He looks at me quietly from across the classroom, and I somehow find myself drawn to his gentle eyes and sweet smile. As the teacher drones on, I examine the curve of his neck and the way his brown hair curls right at the nape. He stares right back, his eyes following the length of my hair and the bend of my arm. The final bell rings, and I gather my things, eyes on my shoes and cheeks burning from my blatant scrutiny. He comes up behind me for a moment and drops a note on my desk. When I look up, all I see is the back of his shirt as he disappears. The note simply says,

“9 P.M. The Park.”

I walk along the hallway and ponder the significance of the note. He wants to meet me. A thrill goes through my body like lightning, and I grin at my teacher, who looks taken aback. 9 P.M. The Park.

Leaves crunch under my feet as I walk toward the swing set where he is waiting, just a dark shadow leaning against the bar. I step up to him and he smiles at me, but his eyes are solemn. I smile back, though I am slightly uncertain now of why he wanted to meet me in such an empty place. What was in the daytime a children’s play place is now a ghost’s haunt, black and silent, with only the slight creak of the swings breaking the quiet. I shiver, and he looks at me for a moment before handing me his jacket, which I accept gratefully. I open my mouth to speak, but he silently covers it with his smooth hand and shakes his head. I watch him as he strips off his sweatshirt, then his t-shirt, and wonder if he expects me to do the same. Then he turns to show me his back and all thoughts leave my mind. A pair of majestic glossy black wings sprouts out of his shoulders, stretching up and blending into the night so I can barely see where the wings end and the sky begins. I reach forward to touch them and he spins, grabbing my hands and looking at me with a strange pleading look in his eyes.

“Please help me have the courage to take off,” he whispers roughly, planting a clumsy kiss on my cheek.

I nod, too dumbfounded to say anything, and he leads me up to the top of a hill. He steps away from me and looks up at the sky, then stares over his shoulder at me. I nod, and he takes three running steps and leaps off the ground, flapping his wings furiously. He rises into the air, and I let out a small gasp, amazed at the graceful beauty his body acquires when he is flying. I watch him wheel and come back to me, landing clumsily and stumbling with a laugh on the corner of his mouth. He throws his arms around me and I laugh with him, adrenaline rushing through me. He pulls back and takes my hand, solemn again, and I see bruises on his chest that I did not notice before.

“I have to go,” he whispers. “Please. Can I go?”

I nod, sensing that for some strange reason he needs my approval. He kisses me again and takes off.

As I watch him fly away, tears fill my eyes. I never even knew his name.