He's a Fanboy?!

He Slips Me Notes

The sound of the clicks of my keyboard fill my whole room, the only other noise audible being the occasional footsteps passing by my door.

I lean back, sighing. Only twenty-nine words written for my Wattpad story and I'm already tired. My eyes drift from the almost completely blank screen to the mini shelf behind my back.

The three books on top constantly catch my attention, frequently refilling me with a foreign emotion that I could compare to the feeling I get when I start shipping two people--which I still refuse to fully admit to myself--because those three books were the books Brayden had bought me for my birthday.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and find myself wearing a tiny smile. I know why. Somewhere in my mind I knew it would happen at one point.

I try not to think about it. It still feels like an unpleasant idea.

My six o'clock alarm pulls me out of my train of thought and I immediately turn off my laptop.

I smack the clock to shut it off, then step into the steaming shower.

__________________________

I always thought that passing notes in class was cliché, and frankly, stupid. I thought there was no point. The chance of getting caught is high and you could be missing valuable information.

But then Brayden slips me a note in English and I understand.

The tiny excitement of defying the littlest rule. The feeling of being considered cool enough to have someone slip you a note.

do you like the books? it reads. Subconsciously, I realize, I look around to see if anyone saw Brayden pass the note to me. I have to remind myself that I don't have to care.

I flip the note over and write him back with a purple pen. yeah, thanks. i love them. Under the reply, I write more: 21 questions: what is something that you really want right now?

I want to get him something, for caring enough to do something on my birthday. And for simply being a friend.

I slip the note back carefully, extremely conscious of everyone else around me, praying that nobody will see, especially not Mr. James.

My heart threatens to jump out of my chest, slap Brayden in the face and cartwheel back when he sends the note back because it says, you.

But life makes sense again when under it, the note says, just kidding. probably one of those hella cool multifandom necklaces.

I dismiss the whole heart-jumping-out-of-body thing because that probably would have happened if it were any guy, anyway. Probably.

My thoughts switch back to the situation in front of me. I think back to the two necklaces stuffed in the back of my mini shelf. A memory resurfaces.

"Belle! I'm home!"

Fourteen year-old me rushed down the stairs to greet my father, a huge, genuine grin taking up my entire face. We sat at the wooden dinner table. It was February twenty-ninth.

"Do you know what time it is?" he asked.

"Tell me."

"Eleven fifty-nine." He handed me a small turquoise box.

Together we counted down sixty seconds to midnight. Midnight: The end of February twenty-ninth and the beginning of March first. The only time that could really be considered my birthday.

"Five... Four... Three...," we counted. My birthday was like New Year's at my house. "Two... One...

"Happy Birthday, Belle!"