This is the story of a boy...(Warning! Text only!)

Last night had been the night the boy told his parents that he had been caught copying homework and had to serve two detentions. His mind fluttered briefly over what they thought of him, but landed on a much more pressing issue: how to express himself to a girl in class.

Writing and rewriting draft after draft of a letter to this girl, he finally stopped during third period finals the next day. Making his way to class, he reflected: This is practically my last chance of the year to say something to her. I have to give her the letter today, after the final is over.

With that thought in mind, he made his way to class and tried not to look at her directly. Rushing through the test, he decided he would give her the note after handing the exam in.

He wrote the final touches on the letter and folded it several times, writing "Look, A Note!" on one side, pocketing it. Glancing at the clock, he realized he had fifty minutes left. If he gave her the notes now, he'd have to deal with whatever came next.

Not now, he thought, and asked himself, when?

Allowing himself to be drawn into a card game, he said to himself, After this, and imagined himself placing the note on her desk just as the bell rang, giving him an easy escape. His occasional glances at the girl drew the other players' eyes as well.

Damn it, he though, if only we hadn't done the Lifecycles unit last, I'd at least know her better. Lifecycles was the school's politically correct term for "Sex and Babies." It had made his desire to talk to her difficult to fulfill at best.

Before he knew it, there was a minute until the bell rang, and he rose up to deliver his note...to a desk devoid of a girl. She had risen and was waiting animatedly at the door, talking to a friend.

Rolling his eyes imploringly heavenward, he exited the class ahead of her, still deliberating on what to do. He could, he guessed, grab her hand and deposit the note in it, but that would be too forward. He thought of slipping it into her handbag, but it was closed on the top. There were her pants' back pockets, which swayed with her movements, but getting caught placing a note there would be...scandalous.

Surprisingly, she took the same path he normally did, and he kept walking, even though he had to be in detention which was the opposite direction. He was still thinking furiously of what to do when a friend walked by. Squeezed by the stress of thinking about what to do, he slipped out of the situation by latching onto his friend and walking the other way.

Away from his last chance of the year.

Away from succeeding in doing something he really thought he was going to do.

He sighed, staring down at his black sandals as he walked down the hall. Then he grabbed his friend by the shirt and shook him, screaming, "I'm such an idiot!" His outburst seemed to quietly fade away as if he had done nothing, and his friend kept talking. Seperating, the depressed boy made his way to detention, the letter he had written clamped between his lips.

Then he sat down and wrote this.