Disclaimer-Stephanie Meyer owns the Twilight Saga. Paul McCartney owns the Silly Love Songs excerpt I used.


Summary- You don't like Valentine's Day. You never have and you never will.


I wrote this in seventh grade, I just modified it recently.


You'd think
that people would have had enough of silly love longs
But I look around me and I see it isn't so
Some people wanna fill the world with silly love songs

And what's wrong with that ?
I'd like to know 'cause here I go again.
I love you
I love you
I love you
I love you.
I can't explain
the feeling's plain to me
say
can't you see
What's wrong with that

You know exactly what the hell is wrong with that.

Valentine's Day.

It's just another holiday. To me, at least. I mean, sure, yeah. It probably started off all sweet. Maybe even focused just o love once. But now, it's about giant stuffed bear with creepy eyes and a too-cute smile.

And your not the prettiest girl, so Valentine's day is horrible. Your nose is to broad for your face, and your lips are too full. Your long, black hair is thin and whispy, and you are stck listening to Just The Way You Are by Bruno Mars in the car on your way to school. (You're sister and your friend refuse to let you change the station

(A/N I love that song.)

And the worst part is that you have to go and sit next to the love of your life, and he doesn't know your name. And you've been sitting right next to him for two years. Not two seconds, two minutes, two hours, two days, or even two months. But two years, and the only time he's ever looked in your direction was to borrow a pencil from you.

You push that thought to the side as you walk into the school, looking even more out of place than you usually do. Every one else is walking around wearing red, pink, and white. Happy-go-lucky couples parade around holding hands, and love songs play from your friend's Ipod ( What is with this chick? You love her and all, but can't your friend see you don't wanna listen to him?) Apparently not, you think as Love Story by Taylor Swift plays.

You ignore her and her happiness as she meets with her boyfriend, who has the nerve to give you a box of coversation hearts. You could care less that he thinks your sweet.

You walk to class, pushing pass couples who are ''so-in-love''.

''Hey,'' your best guy friend smiles as you sit down.

You glare at him, because even he has a Valentine. It's lame, it's from his little sister, and it states that he is ''Berry cute'', but it's one all the same.

The loe of your life walks in, and he looks a hell of a lot different. He's taller, buff, and you just wanna drool all over him. (Though you'll deny the fact if it ever pops up).

He sees you, and suddenly looks at you like there is no one else else there. It's like you're the only thing that matters.

For some reason, this angers you more than the fact a couple is making not twenty inches away from you, and- oh, god, why doesn't he just eat her freaking face off?

''Hi,'' he says as he takes his place next to you ,''My name's-.''

''I know,'' you say, cutting the jerk off ,''I've been sitting next to you for a whole year.''

''Oh...look...do you wanna go out tonight?'' he asks.

He has the nerve to ask this when this is your least favorite holiday. When everyone is wearing traditional Valentine's day colors, and you are wearing blue jeans, a black, long sleeved shirt, and sneakers.

''No,'' you say, happy as the bell rings.

To you, Valentine's day is just a day for happy coupes to walk around all...happy. And you have the suspicion everyone else in your school is happier, more in love, and having more fun than you.

But your opinion changes when you go to your locker after school, ad find a red rose in your locker. Hot tacky and traditional.

The you see it's not a rose, but a carnation:your favorite. And there is a note. It says:

Okay. So go out with me as my un-Valetine's Day date?

You smile and close your locker.

You still don't like Valentine's Day, and you won't as long as your name is Micha King.

But maybe, just maybe, you will give Seth Clearwater a call.