Monday, 8:27 p.m.   Teresa's Pretend Romance It's a story, ok, it sucks, but shh. Let's pretend it's good. She stood outside by the English building. It had an aura of age and wisdom, with it's dull red brick and large windows with once-white frames. The frames were, at this point, a yellowy color streaked with orange-red rust and blackish-grey dust and dirt. There were old crooked trees dotting the green clovery grass encased by old cracked sidewalks. Sometimes in the wind, the trees looked as though they were talking to each other. And if it was rainy and windy, like it was now, the rain hitting the leaves and branches and sidewalks and roofs sounded like a language only the trees could understand. The girl imagined she knew what the trees were saying to each other, things about all the changes the school had gone through, stories about all the students who had gone to English in this building in the last fifty years, and gossip about all the teachers who had taught inside those walls. She imagined secret trees lives while she stood outside in the rain around 9:25 a.m. that morning. Her plain eyes searched the premises and a slight impatience etched itself into her face. She didn't even know what it was she was waiting for, but whatever it was, she needed for it to happen soon. Before the school bell rang and the area got filled with students. She shifted her messenger bag onto her left shoulder and clumsily opened a crumpled piece of paper with a gloved hand. The slip was blank besides the scribbled name of a place, date, and time. Maybe she was waiting for nothing, but the paper had to be significant for something. She scanned the notepaper's otherwise blank surface and then crumpled it back up into her fist. She lifted her slightly furrowed brow and the barely-down-turned corners of her mouth into the sky. The chilled pins of water lightly pricked her cheeks, misted her eyelids and lashes, and sprinkled her lips. There was something calming about the patient impatience written on her face melting slowly away with the cool air, washing away with the icy rain. She relaxed in the realization that she was getting worked up over a silly piece of paper, nothing was going to happen, and she was waiting for nothing. Although it was slightly relieving, the girl couldn't help but feel a touch sad, maybe she was waiting for something emotionally fulfilling, or maybe she just wanted something interesting to happen. but now she could go on with her cold, grey, wet Wednesday as normal. Two minutes before the bell rang to start her class, she dropped the paper and switched shoulders to rest her bag on again. She rolled her shoulders and bent to pick up the paper. She looked at the wad in her hand for a second, and stood up straight and tall. She lifted her chin and took a deep breath. She let the hot air out in short bursts of misty, swirling steam. As she took a step towards the rubbish bin, she paused just for a second to make sure nothing was going to happen. She made to start moving again. In the instant that she was almost moving again, she suddenly felt something. Two strong arms had wrapped themselves around her waist in a quick precise motion and squeezed. The arms lifted her a few centimeters into the air, and then set her gently back down. Startled, the girl once again dropped her piece of almost-blank paper and turned around to face the owner of the arms that held her captive. She found herself staring at a face-full of bluish grey sweater fabric. She worked her eyes up until they met the eyes of a smiling boy with shaggy dark hair. He was a friend of a friend and they'd talked a few times, and she'd managed to fall into a crush with her friend's friend. She even told the friend once, about a week ago. As she was trying to figure things out, the semi-stranger bent down and gently kissed her cheek. He whispered to her that he'd known all along and felt the same way. Crumpled and forgotten, the paper sat on the ground, getting wet and soggy. In hastily scribbled ink that was beginning to run, "Eng. Build, 9:30 Wed" was written into the corner. The writing was tiny and hardly legible but it was there nonetheless. A random person had thrown it to the girl yesterday in math and it was significant after all.