In one of the shelves high up in Summer Roberts' walk-in closet, up above the hatboxes and shopping bags, a small shoebox sits in the shadowy corner. The lid is layered in dust, only breaking where Summer's fingers had grasped it so many times.
Under the dusty lid lie Summer's most treasured belongings. Because of her Harbor School social standing and popularity, everyone thinks Summer is the It Girl. The coolest chick this side of anywhere. They think she's too cool for Christmas cards and get well wishes, birthday greetings and thank you notes.
Ohmigod, that's Summer Roberts!
Yeah, I know.
You can't give her a card.
Why not?
Don't you know anything? That's like insulting her popularity. It's like offering a nerd charity because of how he dresses. It's like saying she's not worthy of anything beyond our level.
Ohmigoodness, thanks! You totally saved my butt.
Summer knew that people felt this way, yet she never said anything. Sure she wanted cards. It showed how much people cared. But if she were to dispute what others thought of her, it would be complete status suicide.
So she had to accept the lack. But on the rare occasion she did get something special, she put it in her shoebox.
When she was little, Summer would always get the sweetest greetings in her valentines. All of the brown paper bags taped to the chalkboard in front of the classroom would always be one-forth full, but the one with Summer's name written in curvy red writing would always be the heaviest.
But those didn't matter. That's before they entered middle school, where popularity was huge. Nobody thought that it was insulting to her then. Plus everyone would always go home with a list of names and bring back a card for everyone; it wasn't like Summer would get the most or anything. They didn't mean anything.
Fifth grade was the last year Summer got a Valentine's Day card.
Except for one.
Upon flipping through the contents of Summer's shoebox, one would find mostly stuff from Marissa, with a few things from Holly and other girls that Summer used to be friends with.
However, way on the bottom, there's a slightly yellowed piece of folded notebook paper. Scrawled across the front in big, pink crayon letters is "Be Mine," a large red heart drawn around it.
Inside the lined pages is a note that means more to Summer than any other gift she's ever received.
"To: Summer. I know that we're in sixth grade and 'too old' to give valentines, but I bet that somewhere deep down you really want one. I know you don't know me that good but if you ever need a Valentine, remember that you can always be mine."
The message always makes Summer smile.
She doesn't know if it's the childish innocence of it or if it's the full meaning behind it. But whenever she feels upset or depressed, the retrieval of that shoebox for that homemade card always cheers her up.
One thing she does know, however, is that she's sick of being sad and alone. She needs someone that can give her what she wants without being afraid to be able to draw the line, whether it be in rules of their relationship or in crayon.
And this year, Seth Cohen, she thinks, I will be yours.
end
