He couldn't keep his eyes off of her. She was sitting there, just so perfectly; her golden hair was shining in the sun, her crystal blue eyes dancing with excitement. He often snuck a peek at her from across the school room. He was slightly older than her, but he liked her, a lot. He was unsure on how to tell her his feelings, due to him being shy and quiet, unlike Miss Amy March, the girl of his dreams. She is everything he's not: smart, pretty, a regal air about her, a "snow maiden" as he had often heard people calling her, an artist… Everything he wished to be, but couldn't; for he was handsome, but he often thought of himself as being ugly, he was smart, but thought himself to be dumb, and he was a humble farmer's son, not a scholar and minister's child, like Amy. The boy couldn't help but sigh in love whenever she misused big words, which he thought was absolutely adorable. He sighed and started to doodle on his chalk board, not paying attention to the teacher, Mr. Davis, explaining how to multiply and divide. Soon, the boy was drawn in to making his little Amy made of chalk perfect, trying to make sure her eyes sparkled in the same way, and making sure her hair fell in the same way. He hadn't realized that the class had gone silent, until Mr. Davis was looming over him, watching him draw.

"Is my lesson not interesting enough for you, young sir?" The boy jumped at the sound of the teacher and turned a deep red, trying to cover his drawing. The teacher stared down his nose at the blushing boy and gave the young lad's head a slight swat with a ruler, reminding him to pay attention. The teacher would've been harsher if it was another student, but he liked the quiet, sharp boy that always paid attention; it was not often that he would focus on something other than the lesson, so he let it by this time. The blushing boy began to erase the chalk drawing and saw something out of the corner of his eye. He glanced to where Amy was sitting, and saw multiple delicious looking pickled limes in her desk. He gasped a little when he saw the treats; the boy glanced around to make sure the teacher wasn't looking at her. Pickled limes were recently banned at the school due to so many girls being distracted by them. If a girl liked another girl, they would give the other a pickled lime; and if they were angry at another, they would eat a lime in front of the second party without asking if they wanted some. The boy had always thought it was a silly fashion, but he soon found out that Amy liked them, and he was soon buying as many as he could with his earnings, hoping one day he would have the guts to give Amy a lime, hoping it would mean something a little more than just a friendship gift. Mr. Davis was unaware of the limes, and continued speaking about math. The boy sighed in relief, hoping that the teacher wouldn't notice the contraband. But, suddenly, a girl near Amy informed Mr. Davis that Amy had many, many limes in her desk.

"Young ladies, attention, if you please!" Mr. Davis shouted. When the demand was issued, eyes of all colors were watching Mr. Davis until he continued.

"Miss March, come to the desk." The boy gasped in horror when Amy rose to obey orders, as she was raised to do. He could tell that her conscience hung heavy on her. "Bring your limes as well."

"Don't take all." whispered a girl next to Amy. The boy sat in silence, but to him, the world was crashing around him. He didn't want to see his dear being punished, she was just too perfect! Amy laid six limes in her desk, and took the rest to Mr. Davis. The boy wished the teacher would be sympathetic when he saw her scared face. But, Mr. Davis particularly despised the smell of the pickled limes, and disgust was added to his anger.

"Is that all?"

"Not quite," stammered Amy.

"Bring the rest immediately." The boy's heart broke. He wanted to jump up and punch the teacher in the face for being so cruel to his love. But, his shyness overcame him and Amy brought the rest up.

"You are sure there are no more?'

"I never lie, sir."

"So I see. Now take these disgusting things two by two, and throw them out of the window." At this, Amy almost started to cry. All her hopes left her and she began the daunting task. The boy felt her sadness and wanted to do it himself and leave her with minimal embarrassment. Absolutely crimson with indignity and rage, Amy went to and fro six times, and as each lime fell from her loathing hands, the street and classroom were filled with cries from little Irish children, who were scooping up the slightly bruised limes and enjoying them heartily. All the girls in the room glared hatefully at the teacher. The boy joined in on this. He was absolutely furious that the teacher dared to make his Amy even slightly embarrassed, let alone scarlet faced. From across the room, the boy heard an extremely passionate pickled lime lover burst into tears at the sight of the limes hitting the ground, and them being shoved into little Irish faces- the Irish children were the school's sworn enemy.

After the horrid display, Amy finally finished the daunting task.

"Hem!" Mr. Davis said. He then started in in the most pompous manner, "Young ladies, you remember what I said to you a week ago. I am sorry this has happened, but I never allow my rules to be infringed, and I never break my word. Miss March, hold out your hand." The boy knew what was coming. Tears began to build around his eyes just thinking about what was to happen. Amy put both hands behind her back, turning and giving Mr. Davis one of her famous pleading looks that started the boy's fondness of her. Amy and the boy were some of the few favorites the teacher had. In fact, the boy just knew in his heart that Mr. Davis would've let her go, but only if no form of rebellion was shown. But, to the boy's dismay, his love uttered the tiniest, smallest, most inaudible hiss. And that hiss, sealed her fate.

"Your hand, Miss March!" Amy threw out a hand, clenched her teeth, and threw back her head, not wanting to show the teacher any form of pain. The boy watched as the blows struck her small, delicate soft palms. He could tell that the swats were not heavy or many, but to him and to Amy, it was worse than fifty lashes with a cat-of-nine-tails. For the first time in her life she had been struck, and the disgrace, in her eyes, was as deep as if Mr. Davis had knocked her down. "You will now stand on the platform till recess," said Mr. Davis, resolved to do the thing thoroughly, since he had begun. At this, the boy had one small tear trickle down his face. It landed on his chalk board with a distinguished "SPLAT" on the smudged drawing of his love. The boy quickly wiped the tear's trail off of his face and looked at his love longingly. Those fifteen minutes seemed like hours to the boy and to Miss Amy March. Amy knew that it would have been bad enough to go to her seat, and see the pitying faces of her friends, or the satisfied ones of her few enemies, but to face the whole school? Simply impossible. The boy longed to run up to the girl and comfort her, knowing she wanted to fall were she stood and begin to cry with all her heart and soul. For the girls, it was hard to study with the pathetic figure in front of them, standing pale and motionless.

The fifteen minutes seemed an eternity, but they came to an end at last, and the word `Recess!' had never seemed so welcome to her or the boy before.

"You can go, Miss March," said Mr. Davis, looking, as he felt, uncomfortable. Amy stepped down from her platform and gave the teacher the most dreadful, reproachful look she could muster. The boy did the same, but it did not hit so deeply to the teacher as it did with Amy's glance. Everyone silently gathered their things to go outside. Amy and the boy were some of the first students to leave the school. The boy was watching Amy leave, not knowing how to console her. He saw out of the corner of his eye, he saw one lone pickled lime in a bush, hidden by leaves and rocks. He ran to it, and found it completely intact, with minimal dirt on it. He snatched it and looked around for Amy, hoping to give it to her as a way of condolence; however, she was nowhere to be found. The boy stood there, lime in hand, his heart utterly broken and shattered. Mr. Davis walked out of the school to watch the children play, when he saw the boy holding a lime. He gasped at the sight, thinking the whole school was going rogue.

"What do you have?" The teacher almost screeched. The whole school turned, and all the girls gasped when they saw the boy holding a lime. Most of them fell in love at that very moment when they knew a boy loved limes as well. The boy turned to the teacher and looked him in the eye. He glared at the thought to be devil-incarnate. The boy summoned his courage, and spat on the teachers shoes. There was a great uproar that swept through the school yard and the street. The boy then turned, and left the school, eating the lime and smiling all the while.

The End