SURVEYED: I
by angels and effects

It was V Day.

Not Virginity Day. It was the smaller V, but still of so much significance; Valentine’s Day.

It fell on mid-February. Exactly a month after my birthday.

And a year and a half after I’d met him for the first time.

I had always been cynical my whole life. I didn’t watch tear-jerking, romantic, blow-me-away movies that had people reaching for their Kleenex and blowing their noses while wishing they could have the same fairy-tale ending. I didn’t spend time fantasizing about hot male celebrities and writing them long, complicated fan letters professing my love for them. I didn’t read Harlequin Romance novels, choosing instead to believe in the world of sci-fi and thrillers. Sure, there always were elements of romance in them, but I didn’t mind them so much. It was the full-blown, sappy kinds that I shied away from.

It wasn’t hard to answer the question of ‘WHY?’ You’re a girl, right? You have the pair of X chromosomes, 20 pairs of autosomes, a functioning nervous system and estrogen, don’t you? For jeez’s sake, how the hell can you not believe in romance?

Simple. Because ten years ago, right on this very day, my mother had passed away.

My dad had arranged for a night out, just the two of them, when my mother got back from work. They would take dinner at a fancy French restaurant downtown, then go to the bridge where they’d always gone to in their youth to… do whatever it was they wanted to do. Perhaps there was more to it, but I’d never pressed for more details. I didn’t want to be reminded of the tragic way my mother had passed away, and neither did my father.

It was ironic, to tell the truth. That I’d be standing before my locker, listening to the dripping-with-sugar voice of our school ‘TV news’ broadcaster, thinking about my mother. On this very day. For wasn’t it supposed to be a happy day? Couples everywhere, the girls dreaming of what their boyfriends would get them and the guys debating about 120 dollar pendants and dinner reservations, would be celebrating this day of ‘LURRVE’ (the broadcaster’s word, not mine). I had to admit that tt was droll to be reminiscing such a morbid incident when all around you, the L word was issuing out of everyone’s lips.

But that was probably the mistake of the 21st century generation. No one really knew love. I had been too young to fully understand my mother’s love, and I longed for it so now. Dad loved me, I knew that, but he was so busy with his job that I barely got to see him even for an hour every day. People said they loved each other, but how many of them truly meant it? How many of them could hold on to it till they got married? And if they really did get married, could they maintain it? Eminem married his wife two times and divorced her two times, the second time barely a month after their marriage. If that wasn’t a valid example, I didn’t know what it was.

I suppose that was the cynical part taking over.

My Economics text stared at me from within the depths of my locker. I stared back. Someone poked me rather painfully in the ribs as he passed by. From the sounds of it, he was some arrogant jock. Yeah, that was one of the reasons why I hated Valentine’s Day so much.

And maybe because in spite of all my pushing away of any form of romance, I had fallen for the one guy I could never have.

So I’m cynical. I don’t like Janet Evanovich books. I only read Romeo and Juliet because I had been forced to. I disapprove of public displays of affection. And worst of all…

He had probably forgotten that I even existed.

It was okay. I was used to being invisible. The only time I truly stood out was when I came out top in English. Only English, because that was my best subject. Perhaps it stemmed from my absolute determination not to read books that had middle-level vocabulary and contained sentence structures that weren’t exactly mind-boggling. I mean, how many times do you see the word ‘facetious’ in romance novels? Not many, I bet. But my point was that blending into the crowd was one of my fortes, and getting the attention of guys was not.

Not like I cared. Eragon was enough.

I pulled my jacket closer to my body and began taking out my books. It was the 14th of February, no biggie. All I had to do was survive till one past midnight of the next day and I’d be safe. No sudden urges of puking over an overly dramatic declaration of love and actually performing that action and it’d be ok. I would just go home after school, study, eat my own lonesome dinner, save some food for Dad, study again, and fall asleep.

Just like any other normal day.

I suppose being cynical wasn’t the only fault I possessed.

The broadcaster clicked herself off with a sugary ‘and remember, extra hugs and kisses today!’ I mentally scoffed – she could go throw herself off a cliff and receive the ground’s hugs and kisses. I wouldn’t mind that.

Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I made my way towards homeroom. My dark brown hair fell like a curtain around my face, stopping half-way down my waist. I pushed it back, wishing to God that I had had the common sense to tie the entire thing up into a ponytail. Great day for forgetting a scrunchie.

And great day for embarrassing myself.

Now, what are the odds of crashing into the one boy you’d been thinking of just five minutes ago and letting the edge of your hardcover James Patterson’s Cross poke him in the stomach?

That is why I don’t really like Valentine’s Day.

“Oh my God!” I retracted my books hastily, my eyes probably as wide as saucers. Speaking of them, those were also a point that captured many a person’s attention before. It was probably the slightly Asian shape to them or the brown irises with green fading around the edges. I didn’t see the big deal with my eyes, really. They were just eyes. You know, things that possessed protein and nerve cells. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. I’d probably accidentally stab him with a knife or something and say the same thing. Well, guys mostly ignored me and I returned them the favour.

Except a year and a half ago…

“It’s alright, I’m not going to die,” he said, slowly straightening up. It was then that he noticed that it was me who’d bumped into him.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said in surprise. It wasn’t bad surprise. Good surprise. His cheeks were flushed rather delightfully, though I bet mine were too. I’d never been so close to him, even when we had served detention that day when I’d woken up late and gotten a tardy from the evil Homeroom teacher. Scratch that – all teachers are evil. Whatever. In spite of the fact that he’d refused to tell me why he’d gotten detention in the first place, we had created some semblance of a friendship through balls of scrunched-up paper, wasted pen ink, a scolding from the teacher (see, they’re evil) and the slamming of the use of genetic engineering to change the gender of babies in the future. It was weird, true, but at the end of it all, detention hadn’t been so bad with him. At least I hadn’t bored myself to death, nor did I take Dad’s scolding as hard as I would normally have.

But what was so special about him? I wouldn’t be able to give you a definite answer even if I tried. Some things were just unexplainable, like how like poles attract unlike poles. It wasn’t explainable. It was just because it was like that. Nothing else to say.

And being the pessimist I was, I didn’t believe myself that I liked him in a non-platonic way until I saw him with another girl at the local bookstore.

They had been laughing. Granted, another three or four people had been with them, but it was like light was shining on them and nothing else existed. He’d smiled at me when he saw me, but that was all. I didn’t know what the relationship between them truly was, but around school, I had seen them together more than once. Not doing anything of a couple like manner, but still together. It confused me, but I’d trained myself to ignore it.

Well, until it came to the point that even his presence caused my senses to increase tenfold.

And that was exactly why I knew I could never get a chance of being with him.

Was he popular? Not so much. But was he well-liked? Yes, he was. No denying that. The teachers loved him for his effort in answering questions and studies, the girls loved him for his dazzling smile and easy demeanor, and the guys liked him for just being him. It was hard to not like him, which was perhaps the greatest downfall of all.

Cynicism, here I come.

“How have you been doing?” he asked, a look of pure concern on his face. It was killing me, the way he was being so kind. For I knew that it could never cross that threshold.

I smiled back in return, albeit forced. “Good. How about you?”

He shrugged. “Same old. Just not getting detention anymore.” We laughed, the initial awkwardness gone. After that day of detention, we’d only talked once or twice, mostly only throwing each other a ‘hi’. I didn’t bother doing so most of the time though, seeing how I was meant to be invisible and all. Besides, he and I didn’t much run in the same social circle.

“That’s good,” I replied, fingering a lock of my hair. “Well, I suppose I better get to class. See you around.”

His green eyes scanned my face, as if looking for something or examining a certain feature of my face. “Yeah,” he said softly. “See you around. Have a nice day.”

I ducked my head under the heat of his gaze. What was happening? “You too.”

Not a day to embarrass myself in front of my crush. I had to restrain myself from looking over my shoulder as I walked away, my whole body practically trembling. It was perhaps the longest conversation I had ever had with him since Homecoming the year before, when he’d teased me about not wearing the school colours. I had only smiled and told him it didn’t matter much to me since wearing the school colours and not finding meaning in it was worse than not wearing it at all. Not the most invigorating conversation, but still.

“Hey, Danny,” he suddenly called.

I turned around, scolding my heart for skipping a beat at the use of the nickname he’d coined for me after finding out my name. I had never been called that since young – Dad had told me that Mom was the only person who called me that. That thought made my heart ache. “Yes?”

He seemed to run through something in his mind, then shook his head. “Never mind. Forget about it. You better go before you’re late.”

But if I had been more observant… I would have noticed the slight upturn to his lips as I gave him a weird look and turned away again.

And if I had looked back… I would have seen him watch me enter homeroom, his green eyes thoughtful and his expression unreadable.

X

English class. One word to describe it.

Befitting.

Why? Of course, it being Valentine’s Day, the teacher just had to have free expression time. We were to stand up individually and state our feelings towards this ever-exalted day, as well as any V Day experiences we had had in the past. With the condition that no R-rated stuff was to come in, of course.

And I guess I forgot to mention that he was in this class as well.

No, I wasn’t going to keel over just because I was going to proclaim my feelings towards the L word and that he was going to hear it. But I suppose I was curious to know what he felt. What would he say? Would he solve the mystery of that girl he was always with? Me being out of the social circle, I never picked up on any piece of gossip whatsoever, so it was all a puzzle to me. Or would he make a doddery joke out of it? Hardly possible from the way he took his work seriously, but you’d never know.

The answers were all varied. It ranged from the humourous to the not so. One jock recited a poem that went:

My beating heart
Will forever cry
Out that I will love you,
Till the day I die.

Interestingly, it won a standing ovation from everyone, though it was probably the dramatic way he said it like he was acting in an opera or something. Well, all I had to say was that if he joined a competition, he wouldn’t win any big prize. But at least it was better than the one which went, ‘Roses are red, violets are blue, this poem is about Valentine’s Day, but I just can’t make it rhyme’.

What was it with reciting poems for free expression time anyway?

It took an excruciating amount of time for his name to be called out. His last name was McKenzie and mine was Nash, though I doubted that John Nash was related me in any way. I didn’t mind it – at least it wasn’t some funky name like Tallville.

“Blake, how about you?” the teacher asked.

His chair made a screeching sound as he pushed it back and stood up. I looked down at my desk, waiting for his reply. I didn’t bother looking back to face him, knowing it would only increase my curiosity of what he was going to say.

“Valentine’s Day,” he began, “isn’t just a day for couples. I think it’s a day for everyone who has made a difference in anybody’s life, one way or another. It’s not all about candy canes and roses, and definitely not about sappy love poems. It’s a day that should be spent meaningfully…”

I stared particularly hard at a scratch on the desk.

“…and not be wasted on saying things to each other that we say only because it’s Valentine’s Day.”

If that was called kismet, saying exactly what I felt… well, it sure was powerful.

Maybe that was why I felt so strongly towards him. From the start of our agreeing on that genetic engineering thing, I knew he could express his thoughts well. What he’d raised matched my feelings so flawlessly, I had thought briefly that he perhaps possessed the ability to read minds. That definitely wasn’t true, but how had he done it then?

Or were our thoughts so in tune with each other’s that I could understand what he was trying to raise without him explaining it in detail, and vice versa?

“Well, that was certainly an enlightening view on Valentine’s Day,” the teacher said, smiling at him. “Thank you, Blake. Now, how about you, Danielle?”

He sat down. I felt rather than saw his gaze rest on me as my name was called - the hairs on my neck prickled like static electricity had just been run through them was more than enough to tell me so.

I stood up, ignoring the whoops of the jocks behind me. “I guess I have to say the same as Blake.” I stopped, wondering whether to continue with what I was going to say. “Um, Valentine’s Day to me is kind of overrated. Love to me isn’t just about kissing and all, it goes a lot deeper. But in society, I just don’t see that. And my mother passed away exactly ten years ago so I don’t see the big hoo-ha over Valentine’s Day when it was the day…”

I stopped. A lump had risen in my throat, preventing me from going any further.

For once, the room was silent. I could almost feel the mood turning somber at my words. I guess my pessimism had finally got the better of everyone – trust me to ruin the feeling of Valentine’s Day for everyone. Great work, Danielle, great work indeed.

The teacher cleared her throat. “Thank you for that, Danielle.”

I only nodded, not trusting myself to say anymore, and sat back down.

The hairs on the back of my neck stopped prickling.

Needless to say, the lesson passed on. The rest of the people behind me said their bits and got comments from the teacher. I half-listened to them and half thought about things. Things that mainly pertained to what he’d said – I suppose I could say that running his words over and over again in my mind made me think further to what he possibly meant. I wanted to know so much more about what he thought, but even more strongly, I wanted to find out what it truly was between him and that girl…

Mother, I wish you could give me the answers.

And once again, my dislike of Valentine’s Day came rushing back to me like a tidal wave, slapping me into reality again.

I could never be with him… and one day, I had to learn to be satisfied with that.

How I hated the way romance novels were so perfect. How Hilary Duff’s character had gotten her Cinderella ending with Chad Michael Murray’s character in A Cinderella Story. How it was just so different from my life.

Would it ever be true?

X

The end of school, equavalent to: YES!

Economics had ended late, what with homework assignments and all. Resigned to doing homework on Valentine’s Day, I passed by several snuggling couples in the hallways, making out by the lockers or just smiling in a silly way at each other. Love, perhaps, or their idea of love. I didn’t know. All I knew was that I couldn’t open my locker due to some cheerleader and one of the alpha males leaning against it, their tongues down each other’s throats.

My animosity towards Valentine’s Day doubled.

After about five minutes of trying to get them to scram, I was almost on the verge of giving up. Sure, they had hormonal urges, but they could take it to the closet already!! Hitting the guy’s head with Cross wasn’t an option if I valued my life, but I couldn’t go up to them and demand for them to un-stick themselves from each other and get away from my locker. They’d just treat me like a piece of glass or scoff at me and tell me to get lost.

I ran a hand through my long brown locks in frustration. I was losing precious time looking at two teenagers nearly going past third base when I could just rent a chick flick movie and get the same thing. Now that was the problem with things nowadays – everything had to be physical. Whatever had happened to the brain? To the good old reading of science fiction and mysteries which could jog your mind a lot more than thin, 200-300 page love stories?

I sure as hell didn’t know the answer to that, but all I wanted to do was to scram home and finish everything on a decent hour so that I could get something done for dinner for Dad and myself.

“Hey,” a voice suddenly cut in.

I swung around. Holy-!

“Hey, hi again.” Even in my frustration, he looked the epitome of perfect. Well, except for the small white scar at the edge of his forehead, almost invisible at his hairline. I wondered what had caused it. “Would you mind…?” I gestured helplessly towards the couple in front of me.

He raised an eyebrow and tapped the guy on his shoulder. “Yo, Henry, mind letting the girl have access to her locker?”

The guy broke away, heavy-lidded. The girl must have had some sucking power, that was definite. “Oh. Sure, man.”

“Thanks,” I said to him as they moved away. “What’re you doing here?”

“Not even a ‘it’s really nice to see you again, Blake, to what pleasure do I owe you?’” he teased, his green eyes twinkling. “Come on, I know you can do better than that.”

I rolled my eyes but smiled. He was referring to the detention we’d served together, when I had rejected his first ball of paper with some rather well-placed bad words. It was a wonder we’d gotten along so well after that. “Okay, you win. But seriously, if you don’t have anything else to say, I have to get going. Busy day and all.”

He tilted his head, looking at me with a weird eye. “It’s Valentine’s Day. Surely you can’t be going home that early.”

I shrugged. “I’m not other people.”

“You sure aren’t,” he muttered, before zipping his backpack open and pulling out a thin stack of papers. “Ok, here’s my real intention. Remember the thing Ms. Kellerman asked us to do for English before the week ends?”

Get information on any kind of subject related to teenage life, preferably in the form of surveys or statistics. Write an essay on said subject, stating clearly your topic sentence, parameters, feelings and relevant information. “Yeah, sure, I remember that. What about it?”

He cleared his throat. “I’m conducting a survey, you see. On teenage relationships and love. And since it’s Valentine’s Day, I thought it’d be a good day to start off with it.”

“Well, considering it’s already Wednesday, yeah,” I deadpanned. “I suppose you want me to do your survey thingy then.”

“Bingo,” he said, snapping his fingers. “I’ll really appreciate it. But I still have to photocopy some more of these, would you mind waiting here and finishing it? I’ll be back really soon.”

I nodded and took the piece of paper he handed me together with a pen. The crowd was already thinning – coupled with the fact that I’d been slightly late getting out and that a lot of people were going out early to celebrate V Day, it was only expected. Not that I minded. It gave me more space to do his little survey, at least.

I started on the first question. What is your definition of a good date?

Dinner and a nice stroll down the beach, ending with a movie or two at home.

Have you ever been in a committed relationship?

Damn. No.

Do you think you have ever experienced true love before?

I hesitated. No.

If not, would you want to?

He was asking some really weird questions. My pen hovered over the surface before I ticked the box. Yes.

What must your dream partner absolutely have?

He/she has to be able to relate to me well.

I flipped the piece of paper over. Huh, it was starting to sound like some teenage magazine ‘FIND OUT WHAT YOUR TRUE LOVE IS LIKE!’ quizzes. Maybe he was trying to pull the teacher’s leg or something – I certainly couldn’t see him writing an essay on this…

My eyes landed on the very last question.

And I gasped out loud, looking up frantically.

Right into the swirling green depths of his eyes.

“Blake, I…”

He held something out wordlessly.

It was the pieces of paper we’d used in detention. Crumpled up from being scrunched into balls over and over again. Amazingly enough, they were still in pristine condition; I hadn’t known he still had them. The black ink I’d used was differentiable from the blue he’d used, but the words written were still the same.

He’d kept them.

Was that why he’d kept tearing off new pieces of paper off his pad to reply me… just so he could keep my responses?

“I…” I couldn’t bring myself to say anything.

“I know it’s not the ethical thing to do,” he said, biting his lower lip in the most adorable gesture. “But I didn’t know how else to ask you.”

“But… how?” I looked helplessly down at the piece of paper in my hand.

He put a gentle finger below my chin and made me look at him. “Danny,” he said softly. “From the very moment you replied my message in detention, I knew you had spunk. You just kept it hidden. I know you dislike Valentine’s Day, and I know that romance doesn’t appeal to you. That was why I pushed away the thought of asking you out and just carried on with life after detention ended and I didn’t have reason to speak to you again. But after a while…. It was like I couldn’t stop thinking of you. I’d see you in English and think about how strong you are at it. I’d pass the bookstore and think about how you looked that day I saw you there. Like you were radiating, or something. Then Cassie told me about your past and… well, I wanted to get to know you better.”

I shook my head, trying to take it all in. “Who’s Cassie?”

“My cousin,” he said sheepishly. “A lot of people think she’s my girlfriend. Her mother was the lawyer who presided over your mom’s case. The drunk driver one.”

I felt my heart squeeze painfully again.

His cousin… I’d been wrong all along. All the while.

“Blake,” I started, my tongue feeling thick like I had just woken up. Although from the metaphorical point of view, it was like I’d just been roused from a deep sleep. Things were so much clearer now; the girl I’d thought was his girlfriend was his cousin, his blood-related cousin…

But still, I held back. Everything wasn’t going to be just solved with the snap of a finger. I knew I wasn’t ready for all this, and I knew I had to think it through. But most of all, I knew that I was still too wary, still too deeply rooted in my anti-romance beliefs to dive into something mysterious, something totally foreign to me. I wasn’t ready for this and neither was my heart, even though I knew without a doubt that I truly liked him.

“I-Well-I…” I tried to find the right words to say, still feeling like my tongue was the rug on my living room floor. “I’ve got to say this. I can’t lie to you either. I’ve liked you for a long time too, ever since you told me in detention how people’s genes shouldn’t be altered in a way they might not possibly want. But it’s the point that I can’t alter my life like that from the way it is now. I just can’t…”

I didn’t say the last sentence. But I want to try.

His expression fell. I longed to pick up the words I’d just said, stuff it right back into my mouth, and say the complete opposite just to see that mesmerizing smile again.

But I knew that wasn’t going to happen till I could get to know him better. For what else did I know about him, save for that he was against the genetic engineering of human genes and that he worked hard academically? Yeah, I was attracted to him. But all I had to do was reinforce that attraction and finally see for myself whether it was reality… and not like a Meg Cabot akin thing.

“I understand,” he said in a low voice. “I suppose I should have known… but you’ll give me your answer someday, won’t you?”

I stared into his eyes, the hopeful look in them making me wonder what on earth it had been about me, the cynical non-believer in love girl, that had made him come up to me today - of all days! Maybe I just had to accept it too…

“Can you wait?” I asked, my heart thumping in my chest. He’s going to blow me off, he’s going to blow me off, he’s going to blow me off… I’m not worth it…

His lashes swept briefly downwards, then up again. “As long as it takes for you to decide.”

I didn’t deserve him. He was too nice, too perfect. Too real.

And I couldn’t bring myself to reject him. Because I didn’t want to let my heart die again, just like it had when Mom had passed away.

There was only one question.

Would I be able to overcome my own straitlaced feelings and finally get my own fairy-tale ending…

Only it wouldn’t be from a book?

---

A/N – I don’t own anything I shouldn’t own. The ‘till the day I die’ poem idea was from a friend’s friend. Thus, he gets credit. That’s all.

This is the first of two parts. Struck gold with this idea for a V (no, not virginity, don’t think wrong) Day one-shot, but it got too long so I’m splitting it into two parts. A review will be very much appreciated, and may all of you have a LOVEly Valentine’s Day :)

June 16th: Edited.