My grip on the pencil tightens to a disturbing degree. I’m really hoping it breaks so I can bitch about something, but it doesn’t; it merely bends a little under the pressure of my hand.

My gaze turns back to the harpies next to me. And then their conversation floats into my ears and unwillingly registers in my brain.

“And then he comes in the room and handcuffs me!” The harpy leans forward a bit, lowering her voice just a smidgeon; too bad it’s still loud enough for me to hear. “And he knows I hate being handcuffed. I’m always afraid he’s not going to unlock me.”

“Oh my gawd, that bastard,” comes from the other harpy.

“Yeah, I know. And then he brings in this other girl. And she starts going down on me!” There’s a gasp from the second harpy. “And I’m like ‘Hell naw’ cause I don’t like threesomes with other girls in it but he’s just like, ‘But babe, it’ll be good’ and--”

I force my gaze back down to the paper in front of me and start chanting the instructions in my head. Write a screenplay, one about absolutely anything. Usually I’d have this done in seconds but their conversation keeps filtering in and I can’t concentrate because of it. I glance over at another cluster of desks and catch Ryan’s eyes. Help me, I mouth and widen my eyes a bit. He just grins widely, waves, and turns back to Jesse and James. Thanks.

Once again, my eyes are forced back to the blank paper. Nothing comes to mind. I can’t write because of those two stupid little—

Mrs. Harding appears at my side. “Something wrong, Danielle?”

There’s a tight grin stretching my face as I look up at her. “Naw, Mrs. H, there’s just these two things that just won’t SHUT UP.” The last part’s directed at the two harpies. They just glare a little bit at me and go back to whispering to each other.

Mrs. H looks at the two harpies and goes, “Rosa and Michelle, you should be working on that screenplay.” Aims a look at them that makes their eyes go down.

Then she looks at me. “May I talk to you Danielle?” As I shrug and stand to follow her, I notice that everybody’s watching, including the harpies. I can’t resist the urge to stick my tongue out at them.

When we’re out of the classroom and in the hallway, she graces me with a half-exasperated, half-amused look that I’m already well acquainted with.

I’m pretty sure she knows what I’m going to say, but I say it anyway. “I really dislike these group things.”

Her mouth tugs down in a slight frown and her eyes harden. Dang, she’s pulling out the teacher look. “Now Danielle, it’s for the good of everybody. You know that.” We’ve had this conversation before. I’ve protested this group thing since day one but she never really listens to me.

I try my protesting again. “Well, it’s not good for me if I can’t concentrate on my work. School’s for learning, not being stuck with idiots that hinder the creative process.” And there’s my fumble. Her mouth thins and her eyebrows pucker up in the middle. Well. Crap.

“Now, Miss Tice,” use of the last name is never good, “I don’t mean to sound arrogant or anything, but I do know what’s best. I am the teacher after all.”

Several comments roll through my mind but I decide to not say anything else. “It’s not best if you’re taking someone who wants to learn and placing them with idiots who don’t give a lick if they learn anything.” Apparently, my mouth does not agree. Oops. She looks a bit taken aback.

Then she gives me a tight grin. “Maybe so, Miss Tice.” Above us the bell shrills loudly, announcing the end of class. “We can finish discussing it in detention.” Her tight grin widens the slightest bit and then she turns around and starts walking into the classroom as students spill out of the door.

Great. Just what I need today. Isn’t it enough that I’m already behind on chores, dance practice, piano practice, and homework? And isn’t it enough that I have work today too? I just kind of sigh, hoping to release some of the tension in my shoulders. It doesn’t work.

---

I sling my messenger bag onto the desk next to me and fall into the chair. Mrs. H isn’t even in the room so I scowl and start digging through all the random crap in my bag, looking for a notebook so I can start on that screenplay. Really, I blame the harpies for this. I frown at the battered and torn notebook and figure, hey, I’m going to need something to write with. And then I’m back in the bag. Even after a few minutes, the only thing I can find is a tiny stub of a pencil, teeth marks in the wood and the eraser gone. Yeah, this is one of mine.

I look up. And almost jump out of my seat. There’s a guy in the corner, placed in a desk. Headphones peak between strands of short black hair and he’s bobbing his head a bit to the beat. I stare at the almost-not-quite familiar face and wonder. I know him. Really. He’s in my year and his name is…well, it starts with a J-A. Jack? Jason?

I stare a bit more at him and I eventually figure out that he’s not paying me any attention. So I just shrug and look down at my notebook. Nothing comes to mind. WHY?

I can’t help but look back up at him. Who is he? I start to tap my pencil a bit. And why is this bothering me so much?

Mrs. H walks into the room, glances at me, glances at the boy, and then frowns. “Jacob, either put the music away or I’ll have to take it.” Dark eyes glance up at her; then square hands come up to pull the headphones away and they disappear.

Jacob. I remember him. We used to be neighbors. He used to be the sweetest kid. Loud, boisterous, hyper. Then he moved; we didn’t stay in touch. And then he became a loner. Quiet, introspective, and the like.

“Danielle?” Mrs. H is staring at me.

“Yeah?”

Mrs. H smiles a bit and sits in the desk across from me. “Do you want to continue from earlier?”

I can’t help my temper at times. Really really. “No, not really. Man, I’ve told you this many times.” I try to enunciate this part. “I don’t mind working in groups. Truly. I just have a problem with you sticking me with IDIOTS.” I throw myself back and cross my arms. Heat’s searing my cheeks and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m angry as hell or because Jacob is staring confusedly at me.

Mrs. H loses her smile. “Now, Danielle, they’re not idiots.” I snort. She just glares. “They’re not. They just somebody to inspire them to write and be creative.” Her glare disappears as she clasps her and beams happily at me.

The urge to squash her happy little glow is unavoidable. “Yes, they are. And I’m selfish. I don’t want to inspire anybody. I just want to write.” Visibly, she wilts. Damn. Now I feel a bit guilty. Note to self: get rid of conscience…or at least get a new one. A stronger one, maybe?

Sighing, I mutter, “I don’t mind the groups. Maybe if you put me in a group that’s already inspired to write and be creative?”

She still looks put out. Well, what else am I supposed to do? Lie?

Then she gets a shifty look that makes me cautious. This one’s notorious for deals. “How about I let you work by yourself…” I grin insanely at the prospect. “If you help Jacob here?” She smirks.

Jacob is staring at me again, lips twitched up the tiniest bit. That little look makes my cheeks heat up. I look back at Mrs. H. “Sure, why not?” She sticks out her hand and we strike a deal.

She heads over to her desk as I move over by Jacob. “Heya, Jakey,” I say as I plop down. He just blinks up at me; he’s so quiet. “Don’t you speak anymore?”

Dark eyes soften a bit as he says, “Hey, Dani. How’s life treating you?” Huh. Who knew I’d have butterflies in my stomach from a simple question from an old neighbor?

---

“No,” I say. “Appreciate the beauty of what you’re describing. Appreciate the very words and language you’re using. Make them sound beautiful.”

Jacob growls at me and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m trying.”

I throw a pillow at him. “I know.”

He flops on my bed and reaches over to pinch my side. Squeaking, I curl up and then swat at his arm. He doesn’t notice; he just continues staring at the ceiling.

This is our third week working together. It doesn’t seem like it’s working. He just doesn’t have the knack for creative writing I guess. In the end it really doesn’t matter. Jacob is my friend again.

Plus, I found the Jacob I once knew. Underneath that quiet exterior, he’s still the laughing, sweet kid from before. The ridiculously sweet kid. I can feel the smile on my face.

He lets out a sigh and throws a glare at the paper he’s supposed to be working on. It’s then I remember what I’m supposed to be doing.

“Find something beautiful. And try to describe it,” I say. Hey, it’s something.

He turns and faces me, dark eyes searching. Then he starts to speak. “Your face…it’s oval shaped and just thin enough that I can see your cheekbones.” One wide finger reaches out and traces along my cheekbone; my breath hitches the slightest bit.

“Your eyes look almost like almonds because they’re wide and tapers into corners. And they’re dark brown…almost like the color of the earth.” I almost feel like I should take that as an insult, but I just can’t.

“Your mouth is wide when you’re yelling,” he chuckles a bit, “but small when you pout.” The finger moves down and touches my bottom lip. “And when you get nervous, you bite your lip,” the finger moves to the corner, “here.”

…I’ve just swallowed a jar of butterflies. And sugar. My heart is pounding; I can feel the pulse in my throat jumping and I can hear the roar of blood in my ears.

A smile curls his lips upwards, one corner quirked higher than the other. He’s going to tease me now, I just know it. “And your nose,” he starts.

“Don’t you dare,” I snap. I personally think it’s my worst feature. And he knows that.

His smile widens into a laughing grin as he moves forward a bit. “Well, I think it’s perfect.” A few more inches and he kisses the tip of my nose. His cheeks are dusted red when he pulls back and I really want to pull him forward to kiss him right on the lips and see if he can induce any more butterflies.

But his eyes dart nervously over to the clock on my nightstand and he coughs as he jumps off my bed, scooping up his back pack. “I’ve got to go Dani. See you tomorrow.” And then he’s gone.

When I see him the next day, I’m too nervous (damn butterflies) to ask anything about yesterday and he’s horribly cold with me. It hurts.

The next two weeks are the same way. I’m way too nervous to ask anything and he’s so cold and polite.

One day though, I sit down and explain everything to Jesse. She just kind of stares at me and then yells, “What are you doing here? You should be going after him.” Then she throws a fry at me.

When I don’t move, she gets up and literally drags me over to where he sits during lunch. Then she starts walking away. I grasp after her but she just smacks my hand and nudges me. And then she’s gone.

I turn. Jacob is sitting in the middle of a group of scary looking individuals. I bite my lip (right in the corner) and ask, “Jacob?”

All of them turn towards me and a few eyebrows are raised. Jacob looks at me and then says in a cold tone, “I don’t need your help anymore Danielle. Mrs. Harding says I passed the class.”

My stomach drops and then the butterflies settle at the bottom as a heavy weight. “W-what?”

His eyes, so dark and penetrating, avoid my gaze. “I don’t need your help anymore.” A few of the people surrounding him snicker.

“Oh.” I look down, not knowing what to make of the sudden urge to cry. I glance up only to see his eyes avoiding me altogether. “Right,” I mumble.

It’s when I go back to where I sit when tears start to leak out of the corners of my eyes. Jesse looks shocked. After I sputter out what happened, she curls an arm around my shoulders for a second. Then she gets up and walks away. A few moments later everyone in the cafeteria can hear her yelling. I’m too busy choking on both sobs and laughter to hear what she’s saying.

---

I feel pathetic. There’s a box of chocolates that I dug out from the cabinet at my side, half of its contents gone. My head and eyes hurt from that little stint of crying I did so there’s no way I’m doing that again. But hey, I can be emotional for once. I really do hurt. And it’s not like I’m going to do this for a long time. Tomorrow I’ll be better. I curl up in a ball and sniffle once.

Then my door slams open and Jacob storms in, looking frazzled. And he comes over and scoops me in a hug. I don’t even have enough time for a response before he goes into the clichéd, dramatic, but so very very true explanation of how he thought I didn’t like him back and how he was nervous and so very stupid for doing that to me this afternoon and he was so happy when Jesse explained everything to him cause—

Here’s where I cut him off with a kiss. Hey, he might just be apologizing but those damn butterflies are back and I figure that I can make him swallow some. It’d be some pretty good payback.

He pulls back and gives me a goofy grin. “Thank Jesse for me,” he says, leaning towards me and getting ready to kiss me.

But I scowl and punch his arm. I’ve just spent the whole afternoon being miserable and emotional because of him. “Boys are stupid,” I mutter.

He doesn’t answer to that; instead, his eyes trace over my face. “Were you crying?” There’s a concerned but guilty tone to his voice.

I merely turn away. Does he really need to know? But that’s an answer for him. He sighs and touches my cheek with his thumb. “Don’t cry.”

“I wouldn’t if boys weren’t so stupid,” I reply.

This time he chuckles. “I’ll try not to be stupid.” He frowns the slightest bit. “Just don’t cry. Your eyes are all bloodshot and puffy and--”

“Are you trying to get on my bad side?” Well thank you. You make me cry and then you tease me. I really should smack you Jacob.

My fingers are twitching to do just that when his frown turns into a smile. “You just look real nice when you smile.” Here his cheeks turn bright red and he places a kiss on my cheek.

Well, hell, there goes all my anger. And those damn butterflies are back. I curl my arms around his neck and pull him into a hug. Those damn butterflies make me want to giggle like a preppy cheerleader and—

“I blame you for the butterflies,” I mutter.

“What?” He pulls back a bit and raises his eyebrows at me.

“You give me butterflies. Stop it.” I poke him in the side. He’s impervious to the Poke of Doom so he just grins.

“I give you butterflies?” When my cheeks heat up, he laughs loudly and leans forward to give me a brushing kiss. “Now aren’t you glad you were in those groups so you got detention?”

I pretend I didn’t hear the question and lean in to kiss him again because I really don’t want to admit that I am glad for that.