~Andrea~

I muttered silently to myself before kneeling and dumping the contents of my messenger bag onto the floor in frustration.  I rifled through the stray pens, loose leaf papers, and soft cover novels for AP English before shoving everything back in the bag, my panic slowly escalating. 

I stood and weaved back to the library, against the traffic of students changing classes. Catching sight of Micky still at one of the study tables, I called out to him. “Hey, Micky.  Have you seen my-” I froze as Micky looked up from the notebook.

He leaned over the table to where I was leaning on the other end and whispered, “You’re the anonymous author for the school paper?” I cleared my throat and looked away.  Micky read the school paper?  He shook his head, closing the notebook and standing.  He smiled slightly and handed it to me.  “Some friend I am. I should have known…”  I shook my head and shoved the notebook into my bag.  “Your voice is beautiful.”  He said finally, softly.

“Huh?”  He smiled.

“You have such a strong voice…and you see things other people don’t.”  He shrugged and took a couple of steps backward toward the door.  “Use it.  Don’t hide it, Andrea.” He slipped his hands into his pockets and glanced up at me, almost shyly.  “You’re special.”  As I opened my mouth to respond the late bell sounded.  He raised his eyebrows.  “See you.”

…

~Micky~

I left her speechless that afternoon, smiling to myself as I shifted my backpack over my shoulder and walked down the hall.

I should have felt guilty for opening the composition book to begin with.  Even more for continuing to read it when I realized it was almost more like a journal than what she wrote for the school paper.  But the temptation to get inside her head was still too much for me to bear. 

I had never been much of a reader, but there was a lot of talk about her section of the paper - not only from teachers, but also students.  Sometimes it was a poem. Sometimes a short story.  It could be the advice column or just a few paragraphs about some obscure topic.  But there was always simplicity and elegance to her writing style.  The way I feel when I hear a certain song with the perfect combination of melody and lyrics that seem to have both the same rhythm and feel as my heart … that is how I felt when I read what she wrote.  The small, unique handwriting that seemed to change with the topic or mood - it was Andrea.

For all the words Andrea never spoke, I never doubted that behind those dark eyes there were deep thoughts.  Maybe that is why from the start I was so very drawn to her.  Beyond the cold, sweet, or nervous mannerisms was all of her intuition and sensitivity to her surroundings.  There was her innate ability to know and see people at a heart level…and to hide and shield herself. 

I dropped my bag beside my desk and sat down in study hall, turning to look out the window.  Andrea was conveniently walking by with her outdoor gym class and I couldn’t help but smile. 

Why did she have to be so beautiful?