TITLE: "Mystery Valentine"
AUTHOR: Dream Catcher
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own "Sailor Moon," but this story is MINE (sry if I sound really possessive).
A.N.:******PLEASE READ*******I know! I haven't finished my other stories. Well, let me do some explaining. "Christmas Dreams" is on hold because it's after Christmas, and I'm not in the mood to write a Christmas story. I will continue it. As for "Matchmaker Lane," I don't think I'll continue it. I have no idea where it's going. So for the time being it's cancelled. If you still want to read a Christmas story even though those holidays are long gone, tell me in a review. Same goes for this story. Feedback helps. Trust me. A warning, though: I will be very busy until the end of May. I have drama practice, homework, chores, the final play nights, strings concert,and much more. So, please bear with me. Now, on with the story...
CHAPTER ONE...
I couldn't believe it.
Once again Valentine's Day was fast approaching, and like the years before, I was going to spend it alone. It was almost tradition, the sudden feeling loneliness that I always felt this time of the year. The sense of longing that pulled at my heart when I saw couples sneaking kisses was just another part of the holiday, right up there with roses, hearts, and chocolates.
But I've never really wanted the usual expensive Valentine's gifts that guys always seemed to bring their girlfriends. No, I wanted someone to spend the holiday with, a special guy to hold me in his arms.
Don't get me wrong! If a guy was to give me a banquet of roses, I'd accept them with a blush, but I've always wanted something simple, from the heart. A poem perhaps, expressing the undying love the sender felt for me.
Every Valentine's Day, there is a part of me that is still hopeful, still wishing I'd find someone, and every year since the sixth grade on Valentine's Day, I'd search my locker, hoping to find a love note concealed in a red envelope. But after six years of searching my locker, I have come to the realization that my life is not a romance novel; and my prince charming won't come ridding into my life on a white stallion, no matter how much I wish he would.
With my shoulders slumped, I made my way to the front of the school. The first bell had yet to ring, but most of the student body was already outside mingling while waiting for the bell to ring and to signal the start of yet another boring day, trapped inside the walls of Crossroads High.
I made my way around the group of cheerleaders giggling and gossiping over a Voge magazine containing the latest fashion. I rolled my eyes as I passed them. Although I despise their kind, I will admit that I slightly envy them and their perfect hair. But never would I want to be like them. Their popularity comes with a price, a side of them not often seen. They look down on people without even knowing them, and I can't stand it when people do that, but I realize that they, too, are often misjudged.
But I have heard of the wild parties that the cheerleaders and football players attend, the ones where they seem to forget that under aged drinking is against the law. An acquaintance of mine (I wouldn't call Sean a friend) belongs to their group, and I've heard him talking to some of his friends about the wild parties in which someone got so drunk that they got on top of a table and started dancing with a ceiling fan.
I've been dubbed "innocent" by my friend Raye because I've never drunk and alcoholic beverage, never smoked a cigarette, and never been kissed.
That's right, I've never been kissed. What else did you expect from a girl who's pathetic enough to search her locker every Valentine's Day, hoping to find a piece of paper containing the declaration of some guy's love for her?
I headed towards the large oak tree in the middle of the courtyard where my gang of friends and I like to hang out in the mornings and during lunch. Lita and Raye had already arrived and were waiting.
"Hey, Serena!" Lita called when she caught sight of me.
"Sup?" Raye asked.
"The sky." I smiled, knowing it irritated Raye when I answered like that.
"You know what I meant, Meatball Head."
Raye knew I despised the nickname, but she insisted upon calling me by it even after three years of not wearing the hairstyle that had prompted her to create the oh so dreaded name.
It was time to bring out the big guns. "Raye, darling, you don't want me to accidentally slip out that big secret you told me, do you? I'm sure Lita would be happy to know that you forgot to let her in on it." Then I widened my eyes, placed my hand over my mouth, and feigned innocence . "Oops, I wasn't supposed to say that was I?"
Raye seethed, and I smiled sweetly. It served her right; she knew I hated that nickname. Although, I felt a little guilty for pitting Lita up against her, but it wasn't my fault she decided not to tell Lita who her newest crush was. After all, Raye had known about Lita's obsession with gossip.
But Lita was in no way a wimp. Her idea of fun was hitting something or arm wrestling any guy willing to go against a girl. She was, without a doubt, the tomboy of our group. Her desire to fight has also made her the "mother hen" of our group, always protecting and watching for trouble.
I leaned against the tree, perfectly intent with watching the feud between the two. When I saw Amy making her way through towards us, I waved her over.
"What has them so riled up this morning?" she asked in her shy sweet voice that sometimes unnerves me because it never changes pitch except when she's really steamed, and then it's duck for cover.
"Raye called me Meatball Head. Then, I told Lita that Raye was keeping a secret from her. You know, the usual."
Amy looked at me puzzled. "Raye has a secret?"
"Yeah, but she was going to tell you guys later. The only reason I know is because I called her last night to ask her what we had for homework this weekend in Mrs. Day's class."
I sighed and leaned my head back against the tree and stared through its empty branches. I could already tell that this day was going to be a long and cold one. Maybe I'd be able to get in some z's during first period. Who needs algebra anyway?
I stubbed my toe in the earth and then began drawing hearts in the dirt but scrapped over them when I was once again reminded of my loneliness.
"Hey! Over here!"
I looked up to find my blond counterpart Mina running towards our group, weaving her way through a group consisting of most of the school's wrestling team and being obvious in her flirting. I watched as she flipped her hair over her shoulder and giggled as she brushed past Andrew, the captain of the wrestling team. I shook my head but then raised an eyebrow when I saw the love struck look in his eyes.
Mina was the flirt of our group and also the most outgoing. When we first became friends, I thought she would fit in more with the cheerleaders. She had all the traits, like the bombshell body, the outgoing personality, and the slight ditzy-ness. But she was more into volleyball, and she wasn't so into her looks that she glanced into her mirror every five minutes. But she also accepted me for who I was; something the cheerleaders would never do.
It wasn't because I was fat or had a face covered with acne. I was, well, to put it bluntly, clumsy. I had the tendency to trip when there was nothing to trip over. One specific incident came to mind: the time I tripped up during lunch with everyone watching. It wasn't my fault that some stupid boy decided to stick his foot out in my way. It had been most embarrassing. The worst part had been the laughing. I had been a freshman, but I can still hear that mocking laughter of those complete strangers whenever I think back to then. But my clumsiness wasn't a daily event anymore; so, I know I'm getting better.
"Hey, Mina," I said once she had joined us.
"Hey, girls." She looked over at Lita and Raye, who had by now stopped arguing. "Anything new happen?"
"Nothing but the usual on this dreary Monday morning," commented Lita.
At least somebody felt the same way I did.
The bell rang, and the five of us headed towards our lockers, Raye and I going one way and the rest going another. When I reached my locker I dumped all my books inside and retrieved what I needed for algebra. I was about to close my locker, when, out of habit, checked it's contents.
Nothing.
No love note.
I tried not to be disappointed; after all, it wasn't like I really had expected to find anything. I may have hoped, but expecting and hoping were two different things. I slammed my locker shut just as Raye walked up behind me.
Together we walked to algebra, weaving our way through the throng of students. A freshman bumped into Raye, and she gave him her
"death" glare. The acne covered teen cowered, and we laughed the rest of the way to class.
We entered the classroom and made our way to the assigned seats that Mrs. Day made us sit in because after little over of month of having her as our teacher, she had still not learned all our names.
Slowly the class filed in, and when the bell rang, Mrs. Day came in ready to teach even though half the class wasn't ready to learn.
I tuned Mrs. Day out and focused my attention on the window and what lied beyond it. Dried brown grass and an endless grey sky covered much of my vision. It looked like it was going to snow, just like the weather guy had predicted. Hopefully, he'd be right, and school will be cancelled tomorrow.
I continued to stare out the window, completely oblivious to what Mrs. Day was trying to teach. I wasn't worried, however, about my grade. I have already acquired enough credits to graduate, and I've already taken the needed classes to get into college, but the principal of my school makes seniors take one math class and English class. So instead of taking some AP calculus course like most of the advanced students do, Raye and I opted to take a class we had already taken to refresh our minds. But it seems, my mind didn't need much refreshing in Algebra 1; even though, I took it when I was a freshman.
"Serena, what's the slope of the expression?" Mrs. Day asked, randomly picking a name off the list of names she had beside her.
With drowsy eyes, I looked at the problem that was written on the overhead. Emotionlessly I answered, "Negative two-thirds."
"Correct!" she smiled, and once again I tuned her out.
An hour and a half later, the bell rang, and I practically ran for the door, Raye right behind me. After going to our lockers, we parted ways and headed to our second period classes.
I walked into Mrs. Robinson's AP English class, and found a desk near the back. Since I liked English, I decided to further my education in it. It was my only advanced class.
Amy walked in, and took a seat by me in the back. She may be a genius, but she is afraid of being called on in class to answer questions. So, she sits in the back with me.
I think her insecurity to answer the questions roots from her want to never fail. I thinks she's afraid of what everyone would say if she got something wrong. After all, she has the reputation of being perfect.
Mrs. Robinson walked in. She's a short, frail looking woman, who wears dresses three sizes too big and wears her short black hair in a style that resembled a mushroom. She's very eccentric and a little ditzy too, but I still enjoy her class. Although, she never gives you a moment of rest. Once an assignment is finished, another one is assigned. She doesn't stray off topic like most teachers, which is very unfortunate for me.
Class began with a five paragraph essay, followed by some English exercises, and ended with a reading assignment.
The bell rang and once again I was heading to my next class, but this time, it was my favorite. This time, I was heading to strings.
I crossed the courtyard, passing the students who were lucky enough to have first lunch. The smell of their food had my stomach rumbling. It was torture to have all those delicious fragrances filling my nose.
When I arrived at the strings classroom, I realized that once again, Mrs. Hart was late. Although her tardiness is just another part of the daily routine, it's still a pain in the ass to wait outside her room for her to arrive. But she has to teach at the nearby middle school, and once her classes are finished there, she drives to our high school. It can't be helped, I guess.
Raye, who is also in my strings class, was waiting by the door, talking to the freshman bass player.
"What you guys talking about?" I asked.
"The latest Austin Powers movie. You seen it yet?"
"No, I haven't even gotten around to renting the first one. Is it good?"
Avery, the freshman, said, "Yeah, it's good- really hilarious."
"Hey, Clumsy," a voice called.
I didn't need to turn around to find out who the teasing voice belonged to. How could I not after a month of being teased by its owner and then childishly forming a growing crush on him? But I still turned around. It was as if I was making sure he was really there, and he was.
Darien Shields stood tall and muscular in front of me. His blue eyes that always seemed to unnerve me, were boring into mine, and a smirk was on his lips, making his face all the more sexier. His hair was a little disheveled, as if he had run his hands through it over and over.
I had to force back the grin that was fighting its way to the surface. It seemed that whenever he was around me, I wanted to grin like a fool. But I was able to turn the grin into a frown as I glared up at him, wondering what I could call him that I hadn't used already.
"Meany!" Damn, this guy got to me.
He raised an eyebrow. "Is that the best you could come up with?"
"At the spur of the moment, yes." I sighed wishing I could come up with something more witty, like I usually was able to do, but today I seemed to be a little off.
He smiled, but it was small and it didn't last. Come to think of it, ever since he moved to the area a little over a month ago, I have never seen him smile a real smile, one that reached his eyes. I wanted to see him smile.
Mrs. Hart finally arrived, and we were ushered into the classroom that the band class also used during fourth period. As I looked around the classroom, I took in, once again, the retired, rusted tubas hanging on the wall parallel to the whiteboard and the trophy case filled with band trophies. The wall adjacent to the tubas consisted of some badly built cabinets that were painted an ugly grey and locked shut by combination locks. A broken piano sat in one corner of the room, out of tune and missing some keys. About thirty plastic chairs ranging from the color blue to the color orange were stacked in front of the storage rooms that, at some point in time, had been converted into offices for Mrs. Hart and the band director. The room needed a lot of work, but for some odd reason I couldn't get over the way I felt when I was in the room. Like, instead of a classroom, I was in the meeting place of a club.
I had always felt that way, ever since my freshman year. Mrs. Hart had never seemed like a teacher; she was more like one of us. She would tell us of her wild times in high school, of the time she had her husband dress up as a tampon for Halloween, and of her son Charlie, who was a year old. We never did real work, a few worksheets here and there, maybe, but they were always easy. It just never seemed like a class to me.
I walked to the grey cabinets and retrieved my violin case and walked back to the chair I had dumped my stuff beside. Once I had rosined my bow, I began playing a song that I learned in the seventh grade. For some reason, it had stuck with me.
Raye sat down beside me, her violin in hand, but she didn't play. Instead she and Rachel, a junior, started talking about something.
I, however, stopped playing when I heard the deep soothing notes coming from a cello- Darien's cello. Darien was, without a doubt, the best player in the class. His heart was in the cello; you could tell from the way he played, from the way the music just seemed to flow out of him and into his instrument. It was almost hypnotic to watch him play.
Once he brought to class a piece he composed himself, and he played it for everyone. It had been beautiful, soothing and dramatic.
I laid my instrument in its case and began to listen as he played "Cello's Olay," a piece Mrs. Hart currently had us working on. The deep resonance of the song filled the room, but I was the only one listening; everyone else was talking among themselves.
My heart wasn't in the violin like Darien's was. I often wished that my music was as soulful as his, but I could never put my emotions into the violin. Plus, I think I'm tone deaf because my fingers never seem to be in the right place and my notes always end up sounding flat.
I can, however, play the piano. As long as I can remember I've been playing, and I plan on playing way into the future. I'm no Mozart, but my heart is in the piano. In third period, I often find myself drawn to the broken piano in the strings classroom. I'll play a few notes, but I sometimes get thrown off by the missing keys. A few times, Darien has approached me while I was playing, but I always got nervous and stopped. I never have been able to play with someone looking over my shoulder.
"Serena! Earth to Serena!"
The voice shattered the oasis I created for myself, and I felt like punching the owner of the voice. After blinking my eyes a few times, I was able to see clearly the smiling face of Rachel.
"Where'd you go?" she asked. At my blank look, she continued, "You spaced out. Where'd you go."
"My own little world," I said simply.
"Oh, well, anyway, I was asking you if you were going to the Valentines dance Friday."
"No. I'm not going."
"Why?"
Boy, this girl sure is nosey. "No one's asked."
I shrugged like it was no big deal, but on the inside I was upset at once again being reminded of how lonely I was. What is so wrong with me that I can't get a boyfriend?
Rachel left, and I thought the questions were over But I was wrong; it was Raye's turn.
"Why don't you ask a guy to the dance?" she asked.
In return, I gave her the look that stated: "Come on. How many times have I given you the answer to this question?"
"Oh, that's right," she said. "You're old fashioned. According to you, the guys should do all the asking and calling."
"Your point is?"
"This is the Twentieth Century, girl!"
"I know what point in time it is, Raye, but you just have to understand that I'm not like you. I want a guy who pulls out chairs, opens doors, and knows how to be romantic. And when a guy does ask me out, I don't want it to be one of those 'Hey, babe, how about you and me go out this Friday' type things. I want it to be sweet."
Raye looked long and hard into my eyes and then slowly stated, "You still have that love-note-in-the-locker fantasy, don't you."
Raye knew me way too well. It was almost scary how she knew what I was thinking. But I guess can't expect anything less than that, considering we've been friends since the first grade.
I bowed my head, "So what if I do?"
"Life isn't a romance novel, honey. I doubt any guy in this school meets your high standards. And your love letter dream isn't going to happen, at least, not at this school."
"I know, but it can't hurt to wish...can it?"
"No, it can't." she smiled.
The conversation was over, and I suddenly realized that sometime during mine and Raye's conversation, Darien had stopped playing.
I turned to look at him, to see why he had stopped, and my eyes met his. A chill ran down my spine as he once again gave me the look that seemed to see right through me. I sincerely believe that the eyes are the windows to the soul, but I think Darien is the only person to be able to really see through mine.
Our trance, however, was broken when Mrs. Hart decided to begin class, and to say I was thankful, was an understatement. Yet, there was the small part of me that had enjoyed knowing that I had been the sole focus of his attention. Then, there was the part of me that believed that no man would ever look at me in anything other than repulse; and at the moment, that part was saying Darien had been staring at something behind me.
Third period was just like any other day after that little "event." We played a few songs, joked around, and looked a pictures of Mrs. Hart's son.
The bell rang, and we rushed out of class, eager to get to lunch. I left Raye in my dust, as I practically ran to the cafeteria. I was hungry, I mean, come one, who wouldn't be at one o'clock in the afternoon?
Yeah, that's right, I eat lunch at fucking one o'clock in the afternoon. Yes, second lunch sucks. I can only think of one good thing about it: All my friends get to suffer with me.
I opened the cafeteria doors and shoved my way through the crowed of people to get in the pizza line. Once my pizza was in hand, I exited the lunch room, and made my way to the oak tree, where my friends- minus Raye- were already waiting.
"Hey, Serena, how was strings?" Mina asked smilingly while raising her eyebrows up and down suggestively.
I had known from the moment I told the girls about my crush that I'd be in for it, but I just can't keep a secret because they can see right through my lying. And Mina, well, she just knows when one of us has a crush.
"Strings was fine." Then changing the subject, I asked, "Where's Raye?"
"Dunno," Lita said, shrugging her shoulders and taking bite out of her own slice of pizza.
"Maybe she signed up for the mentor program," Amy suggested.
"Get real, Amy. You're the only one out of all of us that would even consider skipping lunch just to study."
I nodded my head in agreement with Mina. Raye probably went to her locker or something. I looked around, hoping to find some sign of Raye, and sure enough I saw her walking our way.
"'Bout time you showed up," I told her when she reached our group.
"Sorry. I went to the restroom, and there was a long line," she explained.
Odd, I thought when I heard what Raye had said. The direction in which I had seen Raye coming, was in the opposite direction of the restroom. I shook my confusion off, however when I considered she might have gone to her locker afterwards.
I zipped my coat up as far as it would go when another gust of wind passed. It was warmer than it had been this morning, but it was still too cold for my tastes.
"So, Raye," Mina batted her eyelashes. "What's this I hear about you and a certain Chad Porter?"
I smiled at the look of absolute horror on Raye's face. As funny as I thought it was, I still felt her pain.
I watched as Raye took a quick glance at where Chad was standing with his group of skate boarding buddies. He had long brown hair that hung over his eyes, and he wore baggy pants, a long T-shirt, and a chain hanging out of one pocket.
As I looked between the two of them, I wondered if the "Sk8er Boi" song had been written for them. Only, as Raye's friends, we supported whatever decision she decided to make. I could care less what kind of clothes he wore; after all, he wouldn't be my boyfriend. Besides, he seemed like a genuinely nice guy, in a punk rock sort of way.
"What's there to hear?" Raye asked.
I knew Raye was going to beat around the bush, so I asked the question we were all wondering. "Do you like the guy or not?"
Raye's eyes widened slightly at my bluntness, but it was the only sign she was uncomfortable. With her shoulders squared, her eyes blank, she answered, "Yes."
We were all quiet a moment, and then Mina squealed, "I knew it!"
"So this was the big secret from this morning?" Lita asked. When Raye nodded, Lita continued, "Some secret; I already had a feeling you liked the guy."
"Was I that obvious?" Ray asked.
Mina, Lita, and I nodded, and then Raye sighed.
"If it makes you feel any better," Amy smiled, "I didn't know."
"Oh course you didn't," Lita said teasingly to Amy. "You've been too busy to notice because your head's been stuck in that chemistry book."
"Well, excuse me for wanting to make good grades."
"Uh, Ames, " I said, "you already make good grades."
"Yes, well, I'd like to keep it that way."
When lunch was over, Mina and I headed to our fourth period and our last class of the day: psychology. Mr. Grant was our psychology teacher, and because he was our teacher, we were guaranteed to never have a dull fourth period.
I remember my first day in his class. Instead of doing the boring introductory to the subject, we had taken the Pepsi challenge. At the beginning of class we had taken a vote of who liked Pepsi over Coke. Pepsi had gotten thirteen votes, and coke had gotten six. After everyone in the class had went up and taken the challenge, the end results had been: Pepsi, nine; and Coke, ten.
Mr. Grant walked in, dressed in black slacks, a white button down shirt, and a red bowtie that really stood out. His long brown hair, that couldn't be defined as a mullet yet, was pulled back in a low ponytail. He often reminded me of a hippy that, because of his job, had to dress more professional.
He sat down on his desk and waited for the bell to ring. When it did, he started speaking. "Today we are going to start class with a what-would-you-do question that I'd like you to answer in a complete paragraph." When the class groaned he said, "Sorry, I've got to give you some work, after all this is a- You're late." He said calmly to the student who had not successfully tried to sneak into the classroom. We all laughed, knowing what the unlucky student's punishment would be.
Mr. Grant reached across his desk for the white dunce cap and handed it to the student. With sagging shoulders the student put the hat on his head and walked to the stool that was sitting in the corner of the room. With a slouched postured, he sat on the stool facing the wall.
"Now, as I was saying, I want you to write a paragraph explaining what you would do it you were ever presented with this problem. Ready?" He looked around the classroom and saw that all eyes were on him. "Okay. Say I was to have ten guns laying on my desk, and I told you only one was loaded If I was to offer you a thousand dollars to pick up one of the guns, put it to your head, and pull the trigger, would you do it?"
I hated questions like these because I always wanted to go deeper with the information given. I raised my hand.
"Is there really only one loaded gun, or did you just tell us there was only one loaded gun, but there was really more?"
Mr. Grant grinned, "There's only one loaded gun."
I smiled and started on my essay. I chose not to pick up a gun, and my paragraph was straight to the point on why I would not risk my life. No amount of money was worth my life. I ended my paragraph with: "Plus, knowing my luck, I'd pick up the one gun with the bullet."
When class was over an hour later, I parted ways with Mina, and headed to my locker to pick up my algebra book. I dialed in the combination, opened my locker, dumped in any books I didn't need for the night, and retrieved my algebra book and notebook. I was about to close my locker when Raye walked up beside me.
"Are you still giving me a ride home?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"I'll be so glade when my damn car is fixed," she sighed leaning up against a nearby locker. "Hey what's that?" she asked her eyebrows drawing together.
"What's what?" I asked puzzled.
"That red thing in your locker." She nodded her head in the direction of the partly closed locker.
Confused, I opened it wider and stuck my head inside. And sure enough, on top of my English book, sat a red envelope. Slowly I reached a hand inside to retrieved it, and I closed my locker slowly without taking my eyes off the envelope.
"What is it?" Raye asked it again.
"I... I don't know." I said slowly, still staring at the envelope.
"Well open the freaking thing."
Slowly, I tore open the flap and pulled out the contents and unfolded the two pieces of paper that had been inside. With wide eyes, I read the paper on top.
Serena,
You remind me of a summer's breeze, warm and carefree. You captivate myattention, and I can't help the way my eyes are automatically drawn to you. You're the nymph, dancing and playing with my thoughts. When I'm away from you, you're all I think about. Will you ever think of me?
Your Secret Admirer
Flabbergasted, I looked at the second page and was surprised to realize that it was a written piece of piano sheet music, handwritten and, as far as I could tell, completely original. Whoever it was from had composed it by himself.
I sighed dreamily at the romanticism of it all. My childish fantasy had actually come true, and it seemed like a too perfect dream.
"Well," Raye cut in through the dreamy haze that had formed a cocoon around my mind.
I handed her the letter, still slightly wistful in my movements. I watched her eyes grow as she scanned over the note.
"Well, whada you know," she said, handing the letter back. "Your wish came true. Maybe there is a decent guy in this school."
"Yeah."
"Hey, you still with me? I'm not quite sure I trust you driving me home."
Slowly I faded out of my shock completely, and once I was normal, I stuck my tongue out at Raye. I wasn't that big of a space-case, but I wondered if I had really acted like one.
Was I really so pathetic that a simple love note in my locker can shock me enough that I become speechless? I mean, if one of the cheerleaders was to get a love note in their locker, I bet they would laugh, show it to their friends, and then dispose of it. Why would they care whether they got a note? After all, any guy they would want already seems to be chasing after them, and the guys don't seem to mind that their interests are public knowledge. Maybe that's the guys' tactics. Eventually the girl they're interested in will find out through the gossip mills.
But I didn't want to find out a guy like me through a friend; I wanted him to tell me.
Together Raye and I walked to the school parking lot that was, by now, close to being empty. I unlocked my car and climbed behind the wheel. Raye got in, but I didn't start the car.
After a moment, she turned to me and said, "The car doesn't start unless you turn the key."
"Seatbelt," was all I said to her sarcastic remark.
"Oh, right. I forgot who I'm riding with, Miss. Safety."
"Ha ha."
I turned the key once Raye's seatbelt was in place, and exited the parking lot.
"So who do you think it is?" Raye asked me, sounding so much like Mina it was almost scary.
"I don't know."
"Well, I bet I know who you want it to be, and I just want to warn you that you shouldn't get your hopes up. There's a good chance it isn't Darien."
Way to go, Raye, bring me down when I'm at my highest.
"I know."
"Good. I just wanted to make sure you didn't have some fairy tale dream formed in your mind, and then have it shattered by a harsh reality."
"I know, Raye, but if I didn't have my dream and fantasies, my life would be boring as hell."
Raye stared at me a while before saying, "You know, I don't get you sometimes. One minute you're this happy, carefree person, and then the next you talk really wise."
I stopped at a red-light and took the moment to look away from the road. "Your one to talk, Raye. You remind me of some guru that sits atop the highest mountain, wise beyond his years." I laughed as I pictured Raye sitting cross-legged on some mountain, meditating.
"I have been considering Buddhism. The Path to Enlightenment sounds appealing," she smiled.
"Very funny, Raye."
The light turned green, and I pressed the gas petal. Raye turned on the radio, we sang to it the rest of the ride to her house.
"Bye, Raye," I called as she exited my car.
"Bye, Serena, see you tomorrow!"
"I won't be at school tomorrow!" I smiled.
"What? Why not?" Her brows drew together as she starred at me questioningly.
"Because it's gonna snow!"
She smiled and waved as I pulled out of her driveway.
The ride home for me was a long one because I kept thinking about who my secret admirer could be. Could it be that freshman in my algebra class? Or maybe it was Justin, the quiet senior I tutored last year. Who could it be? But I found myself thinking more about who I wanted it to be.
There was only one person that came to mind: Darien.
I remember when he had first transferred to my school at the beginning of the semester. It had been the first day back from Christmas vacation, and by second period, the rumors of the hot new student had already reached my ears. But I hadn't paid them any mind.
Alright, I had been a little curious.
But when I arrived at the strings classroom, I was too drained to care. A few other of my classmates had already arrived and were waiting impatiently by the door. Mrs. Hart surprised us, however, by arriving early (before the bell!). Only half of the class was there because some students arrived purposely late, knowing Mrs. Hart would be late too.
Instead of unpacking my violin, I approached the worn-out piano and began to play "Moonlight Sonata," my favorite piece by Beethoven. I became self-conscious, though, and stopped playing. I turned away from the piano just in time to see the classroom door open and Greg, a bass player, walk in followed by Darien.
I suddenly had the urge to impress and to look in a mirror.
Darien gazed around the classroom, and my heart jumped when it paused on me. I was suddenly very nervous and shy. Slowly I reached a hand back to the piano, hoping it would make me braver; but just as soon as his eyes fell on me, they were once again looking around the room.
I was still unnerved, however, at my sudden attraction to him. Never did I so suddenly like a guy. Normally when I developed a crush, it formed slowly, based on the guy's personality, never his looks. But I hadn't even spoken to Darien, and I could already feel myself becoming drawn to him. It had scared me.
If this was the new student- and I was sure it was- I could tell that the rumors about him were not only true, but understatements.
"Serena!" a voice called.
I shook myself out of whatever state I had been in and looked around to find the owner of the voice. Greg was standing not far away, smiling at me.
"What?" I asked.
"Come here, and meet a friend of mine," he said, referring to Darien.
Numbly, I walked over to them. Somehow in my nervous state, I failed to notice the trombone that some careless band student had left in the middle of the floor. It seemed that the clumsiness I had tried so hard to get rid of during my freshman and sophomore years had returned, only to bite me in the ass because I managed to trip over the stupid instrument and fall right into Darien's arms.
I looked up and met his eyes. My breath left me, and it seemed my legs did too because it felt almost impossible to stand.
I continued to stare into Darien's eyes, trying to find a word that could describe them. Mysterious? Dark? Beautiful? They all seemed to apply; yet, to me, none of them could capture the way they truly looked.
I have always read romance books in which a woman noticed a guy's eyes before any of his other features. I find that truly romantic; and a part of me has always wanted to have that happen in my life, the dream where I'm in a room crowded with people and suddenly make eye contact with a handsome man. Then, without realizing it, we walk towards each other and envelope each other in our arms as we begin to dance.
But I have never noticed a guy's eyes first, at least, up until then. The romantic part of me jumped with glee when I realized it.
But my happy thoughts had been shattered, however, by the teasing voice of Darien, "Jeeze, you sure are clumsy."
I had humped, turned to Greg, and asked, "Where did you find this jerk?"
Over the past month we have continued to banter back and forth like that. I know he's just teasing, and to be perfectly honest, I enjoy the attention, maybe more than I should allow myself.
I pulled into my driveway and turned off the car, but I made no move to get out. With my hands resting on the steering wheel, I pondered what I would do when I found out who my secret admirer was.
It wasn't Darien because even though he doesn't hang out with the cheerleaders and football players, he still has become popular. He could have any girl in the school, so why would he choose me?
I got out of the car with one thought in mind: Even though it isn't Darien, I'll give the guy a chance. After all, any guy that can write like that, deserves a chance.
But as I walked up the path to my house, I couldn't shake the gnawing feeling inside me, telling me that I wouldn't be happy unless it was Darien.
TO BE CONTINUED...
A.N.: Well...tell me how you liked it...or didn't. Also, tell me wheter or not you're up for a V-Day story when Febuary has already come and gone. Oh! And for those of you who have read my previous writing: Do you like my writing better in first person?
AUTHOR: Dream Catcher
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own "Sailor Moon," but this story is MINE (sry if I sound really possessive).
A.N.:******PLEASE READ*******I know! I haven't finished my other stories. Well, let me do some explaining. "Christmas Dreams" is on hold because it's after Christmas, and I'm not in the mood to write a Christmas story. I will continue it. As for "Matchmaker Lane," I don't think I'll continue it. I have no idea where it's going. So for the time being it's cancelled. If you still want to read a Christmas story even though those holidays are long gone, tell me in a review. Same goes for this story. Feedback helps. Trust me. A warning, though: I will be very busy until the end of May. I have drama practice, homework, chores, the final play nights, strings concert,and much more. So, please bear with me. Now, on with the story...
CHAPTER ONE...
I couldn't believe it.
Once again Valentine's Day was fast approaching, and like the years before, I was going to spend it alone. It was almost tradition, the sudden feeling loneliness that I always felt this time of the year. The sense of longing that pulled at my heart when I saw couples sneaking kisses was just another part of the holiday, right up there with roses, hearts, and chocolates.
But I've never really wanted the usual expensive Valentine's gifts that guys always seemed to bring their girlfriends. No, I wanted someone to spend the holiday with, a special guy to hold me in his arms.
Don't get me wrong! If a guy was to give me a banquet of roses, I'd accept them with a blush, but I've always wanted something simple, from the heart. A poem perhaps, expressing the undying love the sender felt for me.
Every Valentine's Day, there is a part of me that is still hopeful, still wishing I'd find someone, and every year since the sixth grade on Valentine's Day, I'd search my locker, hoping to find a love note concealed in a red envelope. But after six years of searching my locker, I have come to the realization that my life is not a romance novel; and my prince charming won't come ridding into my life on a white stallion, no matter how much I wish he would.
With my shoulders slumped, I made my way to the front of the school. The first bell had yet to ring, but most of the student body was already outside mingling while waiting for the bell to ring and to signal the start of yet another boring day, trapped inside the walls of Crossroads High.
I made my way around the group of cheerleaders giggling and gossiping over a Voge magazine containing the latest fashion. I rolled my eyes as I passed them. Although I despise their kind, I will admit that I slightly envy them and their perfect hair. But never would I want to be like them. Their popularity comes with a price, a side of them not often seen. They look down on people without even knowing them, and I can't stand it when people do that, but I realize that they, too, are often misjudged.
But I have heard of the wild parties that the cheerleaders and football players attend, the ones where they seem to forget that under aged drinking is against the law. An acquaintance of mine (I wouldn't call Sean a friend) belongs to their group, and I've heard him talking to some of his friends about the wild parties in which someone got so drunk that they got on top of a table and started dancing with a ceiling fan.
I've been dubbed "innocent" by my friend Raye because I've never drunk and alcoholic beverage, never smoked a cigarette, and never been kissed.
That's right, I've never been kissed. What else did you expect from a girl who's pathetic enough to search her locker every Valentine's Day, hoping to find a piece of paper containing the declaration of some guy's love for her?
I headed towards the large oak tree in the middle of the courtyard where my gang of friends and I like to hang out in the mornings and during lunch. Lita and Raye had already arrived and were waiting.
"Hey, Serena!" Lita called when she caught sight of me.
"Sup?" Raye asked.
"The sky." I smiled, knowing it irritated Raye when I answered like that.
"You know what I meant, Meatball Head."
Raye knew I despised the nickname, but she insisted upon calling me by it even after three years of not wearing the hairstyle that had prompted her to create the oh so dreaded name.
It was time to bring out the big guns. "Raye, darling, you don't want me to accidentally slip out that big secret you told me, do you? I'm sure Lita would be happy to know that you forgot to let her in on it." Then I widened my eyes, placed my hand over my mouth, and feigned innocence . "Oops, I wasn't supposed to say that was I?"
Raye seethed, and I smiled sweetly. It served her right; she knew I hated that nickname. Although, I felt a little guilty for pitting Lita up against her, but it wasn't my fault she decided not to tell Lita who her newest crush was. After all, Raye had known about Lita's obsession with gossip.
But Lita was in no way a wimp. Her idea of fun was hitting something or arm wrestling any guy willing to go against a girl. She was, without a doubt, the tomboy of our group. Her desire to fight has also made her the "mother hen" of our group, always protecting and watching for trouble.
I leaned against the tree, perfectly intent with watching the feud between the two. When I saw Amy making her way through towards us, I waved her over.
"What has them so riled up this morning?" she asked in her shy sweet voice that sometimes unnerves me because it never changes pitch except when she's really steamed, and then it's duck for cover.
"Raye called me Meatball Head. Then, I told Lita that Raye was keeping a secret from her. You know, the usual."
Amy looked at me puzzled. "Raye has a secret?"
"Yeah, but she was going to tell you guys later. The only reason I know is because I called her last night to ask her what we had for homework this weekend in Mrs. Day's class."
I sighed and leaned my head back against the tree and stared through its empty branches. I could already tell that this day was going to be a long and cold one. Maybe I'd be able to get in some z's during first period. Who needs algebra anyway?
I stubbed my toe in the earth and then began drawing hearts in the dirt but scrapped over them when I was once again reminded of my loneliness.
"Hey! Over here!"
I looked up to find my blond counterpart Mina running towards our group, weaving her way through a group consisting of most of the school's wrestling team and being obvious in her flirting. I watched as she flipped her hair over her shoulder and giggled as she brushed past Andrew, the captain of the wrestling team. I shook my head but then raised an eyebrow when I saw the love struck look in his eyes.
Mina was the flirt of our group and also the most outgoing. When we first became friends, I thought she would fit in more with the cheerleaders. She had all the traits, like the bombshell body, the outgoing personality, and the slight ditzy-ness. But she was more into volleyball, and she wasn't so into her looks that she glanced into her mirror every five minutes. But she also accepted me for who I was; something the cheerleaders would never do.
It wasn't because I was fat or had a face covered with acne. I was, well, to put it bluntly, clumsy. I had the tendency to trip when there was nothing to trip over. One specific incident came to mind: the time I tripped up during lunch with everyone watching. It wasn't my fault that some stupid boy decided to stick his foot out in my way. It had been most embarrassing. The worst part had been the laughing. I had been a freshman, but I can still hear that mocking laughter of those complete strangers whenever I think back to then. But my clumsiness wasn't a daily event anymore; so, I know I'm getting better.
"Hey, Mina," I said once she had joined us.
"Hey, girls." She looked over at Lita and Raye, who had by now stopped arguing. "Anything new happen?"
"Nothing but the usual on this dreary Monday morning," commented Lita.
At least somebody felt the same way I did.
The bell rang, and the five of us headed towards our lockers, Raye and I going one way and the rest going another. When I reached my locker I dumped all my books inside and retrieved what I needed for algebra. I was about to close my locker, when, out of habit, checked it's contents.
Nothing.
No love note.
I tried not to be disappointed; after all, it wasn't like I really had expected to find anything. I may have hoped, but expecting and hoping were two different things. I slammed my locker shut just as Raye walked up behind me.
Together we walked to algebra, weaving our way through the throng of students. A freshman bumped into Raye, and she gave him her
"death" glare. The acne covered teen cowered, and we laughed the rest of the way to class.
We entered the classroom and made our way to the assigned seats that Mrs. Day made us sit in because after little over of month of having her as our teacher, she had still not learned all our names.
Slowly the class filed in, and when the bell rang, Mrs. Day came in ready to teach even though half the class wasn't ready to learn.
I tuned Mrs. Day out and focused my attention on the window and what lied beyond it. Dried brown grass and an endless grey sky covered much of my vision. It looked like it was going to snow, just like the weather guy had predicted. Hopefully, he'd be right, and school will be cancelled tomorrow.
I continued to stare out the window, completely oblivious to what Mrs. Day was trying to teach. I wasn't worried, however, about my grade. I have already acquired enough credits to graduate, and I've already taken the needed classes to get into college, but the principal of my school makes seniors take one math class and English class. So instead of taking some AP calculus course like most of the advanced students do, Raye and I opted to take a class we had already taken to refresh our minds. But it seems, my mind didn't need much refreshing in Algebra 1; even though, I took it when I was a freshman.
"Serena, what's the slope of the expression?" Mrs. Day asked, randomly picking a name off the list of names she had beside her.
With drowsy eyes, I looked at the problem that was written on the overhead. Emotionlessly I answered, "Negative two-thirds."
"Correct!" she smiled, and once again I tuned her out.
An hour and a half later, the bell rang, and I practically ran for the door, Raye right behind me. After going to our lockers, we parted ways and headed to our second period classes.
I walked into Mrs. Robinson's AP English class, and found a desk near the back. Since I liked English, I decided to further my education in it. It was my only advanced class.
Amy walked in, and took a seat by me in the back. She may be a genius, but she is afraid of being called on in class to answer questions. So, she sits in the back with me.
I think her insecurity to answer the questions roots from her want to never fail. I thinks she's afraid of what everyone would say if she got something wrong. After all, she has the reputation of being perfect.
Mrs. Robinson walked in. She's a short, frail looking woman, who wears dresses three sizes too big and wears her short black hair in a style that resembled a mushroom. She's very eccentric and a little ditzy too, but I still enjoy her class. Although, she never gives you a moment of rest. Once an assignment is finished, another one is assigned. She doesn't stray off topic like most teachers, which is very unfortunate for me.
Class began with a five paragraph essay, followed by some English exercises, and ended with a reading assignment.
The bell rang and once again I was heading to my next class, but this time, it was my favorite. This time, I was heading to strings.
I crossed the courtyard, passing the students who were lucky enough to have first lunch. The smell of their food had my stomach rumbling. It was torture to have all those delicious fragrances filling my nose.
When I arrived at the strings classroom, I realized that once again, Mrs. Hart was late. Although her tardiness is just another part of the daily routine, it's still a pain in the ass to wait outside her room for her to arrive. But she has to teach at the nearby middle school, and once her classes are finished there, she drives to our high school. It can't be helped, I guess.
Raye, who is also in my strings class, was waiting by the door, talking to the freshman bass player.
"What you guys talking about?" I asked.
"The latest Austin Powers movie. You seen it yet?"
"No, I haven't even gotten around to renting the first one. Is it good?"
Avery, the freshman, said, "Yeah, it's good- really hilarious."
"Hey, Clumsy," a voice called.
I didn't need to turn around to find out who the teasing voice belonged to. How could I not after a month of being teased by its owner and then childishly forming a growing crush on him? But I still turned around. It was as if I was making sure he was really there, and he was.
Darien Shields stood tall and muscular in front of me. His blue eyes that always seemed to unnerve me, were boring into mine, and a smirk was on his lips, making his face all the more sexier. His hair was a little disheveled, as if he had run his hands through it over and over.
I had to force back the grin that was fighting its way to the surface. It seemed that whenever he was around me, I wanted to grin like a fool. But I was able to turn the grin into a frown as I glared up at him, wondering what I could call him that I hadn't used already.
"Meany!" Damn, this guy got to me.
He raised an eyebrow. "Is that the best you could come up with?"
"At the spur of the moment, yes." I sighed wishing I could come up with something more witty, like I usually was able to do, but today I seemed to be a little off.
He smiled, but it was small and it didn't last. Come to think of it, ever since he moved to the area a little over a month ago, I have never seen him smile a real smile, one that reached his eyes. I wanted to see him smile.
Mrs. Hart finally arrived, and we were ushered into the classroom that the band class also used during fourth period. As I looked around the classroom, I took in, once again, the retired, rusted tubas hanging on the wall parallel to the whiteboard and the trophy case filled with band trophies. The wall adjacent to the tubas consisted of some badly built cabinets that were painted an ugly grey and locked shut by combination locks. A broken piano sat in one corner of the room, out of tune and missing some keys. About thirty plastic chairs ranging from the color blue to the color orange were stacked in front of the storage rooms that, at some point in time, had been converted into offices for Mrs. Hart and the band director. The room needed a lot of work, but for some odd reason I couldn't get over the way I felt when I was in the room. Like, instead of a classroom, I was in the meeting place of a club.
I had always felt that way, ever since my freshman year. Mrs. Hart had never seemed like a teacher; she was more like one of us. She would tell us of her wild times in high school, of the time she had her husband dress up as a tampon for Halloween, and of her son Charlie, who was a year old. We never did real work, a few worksheets here and there, maybe, but they were always easy. It just never seemed like a class to me.
I walked to the grey cabinets and retrieved my violin case and walked back to the chair I had dumped my stuff beside. Once I had rosined my bow, I began playing a song that I learned in the seventh grade. For some reason, it had stuck with me.
Raye sat down beside me, her violin in hand, but she didn't play. Instead she and Rachel, a junior, started talking about something.
I, however, stopped playing when I heard the deep soothing notes coming from a cello- Darien's cello. Darien was, without a doubt, the best player in the class. His heart was in the cello; you could tell from the way he played, from the way the music just seemed to flow out of him and into his instrument. It was almost hypnotic to watch him play.
Once he brought to class a piece he composed himself, and he played it for everyone. It had been beautiful, soothing and dramatic.
I laid my instrument in its case and began to listen as he played "Cello's Olay," a piece Mrs. Hart currently had us working on. The deep resonance of the song filled the room, but I was the only one listening; everyone else was talking among themselves.
My heart wasn't in the violin like Darien's was. I often wished that my music was as soulful as his, but I could never put my emotions into the violin. Plus, I think I'm tone deaf because my fingers never seem to be in the right place and my notes always end up sounding flat.
I can, however, play the piano. As long as I can remember I've been playing, and I plan on playing way into the future. I'm no Mozart, but my heart is in the piano. In third period, I often find myself drawn to the broken piano in the strings classroom. I'll play a few notes, but I sometimes get thrown off by the missing keys. A few times, Darien has approached me while I was playing, but I always got nervous and stopped. I never have been able to play with someone looking over my shoulder.
"Serena! Earth to Serena!"
The voice shattered the oasis I created for myself, and I felt like punching the owner of the voice. After blinking my eyes a few times, I was able to see clearly the smiling face of Rachel.
"Where'd you go?" she asked. At my blank look, she continued, "You spaced out. Where'd you go."
"My own little world," I said simply.
"Oh, well, anyway, I was asking you if you were going to the Valentines dance Friday."
"No. I'm not going."
"Why?"
Boy, this girl sure is nosey. "No one's asked."
I shrugged like it was no big deal, but on the inside I was upset at once again being reminded of how lonely I was. What is so wrong with me that I can't get a boyfriend?
Rachel left, and I thought the questions were over But I was wrong; it was Raye's turn.
"Why don't you ask a guy to the dance?" she asked.
In return, I gave her the look that stated: "Come on. How many times have I given you the answer to this question?"
"Oh, that's right," she said. "You're old fashioned. According to you, the guys should do all the asking and calling."
"Your point is?"
"This is the Twentieth Century, girl!"
"I know what point in time it is, Raye, but you just have to understand that I'm not like you. I want a guy who pulls out chairs, opens doors, and knows how to be romantic. And when a guy does ask me out, I don't want it to be one of those 'Hey, babe, how about you and me go out this Friday' type things. I want it to be sweet."
Raye looked long and hard into my eyes and then slowly stated, "You still have that love-note-in-the-locker fantasy, don't you."
Raye knew me way too well. It was almost scary how she knew what I was thinking. But I guess can't expect anything less than that, considering we've been friends since the first grade.
I bowed my head, "So what if I do?"
"Life isn't a romance novel, honey. I doubt any guy in this school meets your high standards. And your love letter dream isn't going to happen, at least, not at this school."
"I know, but it can't hurt to wish...can it?"
"No, it can't." she smiled.
The conversation was over, and I suddenly realized that sometime during mine and Raye's conversation, Darien had stopped playing.
I turned to look at him, to see why he had stopped, and my eyes met his. A chill ran down my spine as he once again gave me the look that seemed to see right through me. I sincerely believe that the eyes are the windows to the soul, but I think Darien is the only person to be able to really see through mine.
Our trance, however, was broken when Mrs. Hart decided to begin class, and to say I was thankful, was an understatement. Yet, there was the small part of me that had enjoyed knowing that I had been the sole focus of his attention. Then, there was the part of me that believed that no man would ever look at me in anything other than repulse; and at the moment, that part was saying Darien had been staring at something behind me.
Third period was just like any other day after that little "event." We played a few songs, joked around, and looked a pictures of Mrs. Hart's son.
The bell rang, and we rushed out of class, eager to get to lunch. I left Raye in my dust, as I practically ran to the cafeteria. I was hungry, I mean, come one, who wouldn't be at one o'clock in the afternoon?
Yeah, that's right, I eat lunch at fucking one o'clock in the afternoon. Yes, second lunch sucks. I can only think of one good thing about it: All my friends get to suffer with me.
I opened the cafeteria doors and shoved my way through the crowed of people to get in the pizza line. Once my pizza was in hand, I exited the lunch room, and made my way to the oak tree, where my friends- minus Raye- were already waiting.
"Hey, Serena, how was strings?" Mina asked smilingly while raising her eyebrows up and down suggestively.
I had known from the moment I told the girls about my crush that I'd be in for it, but I just can't keep a secret because they can see right through my lying. And Mina, well, she just knows when one of us has a crush.
"Strings was fine." Then changing the subject, I asked, "Where's Raye?"
"Dunno," Lita said, shrugging her shoulders and taking bite out of her own slice of pizza.
"Maybe she signed up for the mentor program," Amy suggested.
"Get real, Amy. You're the only one out of all of us that would even consider skipping lunch just to study."
I nodded my head in agreement with Mina. Raye probably went to her locker or something. I looked around, hoping to find some sign of Raye, and sure enough I saw her walking our way.
"'Bout time you showed up," I told her when she reached our group.
"Sorry. I went to the restroom, and there was a long line," she explained.
Odd, I thought when I heard what Raye had said. The direction in which I had seen Raye coming, was in the opposite direction of the restroom. I shook my confusion off, however when I considered she might have gone to her locker afterwards.
I zipped my coat up as far as it would go when another gust of wind passed. It was warmer than it had been this morning, but it was still too cold for my tastes.
"So, Raye," Mina batted her eyelashes. "What's this I hear about you and a certain Chad Porter?"
I smiled at the look of absolute horror on Raye's face. As funny as I thought it was, I still felt her pain.
I watched as Raye took a quick glance at where Chad was standing with his group of skate boarding buddies. He had long brown hair that hung over his eyes, and he wore baggy pants, a long T-shirt, and a chain hanging out of one pocket.
As I looked between the two of them, I wondered if the "Sk8er Boi" song had been written for them. Only, as Raye's friends, we supported whatever decision she decided to make. I could care less what kind of clothes he wore; after all, he wouldn't be my boyfriend. Besides, he seemed like a genuinely nice guy, in a punk rock sort of way.
"What's there to hear?" Raye asked.
I knew Raye was going to beat around the bush, so I asked the question we were all wondering. "Do you like the guy or not?"
Raye's eyes widened slightly at my bluntness, but it was the only sign she was uncomfortable. With her shoulders squared, her eyes blank, she answered, "Yes."
We were all quiet a moment, and then Mina squealed, "I knew it!"
"So this was the big secret from this morning?" Lita asked. When Raye nodded, Lita continued, "Some secret; I already had a feeling you liked the guy."
"Was I that obvious?" Ray asked.
Mina, Lita, and I nodded, and then Raye sighed.
"If it makes you feel any better," Amy smiled, "I didn't know."
"Oh course you didn't," Lita said teasingly to Amy. "You've been too busy to notice because your head's been stuck in that chemistry book."
"Well, excuse me for wanting to make good grades."
"Uh, Ames, " I said, "you already make good grades."
"Yes, well, I'd like to keep it that way."
When lunch was over, Mina and I headed to our fourth period and our last class of the day: psychology. Mr. Grant was our psychology teacher, and because he was our teacher, we were guaranteed to never have a dull fourth period.
I remember my first day in his class. Instead of doing the boring introductory to the subject, we had taken the Pepsi challenge. At the beginning of class we had taken a vote of who liked Pepsi over Coke. Pepsi had gotten thirteen votes, and coke had gotten six. After everyone in the class had went up and taken the challenge, the end results had been: Pepsi, nine; and Coke, ten.
Mr. Grant walked in, dressed in black slacks, a white button down shirt, and a red bowtie that really stood out. His long brown hair, that couldn't be defined as a mullet yet, was pulled back in a low ponytail. He often reminded me of a hippy that, because of his job, had to dress more professional.
He sat down on his desk and waited for the bell to ring. When it did, he started speaking. "Today we are going to start class with a what-would-you-do question that I'd like you to answer in a complete paragraph." When the class groaned he said, "Sorry, I've got to give you some work, after all this is a- You're late." He said calmly to the student who had not successfully tried to sneak into the classroom. We all laughed, knowing what the unlucky student's punishment would be.
Mr. Grant reached across his desk for the white dunce cap and handed it to the student. With sagging shoulders the student put the hat on his head and walked to the stool that was sitting in the corner of the room. With a slouched postured, he sat on the stool facing the wall.
"Now, as I was saying, I want you to write a paragraph explaining what you would do it you were ever presented with this problem. Ready?" He looked around the classroom and saw that all eyes were on him. "Okay. Say I was to have ten guns laying on my desk, and I told you only one was loaded If I was to offer you a thousand dollars to pick up one of the guns, put it to your head, and pull the trigger, would you do it?"
I hated questions like these because I always wanted to go deeper with the information given. I raised my hand.
"Is there really only one loaded gun, or did you just tell us there was only one loaded gun, but there was really more?"
Mr. Grant grinned, "There's only one loaded gun."
I smiled and started on my essay. I chose not to pick up a gun, and my paragraph was straight to the point on why I would not risk my life. No amount of money was worth my life. I ended my paragraph with: "Plus, knowing my luck, I'd pick up the one gun with the bullet."
When class was over an hour later, I parted ways with Mina, and headed to my locker to pick up my algebra book. I dialed in the combination, opened my locker, dumped in any books I didn't need for the night, and retrieved my algebra book and notebook. I was about to close my locker when Raye walked up beside me.
"Are you still giving me a ride home?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"I'll be so glade when my damn car is fixed," she sighed leaning up against a nearby locker. "Hey what's that?" she asked her eyebrows drawing together.
"What's what?" I asked puzzled.
"That red thing in your locker." She nodded her head in the direction of the partly closed locker.
Confused, I opened it wider and stuck my head inside. And sure enough, on top of my English book, sat a red envelope. Slowly I reached a hand inside to retrieved it, and I closed my locker slowly without taking my eyes off the envelope.
"What is it?" Raye asked it again.
"I... I don't know." I said slowly, still staring at the envelope.
"Well open the freaking thing."
Slowly, I tore open the flap and pulled out the contents and unfolded the two pieces of paper that had been inside. With wide eyes, I read the paper on top.
Serena,
You remind me of a summer's breeze, warm and carefree. You captivate myattention, and I can't help the way my eyes are automatically drawn to you. You're the nymph, dancing and playing with my thoughts. When I'm away from you, you're all I think about. Will you ever think of me?
Your Secret Admirer
Flabbergasted, I looked at the second page and was surprised to realize that it was a written piece of piano sheet music, handwritten and, as far as I could tell, completely original. Whoever it was from had composed it by himself.
I sighed dreamily at the romanticism of it all. My childish fantasy had actually come true, and it seemed like a too perfect dream.
"Well," Raye cut in through the dreamy haze that had formed a cocoon around my mind.
I handed her the letter, still slightly wistful in my movements. I watched her eyes grow as she scanned over the note.
"Well, whada you know," she said, handing the letter back. "Your wish came true. Maybe there is a decent guy in this school."
"Yeah."
"Hey, you still with me? I'm not quite sure I trust you driving me home."
Slowly I faded out of my shock completely, and once I was normal, I stuck my tongue out at Raye. I wasn't that big of a space-case, but I wondered if I had really acted like one.
Was I really so pathetic that a simple love note in my locker can shock me enough that I become speechless? I mean, if one of the cheerleaders was to get a love note in their locker, I bet they would laugh, show it to their friends, and then dispose of it. Why would they care whether they got a note? After all, any guy they would want already seems to be chasing after them, and the guys don't seem to mind that their interests are public knowledge. Maybe that's the guys' tactics. Eventually the girl they're interested in will find out through the gossip mills.
But I didn't want to find out a guy like me through a friend; I wanted him to tell me.
Together Raye and I walked to the school parking lot that was, by now, close to being empty. I unlocked my car and climbed behind the wheel. Raye got in, but I didn't start the car.
After a moment, she turned to me and said, "The car doesn't start unless you turn the key."
"Seatbelt," was all I said to her sarcastic remark.
"Oh, right. I forgot who I'm riding with, Miss. Safety."
"Ha ha."
I turned the key once Raye's seatbelt was in place, and exited the parking lot.
"So who do you think it is?" Raye asked me, sounding so much like Mina it was almost scary.
"I don't know."
"Well, I bet I know who you want it to be, and I just want to warn you that you shouldn't get your hopes up. There's a good chance it isn't Darien."
Way to go, Raye, bring me down when I'm at my highest.
"I know."
"Good. I just wanted to make sure you didn't have some fairy tale dream formed in your mind, and then have it shattered by a harsh reality."
"I know, Raye, but if I didn't have my dream and fantasies, my life would be boring as hell."
Raye stared at me a while before saying, "You know, I don't get you sometimes. One minute you're this happy, carefree person, and then the next you talk really wise."
I stopped at a red-light and took the moment to look away from the road. "Your one to talk, Raye. You remind me of some guru that sits atop the highest mountain, wise beyond his years." I laughed as I pictured Raye sitting cross-legged on some mountain, meditating.
"I have been considering Buddhism. The Path to Enlightenment sounds appealing," she smiled.
"Very funny, Raye."
The light turned green, and I pressed the gas petal. Raye turned on the radio, we sang to it the rest of the ride to her house.
"Bye, Raye," I called as she exited my car.
"Bye, Serena, see you tomorrow!"
"I won't be at school tomorrow!" I smiled.
"What? Why not?" Her brows drew together as she starred at me questioningly.
"Because it's gonna snow!"
She smiled and waved as I pulled out of her driveway.
The ride home for me was a long one because I kept thinking about who my secret admirer could be. Could it be that freshman in my algebra class? Or maybe it was Justin, the quiet senior I tutored last year. Who could it be? But I found myself thinking more about who I wanted it to be.
There was only one person that came to mind: Darien.
I remember when he had first transferred to my school at the beginning of the semester. It had been the first day back from Christmas vacation, and by second period, the rumors of the hot new student had already reached my ears. But I hadn't paid them any mind.
Alright, I had been a little curious.
But when I arrived at the strings classroom, I was too drained to care. A few other of my classmates had already arrived and were waiting impatiently by the door. Mrs. Hart surprised us, however, by arriving early (before the bell!). Only half of the class was there because some students arrived purposely late, knowing Mrs. Hart would be late too.
Instead of unpacking my violin, I approached the worn-out piano and began to play "Moonlight Sonata," my favorite piece by Beethoven. I became self-conscious, though, and stopped playing. I turned away from the piano just in time to see the classroom door open and Greg, a bass player, walk in followed by Darien.
I suddenly had the urge to impress and to look in a mirror.
Darien gazed around the classroom, and my heart jumped when it paused on me. I was suddenly very nervous and shy. Slowly I reached a hand back to the piano, hoping it would make me braver; but just as soon as his eyes fell on me, they were once again looking around the room.
I was still unnerved, however, at my sudden attraction to him. Never did I so suddenly like a guy. Normally when I developed a crush, it formed slowly, based on the guy's personality, never his looks. But I hadn't even spoken to Darien, and I could already feel myself becoming drawn to him. It had scared me.
If this was the new student- and I was sure it was- I could tell that the rumors about him were not only true, but understatements.
"Serena!" a voice called.
I shook myself out of whatever state I had been in and looked around to find the owner of the voice. Greg was standing not far away, smiling at me.
"What?" I asked.
"Come here, and meet a friend of mine," he said, referring to Darien.
Numbly, I walked over to them. Somehow in my nervous state, I failed to notice the trombone that some careless band student had left in the middle of the floor. It seemed that the clumsiness I had tried so hard to get rid of during my freshman and sophomore years had returned, only to bite me in the ass because I managed to trip over the stupid instrument and fall right into Darien's arms.
I looked up and met his eyes. My breath left me, and it seemed my legs did too because it felt almost impossible to stand.
I continued to stare into Darien's eyes, trying to find a word that could describe them. Mysterious? Dark? Beautiful? They all seemed to apply; yet, to me, none of them could capture the way they truly looked.
I have always read romance books in which a woman noticed a guy's eyes before any of his other features. I find that truly romantic; and a part of me has always wanted to have that happen in my life, the dream where I'm in a room crowded with people and suddenly make eye contact with a handsome man. Then, without realizing it, we walk towards each other and envelope each other in our arms as we begin to dance.
But I have never noticed a guy's eyes first, at least, up until then. The romantic part of me jumped with glee when I realized it.
But my happy thoughts had been shattered, however, by the teasing voice of Darien, "Jeeze, you sure are clumsy."
I had humped, turned to Greg, and asked, "Where did you find this jerk?"
Over the past month we have continued to banter back and forth like that. I know he's just teasing, and to be perfectly honest, I enjoy the attention, maybe more than I should allow myself.
I pulled into my driveway and turned off the car, but I made no move to get out. With my hands resting on the steering wheel, I pondered what I would do when I found out who my secret admirer was.
It wasn't Darien because even though he doesn't hang out with the cheerleaders and football players, he still has become popular. He could have any girl in the school, so why would he choose me?
I got out of the car with one thought in mind: Even though it isn't Darien, I'll give the guy a chance. After all, any guy that can write like that, deserves a chance.
But as I walked up the path to my house, I couldn't shake the gnawing feeling inside me, telling me that I wouldn't be happy unless it was Darien.
TO BE CONTINUED...
A.N.: Well...tell me how you liked it...or didn't. Also, tell me wheter or not you're up for a V-Day story when Febuary has already come and gone. Oh! And for those of you who have read my previous writing: Do you like my writing better in first person?