Missy quickly scooped up her things and went to her locker. Opening it she got another surprise, bigger than the card. Big enough to make her wonder how on earth her secret admirer had gotten it in there. 'It' was a wooden jewelry box carved all over with lilies, no paint, only the wood stained a rich reddish-brown.
She carefully picked up the box to examine it. There was no company logo on it, no trademark stickers, and no artist signature. Was it disguised or was it made by her admirer? She hoped it was made by her admirer; that would be the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her.
It was a beautiful piece of work. Three inches tall, including the quarter-inch feet, with a flip up lid bearing the inscription "With all my love" and a small lily. The box had curved sides and delicate carvings of lilies and birds in a controlled riot of movement. The beauty of it, the intricacy of the box, the work that must have gone into it brought a warm feeling into Missy's heart. A smile unconsciously formed on her lips.
She got so caught up in her study of the box that she missed all of lunch and was only brought back into reality by the bell ringing the end of the break. Once again she was forced to quickly gather her things and rush to her class barely in time to beat the late bell.
She still carried the box with her. On her desk was another lily which she added to the small bouquet she had collected throughout the day. This class was another where it was all about Valentine's Day, which Missy was beginning to like to be honest, so there was another party. Missy ignored everything around her in favor of further contemplation of her new box and its probable maker.
Who did she know, or know of, that could work with wood this well? That knew her favorite flower? And knew that she despised the colors of Valentine's Day? Well, pretty much everyone knew she hated Valentine's Day. She had ever since seventh grade when Mosley had gotten thirty-one roses and had been the most popular girl in school, until she said Cook had given her the roses and Missy was dubbed the most popular by default then chased by all the nerds in the school. Her favorite flower was less known but still anyone from her homeroom in ninth grade would know it if they bothered to remember. And there were only a handful of boys in woodshop with any skill at all, and none of them had been in her ninth grade homeroom or had gone to the same middle school.
That exhausted all of her options, unless there were woodworking savants she didn't know about running around this school. She was back to square one. She didn't know who her admirer was, and she wasn't even sure she cared. Yes, she would like to know, but right now the 'who' wasn't so important. What mattered was that someone out there cared enough to make her something as beautiful as the box she now held, remember her favorite flower, and know that she hated Valentine's Day colors.
She went through her next three classes collecting more lilies and exalting in the warm feeling in her that made her want to sing, and laugh, and smile always. She realized that even though this affection was anonymous it was making her happier than she'd been in a long time. It wasn't easy being as universally disliked as she was; people always thought she was rude and inconsiderate without even talking to her. They assumed she was a bad person because she was a cheerleader, because she was pretty, because maybe she had said some less than nice things when she was younger and more stupid. But now someone was showering her with simple, thoughtful gifts that showed they cared; maybe they saw past assumptions and noticed her. It was an encouraging thought.
It was the last class of the day and once more there was a lily on her desk, she now had a dozen. She also had her box. But there was a difference with this lily, there was a note attached to it. That surprised her. It seemed out of character for her admirer, but then again she didn't know who her admirer was so what would she know about their character?
With shaking hands and a keen sense of anticipation Missy lifted and opened the note. Then she read it: "If you want to meet me, I'll tell you how. But first you have to know that I'm probably not who you expect. In fact, I'm probably not even on your list of possible admirers. That shouldn't make you give up on me. Your first sight of me may shock you, but please give me a chance. If you don't want to meet me I'll understand. But if you'd still like to meet me come to the woodshop after school. There may be others there, but you'll know exactly who I am. Don't judge the book by its cover, I didn't with you. Your soon-to-be-not-so-secret admirer"
Missy was stunned. That was a lot to process and looking at the clock she only had fifteen more minutes to come to a decision. But with barely another thought she realized she'd already made the decision. She was going to meet this person, whoever they are. And she was going to take their advice, she was resolved not to judge the book by its cover.