February:

The week before Valentine's Day, Amy learns two things about Holt she didn't know before.

a) He's gay;

b) He's a romantic.

Neither of which she would ever have guessed, despite having known him for almost six months. Though, with Holt, "known" is a misleading word. "Been acquainted with" is perhaps more accurate, if more verbose.

But she-and the entire AP English class-is made aware of Holt's sexual preference and tender sympathies when he announces that they'll be reading love poems in February, "some of my and my husband's favorites," in recognition of the upcoming holiday.

"Is your husband a teacher, too?" Amy blurts, trying to show how open-minded she is by not being taken aback by the gay thing.

"He is a professor. Of classics, in fact, and so a number of these poems have been translated from their original Latin into English."

"Ooh! Are we gonna read any dirty Catullus or Ovid?" Gina asks eagerly, and, in response to the class's collective weird look, reminds them, "I take Latin."

"Both poets are represented here," Holt tells her, his impassive demeanor not betraying whether or not he's impressed with her linguistic knowledge, "but I would not classify either selection as 'dirty.' There is more to love than sex, Ms. Linetti."

Amy turns to Jake, expecting to see him stick a finger down his throat and mime vomiting at such a proclamation from Holt, but instead he's nodding like he totally agrees, and turning towards Bernice (who sits behind him now) to say "Who knew Holt was such a softie?"

It's not a particularly clever observation, but Amy can't help wishing it was made to her.

When she thinks about it a little more, though, she realizes that Jake's scarcely said two words to her in the last few weeks. He can't still be mad at her for turning him down for coffee, can he? He was totally gloating, rubbing his superior performance on the exam in her face. He knew as well as anyone how competitive she was, how annoyed she'd be at that-how could he have expected her to be nice to him after that?

Even though Jake's clearly in the wrong, though, Amy decides that it's up to her to make an overture of friendship-let him know she misses hanging out-so she leans over and asks, "Hey, Peralta, want to be partners for this poem thing?"

He gives her this weird squinty look, and shakes his head, saying, "Sorry, but I'm working with Bernice. I don't think Charles has a partner, though?"
Which is how Amy ends up paired with Charles Boyle for the unit on love poetry.

Odi et amo. Quare id faciam, fortasse requirens.

Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.

I hate and I love. Why do I do this, perhaps you wonder.

I know not, but I feel it is done and I am tortured.

"That's...depressing," Charles says. "And short."

"I know," says Amy, dissatisfied. Everyone else has something at least sonnet-length, and they're stuck with two measly lines.

"Does he hate and love the same person?"

"I think so," Amy says thoughtfully. "Or he hates how he loves her. Or she makes him angry, and that's what makes him love her. Or he goes back and forth between hating and loving."

"Excrucior. Great word. Sounds like a Harry Potter spell."

"Yeah, tortured. Like crucified. Physical pain. And it's something that's being done to him, right? Something beyond his control. So are hate and love, I guess-beyond his control."

"Aw, man, you totally get this," says Charles.

Amy glances over at Jake and Bernice, and realizes that yeah, she kinda does.

She thinks about it again. Hate and love. She's been wondering why, why, all year, basically-why Jake's done the things he's done, why he asked her to winter formal and why he stood her up, why he serenaded her out on the ice, why he told her she was pretty and held hands with her during English class and asked her out for coffee, why he's ignoring her now.

And she's wondered why she's felt the way she's felt, too, why the idea of going to the dance with him made her both excited and terrified, why she's been so happy to see him after every break, why she was so sad when they weren't talking and so relieved when she could forgive him, why holding hands with him made her feel, yeah, okay, turned on, why she's so angry at seeing him with someone else.

It's because she likes him-likes him likes him, in the most juvenile phrasing possible.

Odi et amo. She hates the way that love is making her feel.

So she has romantic feelings for Jake Peralta. So he probably used to have romantic feelings for her, and doesn't anymore, because she turned him down, and Jake's a realist, not a romantic-he's not going to pine away after some girl he thinks doesn't like him back, because that would be lame, and, frankly, kinda creepy. He's going to move on. He has moved on, if his behavior with Bernice is any indication.

And all she can do is try to move on, too, because unfortunately her revelation was pretty terribly timed. It's a crush. She'll get over it.

Valentine's Day, all the same, is not something she's been looking forward to. Jake and Bernice aren't officially dating yet-at least, their Facebooks both say single (not that she's been checking obsessively, or anything), and Amy has a suspicion that he's going to try something on Valentine's, as desperately cliched as that might be.

Schur High does this thing-the Prom Committee of Schur High does this thing, to be exact-where they sell carnations for a dollar each, proceeds to go towards making prom free for everyone, on Valentine's Day, and you can get them sent to the recipient of your choice, and someone will come in and deliver it along with a note during class, Mean Girls candy-cane style.

"Or," Gina says, "if you have the balls, you can give it to them yourself."

As a member of prom committee, Gina's running the carnation stand the period before they have English, and since Amy has it free, she's hanging out behind the booth and helping Gina judge all the people buying flowers.

Lots of people have been buying them for their friends, actually, their platonic friends, which Amy feels isn't the wisest gesture.

"I mean, a flower sends a very specific message," she says to Gina. "A romantic message. And if you send it to a friend, a just-a-friend friend, they could get the wrong idea, and that could just lead to awkwardness all over the place."

"True," says Gina. "Or you could, you know, just not worry about stuff like that and be glad someone bought you a flower."

"Well," says Amy, "no one has."

"Santiago," says Rosa, who's apparently been standing near them this whole time without saying a word, "if I buy you a stupid fucking carnation do you promise not to read anything romantic into it?"

"I didn't mean to fish," Amy insists, feeling embarrassed at being caught whining, and at having her whining misinterpreted. "You don't have to buy me anything."

"Maybe I want to." Rosa digs a crumpled one-dollar bill out of her pocket and slams it down on the table. "Linetti, give Santiago a carnation, please?"

Grinning, Gina hands it over, and Amy shrugs, thanks Rosa politely, and tucks the flower behind her ear.

"Amy and Rosa! Now there's a pairing I never expected." Jake's standing at the other end of the room, leaning against the door, and even though he looks exactly the same as always, in his hoodie and plaid shirt and blue jeans, and there's no grace in his posture, he's just a sloppy teenage boy, Amy's heart still starts thumping faster in an extremely undignified way.

"What do you want, Peralta?" Rosa growls.

"Just to buy a carnation."

"Who d'you want it sent to?" Gina asks, fishing the notepaper out from under the stack of flowers. "And what class do they have next period?"

"I don't need to tell you that," says Jake with a smirk, "because I'm giving it to her myself."

"Hmmmmm…" Gina nods her approval. "I have taught you well, Jacob. Go! Go and be a man!" She thrust the carnation at him mock-dramatically, and he comes over to take it, and leans across the table, and Amy catches a whiff of piney deodorant mingled with sweat, and it shouldn't make her feel anything but annoyingly, it does.

"What are you going to do if she says no?" she asks belligerently, not thinking the words through before she says them.

"Ladies never say no to Jake Peralta."

Amy lets out a forced guffaw. "I think we all have plenty of proof to counteract that statement."

She looks over at Gina and Rosa, hoping for backup, but they both just look confused.

"Actually…" Gina says slowly. "Actually, has Jake even asked anyone out? Ever?"

"He asked Santiago to go to winter formal with him," says Rosa, apparently forgetting the fact that Jake never materialized that night.

"That was just as friends," Amy says quickly.

"You said yes, though," Jake reminds her. "Which puts my success record at, you guessed it, 100 percent. Ladies never say no to Jake Peralta. Thanks for being a statistical help, Amy!"

"You're so very welcome," she says, through gritted teeth, as he waltzes off, carnation in hand.

Awesome. Now he's more confident than ever, and he'll ask Bernice out, and she'll say yes, 'cause who wouldn't say yes to Jake? He's great.

This unrequited thing sucks.

During English class, Jake presents Bernice with the carnation, which she accepts, and what's more, she seals the deal by kissing his cheek. It's not remotely dirty, but Amy sees red, and snaps out: "Mr. Holt! Could you please remind my fellow-students not to engage in public displays of affection during class time?"

Jake shoots her a confused look, like he doesn't understand why she's not happy for him (a real friend, she reminds herself, would have been happy for him, not pissed off), and Holt sighs and says, "Ms. Santiago, it is Valentine's Day. However, please do restrain yourselves for the remainder of the class period."

Class rolls on-they're still talking about love poetry, and Rosa's reading aloud from William Butler Yeats' "No Second Troy," which, Amy's considering, could well be about Rosa herself-when a prom committee member comes in to distribute that period's carnations.

There's one for Hitchcock, which is just depressing, and one for Rosa, unsigned, but probably from Charles (though he's mostly over her by now), and one, surprisingly, for Amy.

She thinks there must be some mistake, and double-checks the name on it to make sure it's not really for Amy Santorino, who's a freshman with whom she gets confused with frequently. But no, it says Santiago, clear as day, and it's signed "Teddy."

It takes her a minute to remember, but then she has it-Teddy from calc, Teddy whom she danced with at winter formal when Jake stood her up.

A few weeks ago, she'd have been neutral or even negative about this-would have thought it was kind of weird for someone she barely knows to send her a carnation, might even have been vaguely creeped out.

But Jake's looking at the carnation from his desk, trying, she can tell, to figure out who it's from, and she's grateful to Teddy for making her look desirable, attractive, for showing Jake he's not the only guy ever to have been interested in her.

It was very sweet of Teddy, she decides. She resolves to thank him during calc, albeit not with a kiss. And if he asks her out? Maybe she'll say yes. Why the hell not?