Freshman Girl and Junior Guy (a short story) INTERIM GODDESS OF LOVE PREQUEL

6. Friday Morning

I hate you all.

I can't help but think it, every time I see a burst of applause and people celebrating over a bouquet of roses being delivered. It's the last day of Flowers For A Cause and they're being delivered in class, between classes, in the cafeteria, everywhere.

Not for me.

Still "undelivered" Hannah.

I don't even want to go to the Student Center to check, because I'm afraid it'll just be my name up there, still in the same column.

I see Sol at lunch outside the cafeteria, after her daily phone call with the boyfriend.

"Please buy the roses for me," I say, surrendering now.

She does me a favor by not laughing so loudly. "Hannah, your pride is really going to kick you in the butt one day. I could have done it for you the day you signed up. It's just money."

"I don't expect you to understand."

"This again? Why, because I can actually afford to donate to this cause and get you a bouquet of roses? If that's what you really wanted, then we could have done that."

I have a feeling that Sol, someone I met only on the first day of school, will be a friend for a long time. She sounds like she's making sense.

"But no," she tells me. "You didn't get it done on the same day because you're waiting for him to buy them for you. Right? Waiting for your basketball star. What's he waiting for?"

"I obviously made a mistake," I whisper. "He says things and they're just words. They don't mean anything else. They're not code or clues or anything...they're words."

Sol rolls her eyes. "Guys. Ugh."

"Will you just pay for the damn flowers for me?"

"Yes," Sol says dramatically. "I will save you from this imagined drama. But can I do it at three o'clock? I have lab."

"Why not now?!"

"I have lab. Relax. This isn't as bad as you think it is."

Of course not. It's not as bad as failing bio lab. Or losing your home to a storm. Not as bad as anything like that, but I hate how it makes me feel anyway.

Sol goes to her bio lab, and I go to my English class. Later, I spend my scholarship work hours at the Guidance Office, and nothing happens. No one comes to see me.

At six o'clock, when even the Guidance Office has closed and I am still rose-less, I call Sol to demand an explanation.

"They were all packed up when I went there!" Sol says.

"You mean you didn't do it?"

"I thought someone already did! Why would they pack up and go if there were undelivered flowers still?"

Because they don't want to stay open the whole day for one undelivered person. I sigh, surrendering to loserhood all over again.

"Thank you for trying," I say. "I'm heading to the relief packing area now."

"Aren't they all done?"

"I want to see if they need help with the cleanup."

"I'm sorry, Hannah. I really thought you got your flowers by now."

"Maybe I'm not the type who gets those." I hang up when I realize that I've said it aloud.

I take the long way from the Guidance Office to the basketball court, avoiding the open quadrangle. Stupid, right? It's not like anyone knows, or cares, what just happened.

There is no one, again, at the courts, because most of the relief goods have been packed, and the rest of the trash has been taken away.

But there's a table still standing, right in the middle, and there's a big white box on top of it.

Hannah, it says on the box lid, in black marker. I don't do roses.

Insidethe box? One dozen giant sunflowers.