I watched in disgust as happy couples walked the halls, holding hands and kissing unnecessarily every three steps. Boys roamed around with bouquets of roses, each one searching for his girlfriend. The girls were all dressed in either pink or red. Me? I was perfectly fine in my ripped blue jeans and black tank top. It was February, but cold weather never bothered me.

Someone ran by and dropped a card addressed to his sweetheart. I stomped my black combat boot on to the rose colored envelope and smiled.

"Is this yours?" I asked sweetly. Both he and I knew perfectly well that my boot was marking the envelope with mud with each passing second. He looked up at me and smiled meekly. The look of terror in his eyes humored me. I had forgotten how many little freshmen were terrified of me.

"I-i-it's for my girlfriend. C-can you please take your foot off it?" He seemed scared to ask such a simple question. I laughed at his insecurity and lifted up my foot. He quickly grabbed the mud-stained card and ran. I glanced to my left and scoffed at the couple making out in front of some poor sap's locker.

"Get a room," I muttered as I walked past. All this lovey-dovey romance was making me sick. I needed to get to homeroom. My homeroom teacher, Mr. Schoenstadt, didn't allow romance in his classroom. And may God bless him for that.

***************

I had peace and quiet for all of five minutes before Bryce sauntered into the room. Bryce had been my best friend for years, ever since I saved his sorry butt from bullies in first grade. I was shocked to see that he was carrying daisies, my favorite flower. What? I may have been the tough girl, but I still liked flowers. He cleared his throat to signal his arrival. I looked up from my sketchbook to let him know he had my somewhat full attention.

"Hey Jules," Bryce said in a semi-shaking voice. "Be my valentine?" He held the daisies out to me and smiled. Beads of sweat were glistening on his forehead. His blue eyes continuously shifted focus as he ran a shaking hand through his spiked black hair. Half of me was expecting him to spew out a pathetic love poem, so I took a brief pause before answering. When he didn't make a complete fool of himself, I turned back to my sketchbook. I thought for a while before I finally looked at him again. He was still smiling, waiting for me to say yes.

"Hey Bryce, did I ever mention that I hate Valentine's Day?"