"You ignored my stalker-gram."

He turned and looked at me, bewildered. "What?"

"My stalker-gram." I repeated. "I sent you one last night on AIM. You ignored it."

"Stalker-gram?"

I sighed heavily. "Last night. I sent you an AIM message."

"I didn't get it. It must've been while I was at track."

"Regardless, I sent it. And you never gave me your AIM name." The realization dawned on him. "That's what makes it a stalker-gram." He laughed. Curse that laugh. He was so cute when he laughed.

"So, how did you get my AIM name, then?" he asked, still giggling. I pointed across the room, at Christine. My best friend, and now, apparently, Tim's friend. She had given me his AIM name last night in conversation, and I had messaged him for the fun of it. Of course, we didn't call him Tim- we've known him as Cute Math Class Boy ever since he joined her class, and I saw that cursed smile. I was sitting in on the class, for lack of anything better to do with my free period, and he just kind of walked in and smiled at the teacher. I was so stunned, I had to ask Chris what his name was after class, because I didn't even catch it. "Figures," he said rolling his eyes. "Do you guys talk about me constantly?" he asked. Joking, but still curious. I turned red. Yes, yes we did.

"No, only when you say something really amusing. It gets copy-pasta'd. Your AIM name gets copy-pasta'd sometimes, and I just got bored last night."

"Oh." he said, accepting the answer without question. Just like that. It was a possible answer, so I must not be lying to him. The bell rang.

"So, are you going to respond to my stalker-gram tonight?"

He smiled up at me. Damn that smile! Always on his face, always makes me want to just fawn for a few minutes. Complete with drool. "Sure thing." he laughed. I left the classroom, to go find a way to distract myself for my free period. Forty-five minutes of trying not to think of that smile. This was going to be hard.

I crossed the hall, and walked into the Math Office. A teacher shot me a dirty look, and I summarily ignored her. They should be used to me in here by now. I crossed the main office area, and went through the door into Deeds' shared office. Mr. Deeds himself was sitting at a table when I walked in, helping a student learn trigonometry. Half Chinese, Deeds was about five ten, slightly stocky, with medium-length black hair. He always surprised my mother. She always thinks he's a kid. I always say he acts like one. It's not an insult. He smiled up at me. "Hey, Ben. Mind if I finish up here?"

I grinned at him. "Yeah, really, I do. It's not like, you know, it's your job or anything. Stop what you're doing to tend to me." He laughed, and got back to work with the student. I went to his desk, and opened the bottom left hand drawer. Finding a folder labeled "NYC '08", I tossed in some paperwork- a couple contracts from hotels, and a few invoices. Shoving it back in the mess of folders, I closed the drawer and sat down at the table, taking out a notebook. I run the high school's improvisational theatre club, and Deeds was our advisor. He didn't really do much, but he was a great improviser, and great to have, if for no other reason than to coach us. I started plotting out the next show, planned for two weeks later. It always was stressful working with actors, but we managed to get a show in once a month anyways. We worked for a while, trying to get equal show time for everyone, while still ensuring a good show. Sometimes it was harder than one would think. As the growing lists and tallies in front of me ate through the period, I let my mind wander. Smile...

Bad thoughts. Bad. And there was that smile. Standing at the door, waiting for me. Waiting for me? Why was it waiting for me?

"So why do you want me to respond so badly?" he asked me, looking up at me innocently. Damn that naivety. It would be the death of me. Four inches gave him the perfect height to master that innocent look, and he used it shamelessly. The worst part was, it was true- he really had no idea.

"It bothers me when people don't respond to my stalker-grams. It gives them the false impression that they have some say in what happens. When I'm involved... they don't."

He laughed. "Oh, I see how it is."

I smiled. "Good. We'll get along fine, then."