly, confident personality was. I guess that that type of personality is pretty much the default for anyone who's spent, almost literally, most of their entire life involved in cheerleading, such as she has.

Or maybe it's just her, I don't know.

Like all high-school students who have spent their entire elementary school years in classes in which the teacher assigned the desks to them, Jessica, and just about everyone in the class, had this sort of subconscious territoriality over desks.

Even I'm a little guilty about this, I'll admit.

As such, no one, especially not Jessica, would be quite so willing to trade spots with me, thus ruining their carefully planned out seating chart.

I guess that's punishment for being late for class on your first day, I thought, turning my attention toward her, glad to have an excuse to divert my focus away from the glaring light.

"So, 'Lissa," Jessica asked , as I watched her withdraw a few notebooks from her backpack, while my instincts told me that the topic she was going to allude to wasn't going to be something too serious, seeing as that she called me by my nickname.

To me, calling me by my real name was something reserved for emergency situations and just about anyone I wasn't close friends with.

"Did you ever come up with anything for that writing assignment? I know that when I called you after practice on Friday, you didn't have anything, but I never got a chance to ask you after that."

"Yeah," I nodded, grinning a little, proudly tapping the orange and silver notebook on my desk "Took me all of the weekend to get it totally perfect, but I have a draft written up."

Jessica smiled as her eyes briefly acknowledged the arrival of a few of our other classmates. They, being still caught up in their conversations from the lunchroom, ignored her silent greeting.

"Ugh," Jessica said, as we resumed our conversation "I swear, Mr. Nguyen must get some kind of enjoyment out of watching us agonize over his difficult homework! What was he thinking by making us do that assignment?"

"Well, this is Creative Writing, Jess," I pointed out, brushing a loose lock of dark blond hair from my face, "Writing fairy-tales, myths, and fantasies is pretty much implied, wouldn't you think?"

"Yeah," she said, "But, I still think he likes torturing us with homework."

For a moment, we laughed, before she continued, "So, you seem pretty confident about this story of yours. It must be pretty good if you're smiling all proudly like that. I can't wait to hear it. It'll probably knock the socks off of everyone in the class."

"Oh, it's all right," I replied, modestly trying to downplay how I felt about the story. Maybe I was a bit prideful of the job I did on this story, I admitted, but I didn't want to hype it up before anyone got a chance to judge for themselves. After all, that's how a lot of movies end up failing: it gets so hyped up that people want to go see it, but they become really let down when the only thing good about the movie was the trailer, " I just hope that it's good enough to compete with whatever he's written."

"Oooh," Jessica said, her eyes glimmering with a spark of mischievous interest, "Is that a little jealously I'm sensing here? Or is it the first stages of blossoming love?"

"As if!" I said, " I thought I've told you that I wasn't interested in him like that already! You try to see romance in everything, don't you?"

"Well, of course I have to! It's in my nature."

---

The guy we had mentioned was Adam Park: the new guy in the class. Okay, maybe 'new guy' isn't the best of terms to describe him, considering that he transferred here from Stone Canyon High School a few months ago, so he wasn't all that new.

Admittedly, I didn't really hate him. It was more of an in-class rivalry/resentment type of thing.

Actually, he seemed like a nice guy, and I even thought he was kind of cute.

Unfortunately for me, Jessica knew that I thought he was cute, and had made it her mission to unsuccessfully play cupid for the two of us.

Her first attempt had been trying to to get me to ask him out during the Vice-Versa dance a few months back. But she swore that the only reason she wanted me to ask him to the dance was more out of a favor than anything else. She said that her date, Rocky Desantos, was a friend of Adam's, and that she heard from him that Adam wasn't having much luck with getting a date to the dance, and thought that if I asked him to the dance, it might cheer him up a little.

I, however, ended up asking someone else, considering that, before I could even get around to asking him, he had already been asked out by a girl named Sabrina, or Serena. Some girl with a name along those lines.

I didn't recognize the girl, but I didn't think too much on it. I had just assumed that she went to another school, and was set up by a cousin or a couple of friends of hers from this school who wanted her to have a reason to go to the dance. Why she didn't show up at the dance, though, I don't know, nor do I really care. I mean, it's not my business to know who does what, who's with who, and why.

Again, just last week, Jessica tried to set me up with him again, even though I had told her a million times that, while I thought Adam was a nice guy, I was already dating someone else.

Jessica swears that she had nothing to do with this incident, and in a way, I sort of believe her.

Let's just say that the end result ended up kind of awkward for both me and him.

That day had been just any other Monday morning: I was just walking along, talking with Jessica and a couple other friends of mine about the three-day weekend that just about everyone in the school seemed to still be recovering from, when we passed by Adam and his friends.

Probably had a rough weekend, I thought sympathetically when I had noticed him just sitting at one of the tables outside, looking really bummed out, while his other friends chatted, or acted like a couple of Bruce Lee wannabes,Poor kid.

The next thing I knew was that Jessica had bumped into me, causing me to drop the stack of thick, heavy textbooks that had stubbornly refused to fit into my already crowded bag, right near where Adam happened to be sitting.

The next thing I remember was scrambling to gather my books, which seemed as if they had suddenly developed a mind of their own and were desperate to flee from their owner. I had barely even noticed that someone had tried to help me gather my things, until I found myself looking up, catching myself mirrored in Adam's eyes.

Had it not been for one thing that made me a little uneasy and nervous, I would have totally put this entire thing out of my mind without a second thought.

He just stood there, gaping blankly at me, frozen. His dark eyes, widening dangerously, seemed even darker against his skin, paling to a deathly pale shade as if all the color had been drained from it.

He looked at me as if I were some stranger that had startled him.

No, it looked more like I was a ghost that had come to haunt him.

Sure, the look passed, giving way to that cute smile of his, as if he tried to convince himself of my existence, but still the confusion I felt crashing in me like a stormy sea would not leave me.

All during the day, I pondered what about me would cause him to re-act so weirdly like that.

It wasn't like he didn't know me. We might have just been mild acquaintances, but we had met before in class. And it wasn't like I was shooting fire or lightning from my fingertips and making my eyes flash all sorts of weird colors. Having him occasionally shoot a secret glance in my direction during the only class we had together, as if he were checking to see if I hadn't mysteriously dropped out of all existence, wasn't helping, either

It wasn't until later that a possible theory had presented itself when he had caught me after class, and asked me out.

I remember how bad I felt after I had rejected him like I did. It had to have been pretty difficult for him to gather up the courage to fight back a bout of extreme shyness that I knew must have been overcoming him. I remember seeing him visibly trembling as he stood before me. I remember almost having to strain to hear him as his lips uncertainly stumbled over his whispered words.

Painfully, I remember how he had seemed so small and vulnerable, like a frightened little boy, in his nervousness as he struggled to ask me out, and I remember the twinge of guilt and pity I felt as he seemed to shrink even smaller and became even more pitiful and crushed when I rejected him. Even if trying to explain my reasons in the nicest possible way didn't seem to do much to lessen the blow.

I felt like I had become one of those creepy, ugly, frightening monsters that attacked the city every so often. I felt like, any moment, the Power Rangers would show up out of nowhere and destroy me.

Hoping that it would cheer him up, as well as ease my own burning guilt, I remember adding the line that I know very few like to hear: "...but we can still be friends,".

Now that I can reflect on it, I probably should have kicked myself in the head for saying that.

Sure, maybe I meant it, on some level, but knowing how awkward the entire situation had just become, being friends was something about as impossible as surviving in outer space without a spacesuit. Thankfully, a small smile passed across his lips again after he quickly recovered, as if he had either truly believed what I had said, or if he might have been a little bit relieved that I had turned him down.

To be honest, I wasn't sure how I had expected him to react, but I certainly hadn't been expecting a smile.

But, then again, I should have been expecting anything, considering that this is a guy who, like his friends, has a tendency to, almost literally, disappear into thin air without so much as a warning (Although I feel that I might be one of the few people who has actually noticed this, so it might just be my imagination playing tricks on me). Regardless, the situation had fallen out of sight and out of mind for both of us, or so I assume, as we moved on with our lives.

-----

The bell rang shrilly, snapping me out of my day-dream, as the class turned into a game of musical chairs as everyone frantically rushed to their desks to avoid getting the dreaded accusation of being late for class, especially since a few of them had already had this accusation more than once before, and thus this time it would mean punishment.

Giving the class a moment to settle down and search for a decent spot to end their conversations, Mr. Nguyen waited before doing roll call, which was really nothing more than quickly looking over the class for an out of place empty desk. By this point in the year he had become used to our daily seating pattern that a verbal roll call had become nothing more than a waste of time.

A quick glance over at the unoccupied desk next to me suggested that Adam was absent.

Or rather I believed he was until about the time the teacher had picked up the bold, red pen we had all dubbed 'Multi-Purpose Red Marker of Doom" as that he frequently employed it in the finalizing of our grades on some of our less than stellar papers, among other things, to mark our classmate's absence. Before the pen could even leave a dot of ink on the paper, the door flew open with a thundering crash as Adam entered, panting as he picked himself up from a roll that had resulted from trying to save himself from what would have been an embarrassing fall.

"You're late, Mr. Park," Mr. Nguyen said, peering up at the young, dark-haired boy through his glasses with a soul piercing stare, "I hope you at least have an interesting excuse for being late."

Once again, I truly felt sorry for the poor guy. I knew how it felt to be in his position, standing there, seeing yourself reflected coldly in the teacher's wire-rimmed glasses as he scolded you--a scolding made all the more unfriendly in that he addressed you formally, as opposed to just calling you by your first name, like he typically does.

"...Um," Adam began, his face turning a faint pink as he spoke, "No sir, not an interesting excuse. I was just in the library during lunch and I lost track of time."

"...Pity," Mr. Nguyen said in a tone that meant he had accepted our classmate's excuse, " I was hoping for a more unusual excuse: Searching for a mystical artifact of a lost civilization, or saving the world from evil intergalactic aliens who threaten to take over the universe, perhaps."

A weak, almost nervous laugh escaped Adam's mouth as he took his seat and class began.

My suspicions however, suggested that there may have been another reason behind Adam's lateness, as I noticed the tell-tale signs of a fight (a few bruises and scratches, mostly), that looked rather new. He winced as he shifted in his chair, and I heard him mutter some sort of curse under his breath. I'm not exactly sure what he said, but if I remember correctly, I could have almost sworn that it sounded something like "Damn Putties."

When I finally brought my attention back to the class, praying that Jessica hadn't caught me staring at Adam, lest she find another opportunity to tease me, the class was groaning about how had just mentioned that we were going to have to share what we had written with the class.

Of course, I laughed silently at the irony in their reaction, for we had been the ones who had voted to read our stories out loud. After their complaints had died down, Mr. Nguyen looked at each of us, asking if there were any volunteers to go first.

Naturally, the class fell quieter than an empty morgue, seeing as that no-one wanted to be the first to present while their peers' criticism was not yet dulled by the others' stories. Feeling pretty confident about my story however, I would have volunteered immediately, but I didn't want to seem too dorky or enthusiastic, so I kept my mouth shut until the silence passed for a solid couple of seconds. Just as I had opened my mouth to volunteer, my words were abruptly cut off by a voice from beside me.

"I'll go."

These words, spoken in a quiet yet loudly determined way by Adam Park of all people--the boy that hardly ever said more than two words in the class, much less actually volunteer to speak, unless he was forced to, made everyone, including the teacher, stare at him with blank, incredulous stares written on their faces.

I, however, was torn between shock and annoyance. If someone had cut you off like that, wouldn't you be pretty pissed off, too?

------

"There are stories with happy endings," He began dramatically, as if this were a grand theater production of a play, rather than just a classroom reading of a short story, "Stories where the valiant hero saves the day from the ruthless villain ruling over a far away, magical land. Stories where the brave knight falls in love and wins the heart of the princess.

This is not exactly one of those tales.

There is no magical, far way land of imagination. There is only this world and another world, 200 or so years apart from each other. Yes, there is a hero, but he is not a legendary knight in silver or golden armor, nor is he the central focus of this story.

Instead, our lead is just an average boy, caught in a bad situation.

The villain? Perhaps it was the evil wizard--a creature that many had only believed to be nothing more than a buried, forgotten legend. Or perhaps it was fate, or even the boy's inner desires that were the real villains.

No one can tell.

His story begins in a nightmare. Or rather he wanted to believe that it was a nightmare, for reality had just redefined itself faster than he could think. He had found himself, standing with his friends, gathered there by an urgent call from one of their other friends, each of them unaware that they're lives were about to take a turn for the unusual.

A dark wizard appeared menacingly before them, eager to cast his spell on these unsuspecting children.

Why? Perhaps these children, for some reason that few understood or knew about, were fated to fight this wizard, or maybe they were just unlucky.

But, this shadowy, red-eyed, cloaked abomination from the depths of hell had only struck fear in their hearts only so deeply. But, the creature's accomplice--the friend that had gathered them there, smirking at them as if they were helpless, trapped rats, and he was the cat, hungering for the kill, that had solidified that fear

He had added the final touch to this nightmare. His smirk: it had always been considered sort of a trademark among those who knew the kid. But, the sinisterness that lay beneath that smirk chilled the blood of his friends as they tried to overcome the rising waves of terror that bubbled within them.

But, this was not their friend, they would soon realize, but rather an evil doppelganger controlled by the demonic wizard that stood behind it, mostly for the purpose of luring the unsuspecting children into his trap.

The next thing that the boy and his friends could remember was the sorcerer chanting a few words as the crystal atop his staff began to glow with an unholy light, summoning a wave of magical energy to charge toward the bewildered group.

He thought he was going to die as the world around him became a blur and a sharp pain shot through his body like needles. He felt as if he were being ripped from reality and was being tossed around in a tornado. I doubt it hardly hurt this bad for Dorothy when she was spirited away to Oz, the boy would have thought once the feeling had stopped, had his mind not been so clouded and disoriented, nor his entire body ached so terribly, as the last of effects of the magical wave had faded.

But, soon would he find out that his problems would not end there, for shortly he would find out that he and his friends had been transported right into one of the most unsafe places one could find themselves: a small colonial town during the middle of the 1700s..."

I listened on, enthralled by his narrative, as he continued, describing how the freaked out villagers had accused them of being witches, and how they had unsuccessfully tried to convince these people that they were not witches, and how they had encountered this young girl who had saved them. As the story went on, it almost seemed as if Adam had stopped speaking, and the voice of his lead character spoke through him instead.

"...He loved her," He continued," Or rather, he loved her as much as one could when one knows someone for such a short time. Staring into her scared, frightened eyes, holding her warm, soft hand in his own, he knew, that right then, at that moment in time: he loved her, and he'd do whatever he could in his power to protect her.

Never did he want to let this moment end, forcing him to return to the twisted nightmare that his reality had become. Never did he want to let her go. Unfortunately, the saying 'if you love someone you have to let them go', while said often enough that it has become cliché, had never been so painfully true for this pair of lovers..."

I know that there was more that happened in the story, such as how the wizard had returned to again terrorize the children and the colonial town, and how the friend that had been cloned had eventually managed to come and rescue his friends, but my mind would not leave the love story part of the tale.

Admittedly, I'm a sucker for stories about star-crossed lovers, particularly when there's a element of tragedy involved, like Romeo and Juliet. Maybe these two weren't going to die, like Shakespeare's couple, but the fact that time and fate had brought these two different worlds together, just so that they would inevitably be torn apart was still just as heartbreaking as any tragic death.

Only vaguely, in the back of my mind, did it occur to me that this love story almost mirrored the one I had written about--the one based on an old family legend. I should have been flustered that my story would seem less original and more like I copied off of his idea and changed it around enough to not make it plagiarism, but right now, I was too wrapped up in this tragically romantic tale to care.

"... Love is often a tricky thing, especially when fate opposes it. It makes us blind to what is obvious. It makes us want to deny fact, and rebel against the impossible. But, stronger does the soul grow when it can overcome this blindness, and do what they think they could never do. He knew, long before she had even said the words, that she belonged in her world, and that he belonged in his. . As he was whisked away from her in a swirl of magical energy, his last words to her lingered in his mind as he found himself surrounded by the world he knew as his own.

What about the evil wizard? Like all villains in stories, he was eventually destroyed. What about the fate of the creations of the evil wizard, now that they were free from the control of their master? Some say that the wizard's magical wand had been used once more to send the clone into the past to destroy the bewitched rats before it was destroyed, trapping him in the past to start his life anew.

Others say that when the wand was destroyed, its creations were destroyed as well. Regardless, things had once more returned to normal, and peace once more reigned though both worlds. But, the boy, though heartbroken, never did forget the young girl. He had promised her, and it was a promise that he intended to keep long after he, too had left this world and reunited with his lost love once more. Still can one hear that promise, whispered faintly in the wind: 'I'll never forget you.'

A ringing silence hung in the air of the classroom as Adam's last words in the narrative echoed through the air, sinking into our hearts, before the class erupted into a roar of clapping. Perhaps Adam's story wasn't exactly anything that could rival Charles Dickens or Charlotte Bronte, but I doubt he was trying to, so it doesn't matter, does it?

Judging by the shocked expression written on his face, I doubt he had even been trying to get us to enjoy the story. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that he had shot me searching look, as if he were trying to read deeply into my reaction. But, I did not allow myself to think on it too much, as that I had now just volunteered to share.

----

"Many years ago," I began once I had the class's attention," Something had happened that changed the life of a small town, and one young woman living there, forever. This small village had always been special: established by a group of dreamers who, in a time of much uncertainty, sought peace though escape.

It was also rumored that the land that this town was built on was also one of the gateways to the fairy-world.

Of course, none of the villagers believed in such a silly rumor, as that none of them had seen anything odd happen in their sleepy little town, outside of the occasional wedding or funeral. As for the girl, she had never really had a reason to believe in it, either.

That was, until she met him.

He, with a few others, had appeared so suddenly yet so strangely one day that it scared many of the townsfolk. Witches, they called them--terrifying people who gained special abilities through a pact with the devil. Desperately they had tried to convince this crowd that they were not witches, but to no avail..."

I continued, searching the expressions of the others, looking for the faintest twitch or spasm that would hint that they believed I plagiarized. It wasn't like I knew that Adam would write a story that, essentially, sounded a lot like mine, at least in the setting and the romance.

Thankfully, I found nothing in my peers' expressions that betrayed their thoughts.

"As she listened to their tale, she secretly could not accept it. True, she didn't believe them to be witches, nor anything evil for that matter. Otherwise, she would have been in that mob with the rest of the villagers. How could they be evil when they had seemed just as scared by what was happening as everyone else was?

There was something special about them, though, she could tell. If the rumors about the town seemed to be anywhere near true, as she now suspected them to be, then these children had to have been fairies that had accidentally crossed over from their realm.

If that was the case, she told herself, then what she was doing was pretty special. Besides, she admitted, blushing furiously as she tried to control her wildly beating heart, she did find one of them to be rather kind and sweet.

Out of all of them, she had found herself drawn to this particular young man. Perhaps it was the eyes, dark as night but brighter and warmer than sunlight. Or maybe it was the way he smiled at her so kindly and innocently. Or maybe it was how the quiet, thoughtful, reserved air about him seemed to hint at a fierce inner strength hidden deep within him.

She knew that she must try to control her feelings for him. After all, she told herself, she didn't know anything about this young man, or his friends, other than that they had to have been fairies. What if this boy was like the prince of the fairy realm or something, she wondered, what then? It was difficult enough for her to be a mortal, human girl falling for him. But add in the possibility she could be falling for someone completely out of her social rank, too?

She tried to ignore it, focusing instead on trying to help them find shelter from the mob. But, the more time she spent around him, the more she found herself hopelessly drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. In a way, she kind of wished that her feelings for him where nothing more than some sort of spell: something that would fade once the spell wore off.

But, in her heart, she knew this was no spell.

In her heart, she knew that she loved him..."

I paused, quickly double-checking my peers' faces to make sure there was no sign that someone had mistaken my story to be a too stolen in idea, before continuing.

Okay, so maybe my story wasn't an exact copy, in that there seemed to be enough in my version to make it different, but I was still feeling pretty ticked and self-conscious about how the others would perceive it. I refused to look over in Adam's direction, already figuring that I knew what type of reaction I was getting from him.

He, more than anyone else, probably thought that I had copied.

What's worse, is that he had reason to be upset.

I mean, he probably had worked just as long and hard as I had on his story and he probably thought that I had copied off of him. Of course, this could have been just a freakish coincidence.

It probably was, I reasoned, considering Adam doesn't seem like the type of person who would just steal an idea from a fellow student, and I think that if I had stolen an idea from him, then I would have known that I did.

As far as I could tell, only Mr. Nguyen seemed to find this odd, but his face seemed to suggest that he enjoyed that two of his students had taken one story and told it from two different perspectives. He probably thought that we worked together on coming up with an idea on this.

Or at least that's what I think.

"... But there comes a time when things must come to an end," I said as I drew towards the end of the narrative, "There comes a time when one must be forced to move on. To be able look toward the road ahead of you, no matter how lonely and bleak it may seem at the time, without forgetting what lay along the path behind you.

In her soft kiss, she made a silent promise to this boy that she would never forget him. And as she watched him disappear from her life forever, returning to the realm he belonged to, she knew that he would never forget her, either.

'Good bye, my prince,' she thought, giving one last look to the empty space he had once been standing in,' I won't forget you, either.'

Indeed, she never had forgotten him, for many years later, she knew that she would be telling the story of a girl that had once fallen in love with a fairy prince-- a story that would be passed on from her to her children and her grand-children and so on.

Of course, none of them believed it to be anything more than an old bed-time fairy-tale. But, every time her children or her grand-children ask her about what happened after that, she merely smiles silently, for they aren't aware of it, but they already know how the story ends."

Once more, silence fell over the classroom as my story ended, before everyone clapped. So far, it looked like everyone either hadn't thought anything too much of the story, other than that it was okay.

Reluctantly, I looked over at Adam as I returned to my seat. Much to my surprise, he actually didn't seem to be confused or angry with me, but rather his face was rather his eyes clouded over reflectively, as if he was still trying to process it all through his mind.

Once more, I thought, another strange, unexpected reaction from Adam Park.

Like the other times this happened, I swept it to the back of my mind. I'd catch him after class, I told myself, returning to listen to a few more stories written by my fellow classmates. There were still a few things I was curious to know about the ending of his story, as well.

--

"Hey, Adam," I said, hastily shoving my class supplies into my bag as class ended, "Wait up!"

I hoped that I would have gotten his attention, but it seemed that my voice got lost somewhere in the resumed idle chatter, slamming of books, and shuffling of feet.

Again I called after him as I followed him out of the classroom. This time though, I managed to be close enough to grab him by the shoulder before he completely vanished into the sea of students milling the hallways.

"Hey, Melissa," He said, "What's up?"

"I just wanted to ask you a few questions about that story you presented today in class," I said. I tried to sound as polite and non-demanding as I could sound. After all, I wasn't going to find out anything if I was rude or scared the crap out of the poor guy.

"Okay," he said," Ask me anything."

"Where did you come up with the idea for your story?"

"I guess you can say that it was based a bit off of this really weird dream I had once," He said

I heaved a small sigh of relief as it felt like a crushing weight had been lifted from my chest. Well, at least that mystery was solved: it was all a coincidence, like I thought. But, there was still one more question that I was dying to know the answer to.

"So," I asked, "That just leaves question two: What happens to the two lovers in the story? Does he keep his promise? And what about her, does she forget him, or does she still remember him, too?"

But, to this, he said nothing, for one of his friends had called to him from down the hallway. As he walked away, though, he shot a small, knowing smile over his shoulder at me, as if to silently say 'You might already know the answer to that question,' before disappearing into the crowd, leaving me, dumbfounded, to ponder of what had happened.

Why had he smiled at me like that? It wasn't like I knew the end to the story. I mean, it was his story after all. How was I supposed to know whether there was a happy ending or not?

He's just being weird again. I really shouldn't be so surprised anymore.

"Eh," I said, as I headed toward my locker, " Let's just say that they both kept their promises. I always liked happy endings, anyways."

--END--