Yeah, yeah I know not enough MSR. Well, that's how I planned this story in the first place. Keywords: high school life, first crush, puppy love, and the likes of them.

Okies okies the real reason is that well, someone who loves MSR but doesn't know where you live is basically, harmless. But someone who loathes MSR and lives on your street is, basically, harmful. In a physical way.

And guess what? There really is such a person living on my street and she happens to be one of my best friends.

So sorry folks, if there's not enough MSR in your opinion. I promise I'll make it up to you one of these days

Beyond Yesterday

One day during P. E. Elena sprang her ankle and was well, "immune" from participating in any activities during class. One day after a rather humiliating game of field hockey I went over to her and said, "You have no idea how lucky you are. You don't have to be out there and humiliating yourself."

"Hey," she protested, "You have no idea how much this hurt. And I bump into people in the hallways more often than ever; you know how clumsy I am and this is just a burden."

"You're still not our there," I said as Mrs. French, our teacher, blew the whistle. I grabbed my hockey stick and returned to my position. We're never good anyway; Mrs. French had divided us into two groups, freshmen and sophomore, and the sophomores well, they looked big and scary to me.

I looked in the direction of Elena for one more time; although she was sitting at the bench, I could tell that she was smiling encouragingly at me. I sighed and looked down at the grass. This period was way too long for me to handle.

Near the end of the period I was positive that no one on our side had made any effort to score a goal; I wasn't exactly frustrated, as I knew that it was never fair from the start. I had lost the sight of the ball and I was playing defense, so I moved toward our goal as the opposite team charged in our direction. Suddenly someone yelled, "Dana, watch out!" and before I could react, the hockey ball hit me hard right above my right ankle. And a second later, something even harder--I thought it was a hockey stick--hit on the same spot. I fell backwards onto the grass, and although I was certain that I would lose my conciousness any second now, I heard Mrs. French blowing her whistle, and she was also yelling indignantly.

"Who did this?" she yelled, and I forced my eyes open. She was glaring at every girl; some sophomores whispered and snickered. One of them--a tall girl with tanned skin stepped out from her group of friends, glanced at me.

"It's me," she said, and she was also grinning. If my leg didn't hurt so much, I probably would have jumped and strangled her with my own hands. "She was in the way," the girl continued, shrugging and still grinning. "She was between me and the goal and that seemed to be the only sensible thing to do." I heard a few girls I knew gasping, and Mrs. French's face had turned white as a slab of marble.

"Well Miss Johnson," Mrs. French said, her voice a pitch higher than usual. "Since you used your sense so--so wisely, you will receive after school detention for the whole week--no, for next week, since today is Wednesday."

Miss Johnson--I never knew her first name--looked stunned; she opened her mouth as if she was going to protest, but Mrs. French silenced her with a look. She came over to me, knelt down, and said, "Someone get over here and help me carry her to the nurse's office."

A freshman, Terra Spinner, came over and Mrs. French gave her instructions to help her lifting me off the ground. We barely knew each other, but I smiled at her as best as I could. "How does it feel?" she asked, looking up to watch where she was heading.

"I'd rather drop dead right here," I said.

"It could be worse," she looked down at her chest. "Last month during a game the ball flew right at my chest and nearly knocked me out; I got a broken rib for that."

I remembered that she was on the JV field hockey team. "In that case I'm glad it hit my ankle instead."

She was smiling, but there was a serious look in her eyes. "You really should tell your counselor about this, you know." She lowered her voice, as if not wanting anyone else to hear what she was talking about, and whispered, "If your counselor is nice enough, he or she could get as far as forbid her to play next season. Johnson did the same thing at a home game last month, but all the punishment she got was suspension for one game."

I looked up at her, surprised. "But that's not fair!"

She shrugged, and stopped as Mrs. French asked another student to open the door of the nurse's office. "I know, but she's a sophomore and she's in Varsity--she's got to be good, and the coach--well, she definitely doesn't want to lose such a jewel."

They placed me down on a bed. Mrs. French looked at the clocked, frowned, grabbed a blank hall pass and wrote something on it. She handed it to Terra and told her to get changed and go to her class. Terra smiled at me just before she disappeared out of the door.

Ms. Kelley, the school nurse, hurried over and knelt down to take a better look at my injured ankle. "Oh my goodness," she said, looking up at Mrs. French. "a student did this to her fellow classmate?"

"A sophomore Varsity player, to be exact." Both of them sighed.

"This is worse than I could handle here," Ms. Kelley was saying as she reached for the phone. "I'll have to call your parents, dear. They have to take you to the emergency room, and I'd suggest you stay home for rest of the week."

"Good idea," I muttered, looking down at my ankle. It was red and swollen that I could hardly believe that it was part of my leg.

Mrs. French sighed and patted my shoulder sympathetically. "I have to get back to the fourth period class," she said, "You get some rest. Ms. Kelley will get you some ice--that'll help."

"Thanks," I said, closing my eyes and listened as the door opened and shut.

About fifteen minutes later, the door opened again. I opened my eyes and expected to see Mom, but it was Estelle. She was handing Ms. Kelley something that looked like a hall pass. Ms. Kelley reached a hand out and place it on her forehead, frowned, and muttered something to her. Estelle nodded and walked slowly to my side of the room and lay down on the bed next to mine.

"Hey," she mouthed as Ms. Kelley carried a wet towel over and placed it on her forehead, and then pulled the long green curtain close, separating us from rest of the room. "How's your ankle?"

"What are you doing here?" I whispered.

"I've got a fever must've caught the cold yesterday when I didn't blow my hair dry. How's your ankle?" she repeated, as her fever wasn't important.

"Field hockey," I said. "A sophomore smashed my ankle right after the ball hit the same spot. It hurts like hell."

She turned to her side, holding the towel to her forehead with a hand. She looked up at me a moment later, horrified.

"Where on earth and heaven is your mother?!" She hissed. "She should be taking you to the emergency room right this second!"

And as if on cue, the door opened again. Two people whispered, and a second later Mom pulled the curtain open, looking worried. "Are you alright, sweetie?"

"Not too good," I said blankly, looking up at her.

Bill , Charlie and Melissa appeared from behind Mom, all of them looked concerned and worried; Melissa was close to tears, I could tell.

Mom turned to them and said, "Bill and Charlie, you two help Dana to get in the car. Missy, you hold the door open for them. I'll be with you in a second.

The three of them nodded, and Mom turned to talk to Ms. Kelley. Bill lifted me off the bed and Estelle whispered, "Later." I smiled faintly at her and she turned to another side, staring out the window.

I sighed. My siblings had warned me against senior pranks and yet I received none of that. All I had experienced so far was sophomore pranks.

***

That Friday Bill went to his friend's house to play basketball, and Charlie had band practice. After much discussion with her friend on the phone, Melissa decided to go to her friend's house and finish a book report together. Mom and I were the only people in the house.

I was lying in my bed, staring blankly out of the window when someone knocked on my door, and Mom's voice followed. "Dana, your friend Fox is here to see you."

I sat up, and then lay down again. I still didn't want to move my leg. "Okay, let him in."

The door opened and Mulder stepped in. Mom smiled and closed the door. Mulder pulled out a chair and handed me a paper bag. "My mom made cookies and I thought you might want to try some; they're really good."

"Thanks," I said, taking the bag and pulled out a cookie, popping it into my mouth. "It is really good."

He smiled, squeezing my free hand. "Told you. Hoe do you feel?"

"Lousy." Lousy was not my favorite word to use, but at the moment that was really how I felt. Just lousy. "I still can't move my right feet; it hurts too much. And I'm having a hard time when it comes to shower." I shook my hand, placing the bag on my bedside table. "I think I'll give up the idea of trying out for tennis next year."

"Tennis usually don't hit your ankle, unless you play really, well, lousy."

"Yes but it can hit your head if your opponent hit it really hard and it bounces too high," I said, laughing for the first time since my ankle was hurt.

"Well that kind of ball usually will be out of boundary and that won't count," he argued back. "What about table tennis?"

"We don't have a table tennis team, Mulder. Besides, a good table tennis player can really hurt you--the ball bounces back and forth so fast sometimes I can't even see it."

"Oh right." He grabbed the bag and helped himself to a cookie, grinning. "What about basketball? You'll always have enough time torun for your life."

"I'm way too short for that."

"What about"

And the whole argument went on until it was time for him to go home for dinner.

***

The next week I went back to school; everything was the same except that I had a few assignments that needed to be made up. But my teachers all told me that if I hand them in before end of the term they'd still count.

"Thanks," I told each and every one of them, and I was truly grateful that I had work to keep my mind off my ankle.

One afternoon Melissa joked that I was becoming a workaholic as she sat and watched me working on my French homework.

The next day I told Mulder that Melissa is calling me a workaholic. He laughed and said, "Welcome to the club."

"There's a club?"

"It's an expression. But well, I guess we could have one. Right now the only members are Ellie, Estelle and I. I'm the president since I'm the biggest workaholic."

Ellie hopped over and sat down. "Thank God, it is my science drop day." She shook her head and smiled at me. "Is your ankle better?"

"It's not swollen anymore," I replied.

"That's a start for recovery," she nodded, and said to Mulder, "There's still one can of spray paint left and I took it home 'cause nobody else wanted it. But if you want it" she shrugged, as if that was the best ending of the sentence.

"Spray paint?" I asked curiously.

"Yeah," Ellie said. "Spray paint. The Helping Hand Club--the Volunteering Club for some--was doing a mural for a kitchen soup last week. We finished it on Sunday."

"Hey, I know," Mulder whispered and we had to lean toward him to hear what he was saying. "Let's go spray that Johnson girl's locker sometimes after school."

I stared at him. "How did you know who hit me?"

Ellie raised a hand. "I told him."

"And how did you found out?"

She shrugged, grinning. "Estelle told me and she heard from your friend Elena and Elena heard it from a freshman called Terra Spinner."

"Oh," was all I could think of. I sat up straight and studied their faces.

"So do you want to do it?" Mulder was asking Ellie.

"Count me out on this one," she said, hurling her empty juice carton at a trash bin. "But you still can have the spray paint. Just don't drag the club in."

"I won't," Mulder sighed. "But why do you care? We'll be out of here in no time and seniors don't have to take finals."

"Yes, but it won't be pretty if you get caught," I cut in before Ellie could said anything, and she nodded in agreement.

Mulder shrugged. "I'll say it's all my idea if unfortunately I get caught you got that paint in your locker?" he asked, and Ellie nodded.

"Yep."

"Good," he got to his feet and swung his bag over his shoulder. "See you guys around later."

We watched him walked out of the cafeteria, and I asked, "Do you think he's really going to do it?"

"I don't know," she said, still staring at the cafeteria exit. "I hope we don't have to find out." She folded her brown paper bag into a square neatly, and then stared at me. "He really cares about you," she said, and then added, "A lot."

I could feel my face getting warmer as I forced out an answer. "I know. I really care about him too. I mean, I really, really like him."

She was shaking her head. "I know; it's pretty much evident. But with just a month and half left" she looked at the opposite side of the cafeteria; some senior had already hung handmade posters that announced the colleges they would be going to in the fall. "maybe you guys just met at the wrong time. Not that there's anything wrong about you two being together. It's just" she let the sentence trail off, and I didn't need to hear the rest of it to know what she meant.

"You think he's not accepted by the State University?" I asked.

She laughed dryly, her eyes still wandering among the posters. "I don't think the State University is where his heart lies, although I'm sure that he was accepted he mentioned a few times that he wants to get away from here. Get away from his parents, more likely."

"But why?"

Ellie frowned as her gaze shift to me. "He thinks that his parents are hiding something from him something regarding to his sister's disappearance. It doesn't make much sense to me, but God only knows what exactly goes on in his family. They're quite the mystery on the block."

The bell rang, and we stood up and headed for the exit. "Later," Ellie said mildly, and disappeared into the crowd.

I stood on the spot, glad that she couldn't hear my stomach churning.

So Mulder was not going to stay around here? So I wouldn't see him again after this June?

I had read some of Melissa's romance novel, and many of them were about high school girls and their first crush; the stories usually ended up the sad way; either their boyfriends dumped them or graduated and left without saying goodbye.

So was this the way that my first crush will end?

***

See where this is going? Good. But somehow I'll fix it up

But, if you're really upset about not having enough MSR, flame away. I'm ready.