Side-Note: The plot changes that have occurred is the because I want to stay true to continuity. Enjoy.

During English, I tried to figure out who got into my locker and wrote those notes. To be honest, not many wrote in cursive anymore. I did when I was in third grade, but not really anymore. It's almost a dying art.

Tobias tapped my shoulder and asked me for a pencil. I told him that I lend him a pencil yesterday and asked what happened to it.

"I lost it," he said, almost as if he had no shame.

"How did you lose my pencil?"

"Sorry, I get busy, and one minute—POOF! It's gone."

I muttered under my hand, "motherfucker," under a cough and told him I won't lend him a pencil anymore.

He looked pissed.

"Come on, don't be a bitch."

"Wha—I'm a bitch? Why? Just because I refuse to give you another pencil, when it shows you can't take care of one? What, that what I'm doing isn't a rational response? Is that what you're saying? I'm just a bitch?"

He looked at me as if I spat smart-girl logic on him when he's a big man who can take care of himself. Punk-ass, that's what he is.

"Forget it, Carrie. I'll someone else."

After that, I had to concentrate on my work for English. It wasn't hard or anything, but definitely left out all the rhyme and reason to it. We had yet another sub and had to do a Valentine's Day crossword puzzle. I thought our teacher Mr. Keaton would attempt to sneak out for an early start for Valentine's Day for second period, but it turns out he fell down the stairs on the way here because of the snow and ice, so he couldn't make it.

Bummer.

I saw Sarah all alone, and she was the only one I actually felt calm with. She was shy and had transferred to our school in September. She was an ice cream cone for a yellow scoop of some "yellow-ish" flavor with red flips. I remember her enough in this class as the teacher calls her name, but even at times they forget. She hasn't made many friends, but she does keep herself company. She says that she would like to be a comedienne, or at least be the star of a comedic sitcom of everyday life. I felt she could do it. She certainly does bring in her own jokes, paying homage to sitcoms in the 60s, 70s, 80s, and even the 90s, saying those were the best years for comedy TV. Not many saw success in her, not even the teachers, but I felt like if she needed support, she's got my help.

I decided to scoot my seat over to the desk next to her; the sub wouldn't mind since they usually never get a seating chart.

I said hi to her, and she chuckled with her cheeks glowing red, surprised to see anyone talking to her today.

I looked on her paper and saw that she was drawing hearts next to a blue figure, yet I wasn't able to see it much of it when she flipped the paper over immediately as I came over. I thought about how she was still new and still had time getting used to the school.

She asked me what brought me here.

I told her that I needed some help with the crossword puzzle and wanted to see if she had any of the answers done.

"Well, I haven't started yet."

"It's okay. Want me to help?"

"Y-You would do that?"

"Sure. Why not? It's a free country, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't ask for help when you need it. I'm Carrie, by the way."

"Yeah, I know, but—"

"Sarah, come on, no excuses. If you need help, all you got to do is talk to someone. That's it. You need help, just ask me."

I felt good letting her know that I can help her when I saw she smiled back. It really does show how one person can make you smile.

"Well," she began, "I like this guy."

My face seized at that response. Of course I knew, hell, everyone did, but that wasn't what I meant by help.

"And, I don't even know his name, but he doesn't have a girlfriend. I can be the girl he wants if he lets me."

I screwed myself over here. I had to open my mouth and show some damn compassion, and now I may be the next school's counselor, and I would be doing my job, unlike the ones here.

"Sarah, I don't think you should be this black-and-white about it. I mean—you don't know this guy's name."

"Well, maybe you do. He's a blue cat with five whiskers, wearing a tan sweater with black pants—"

"Gumball?"

"Carrie, I know how it looks like. But I can tell there is a connection. i saw it in his eyes. They are the windows to the soul, no matter how cheesy it sounds. I know this can be true. It can happen if he just lets it."

"I don't think I like tone."

"Carrie, I'm not a bad person. I just want to be loved as I love them."

"Yes, but love is mutual. You can't expect someone to love you back just because you love them."

"Ah ha, but I never said I loved him."

"But you didn't deny it."

"Neither did you."

"About what?"

"The rumors about you and Gumball."

"Did I have to? I never saw anyone complaining about it. Not even Penny."

"Then you should hear what she says about you during swim meets."

"What do you mean? You don't swim."

"No, but," she began, looking across from both side and came close, "suppose I tell you that Penny thinks of you a little girl with problems. I'm sorry, but I really hate telling you this, and I'll stop here."

I don't think I can believe here. Hostility can be a problem for someone with issues. I let her be and went back to my desk. I decided to put my energy on the puzzle. Finished it in about five minutes, leaving me about twenty-five to do nothing.