. . .I cannot believe I signed up for this willingly - certainly it was not knowingly. I cannot believe anyone would do this willingly. . .

My diary. Stuffed full of ramblings, sketches, clippings, old memories and new photographs. It details the whole journey. . .all the wasted time in the beginning, which I long for now that I am nearing the end. But I have to shove it aside.

We're not done.

I agreed, promised really, to take charge of our group, and make the best yearbook I could. But we're not done. We've failed.

There's still time, I suppose. I hunted down Jenn the other day, and she said she'd do her best to get us some pictures of the sports teams. And I bet I can rope Heidi into writing some cutlines. . .

But it shouldn't have gotten this desperate.

I stay so late, every night now. Everyone else leaves at half past four, but I'm still working away, doing my best to get everything written.

Well, the co-Editor stays sometimes, too.

But this is the last week. Finals are coming, almost upon us, but we're not done.

Ms. Galas warned me. . .she said she usually took over the Editor's duties, since the staff was so small, but I wanted to do it myself. . .I wanted her to be just an adviser. I didn't think 15 was too young to take it on. . .I was wrong, I should have waited, I was so stupid. . .

The Student Senate and student ambassadors were developed last year, but prefects have been around since the first year. They all have many different duties around the school and work hard to gain their positions. . .

At least we got a picture of that last Student Senate meeting, thank goodness for Kate F. Dang, it's hard to write about these people.

I wish someone else had shown up today, but it's just Christopher and I, and he's trying to put out his newspaper. I suppose our adviser is in a meeting. . .

I should never have tried to do this - I should have know it would be too much. It's too much. . .

"Hi there, Laura. . ."

"Hey, you're staying late tonight, too?"

"You're good company. . ."

"It's a lot harder to get this done -- you're distracting, you silly girl. . ."

"What do you mean, I'm the silly one?"

"I just might make you help me. . ."

"No, you know I don't mean it. . ."

"Earth to Laura!"

Christopher's waving his hand in front of my screen - the phone is in his hand.

"It's for you."

He hands it to me with a grin - somehow, he doesn't seem so affected by all this work. He has a lot of writers for his paper. . .I write too, sometimes. Or I did, in the beginning. I cannot now. . .

It's my mother. When will I be ready to come home? I want to say never, but it's not an option. I tell her seven instead. I would say nine, but Charlie likes to lock up by seven-thirty on Fridays. . .I guess he wants to get home early. I don't blame him, although sometimes I think I'd rather clean up the school than write about it.

I meander back to my computer, and Christopher catches my arm.

"We should study together. This weekend. I mean, if you want to. . ."

He's suddenly so shy - he does that sometimes. I cannot help but smile.

"Of course. Otherwise I won't remember to."

Somehow, he finds this funny. Perhaps because it's so true. . .this book is consuming all my time and all my thoughts.

It's not done.

I lower myself into the chair with a sigh. Christopher had arrived earlier than me that afternoon, and snagged the nice chair. It's so soft, and wheeled. I finish the story and get up to track down my interview notes for the next one.

Wheels would make things so much easier. . .

He would give me the chair, if I asked. He always does things like that. But I don't ask, anymore. It doesn't seem right. . .instead, I give him things. I brought muffins Tuesday.

He gets up for tea. We take turns bringing bags and making a pot each day. We rigged an old coffeemaker from my house to make tea instead, and hooked it up. It's always caffeine-free, so we don't have to go to the bathroom as much. Today it's apple blossom. He fills my glass too, adds sugar. . .

Sugar. A sweet crystalline or powdered substance, white when pure. . .

. . .Altera Familia takes place after last hour but before afternoon programs start. . .

. . .consisting of sucrose obtained mainly from sugar cane and sugar beets. . .

. . .students are assigned teachers, in whose rooms they hang out for a few minutes. . .

. . . used in many foods, drinks, and medicines to improve their taste. Also called table sugar. . .

. . .the time is treated like a breath of air before plunging again into the bustle of daily life. . .

. . .Or, any of a class of water-soluble crystalline carbohydrates. . .

. . .students take the opportunity to nap, talk, and just unwind. . .

. . .including sucrose and lactose, having a characteristically sweet taste. . .

. . .Often, altera familia groups (also known as tutorials) will do things outside of school as well. . .

. . .classified as monosaccharides, disaccharides, and trisaccharides. . .

I shove myself away from the table. My mind just cannot focus on the task at hand. . .Christopher looks worried, but I shake my head with a smile. I'm all right, I'm all right, I'm all right. . .

I'm not all right.

I cannot breathe, it's so hot, my head is so foggy, why can't I see right? Glasses, glasses. . .ah. The world is clear, but painful - so painful. . .

I stumble out of the room, make my way to the water fountain. Yes, water is just what I need. . .cool, clear water. My head feels better already. I walk slowly around the school to clear my mind, but it just fills up more.

We're not done. . .

To Do:

1. end page
2. index
3. who was on student senate?
4. scoreboards for basketball (boys), soccer (boys), and soccer (girls)
5. list of writers for newspaper
6. add folio by page numbers
7. finish up tutorials group shots
8. get picture for page about journalism. . .

Christopher is standing in the doorway, waiting for me. Still worried. More worried. I know my face matches his. . .

We're not done.

"Can I help?"

Such welcome words - so wonderful - so kind. . .

"Yes. . .yes, uh, we need a picture. For Journalism."

There, objective identified - mission begun. I'm sure he's thinking the same - not so worried. He grabs the camera right away.

"It should have the two of us! You for yearbook, me for newspaper." A lovely suggestion. And one that lends itself so well to a vertical dominant photo; he's so tall. . .

"But someone has to take the picture," I point out.

But I am wrong. He sets the timer and puts the camera on a stack of chairs. We pose, pretending to discuss a story. I pick up a pen, and then his hand closes over mine - I look at him, and he looks at me. The camera takes the picture.

It's beautiful. We look made for each other - just the right shape and height for the page. But it's more than that - we look happy, just for a moment. Like suddenly the world became perfect. I had felt like I was drowning in something, but it took the picture to show me what.

Love.

And requited love too - the rarest, but most wonderful, kind. We are still close, looking in the digital camera's window, seeing ourselves see each other for the first time. His arm is around my shoulder. He starts to turn away - his ears turn red when he's embarrassed, I hadn't noticed, how adorable. . .-- but I look back and smile.

He stops. Time stops. Everything stops. But then, somehow, we are moving together, becoming closer. . .

His lips brush mine, just the lightest touch of love, and it is cathartic.

Here comes the sun,
Here comes the sun, and I say
it's all right

Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun,
Here comes the sun, and I say
it's all right

Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun,
Here comes the sun, and I say
it's all right

The doorknob rattles and we spring apart. Our adviser bustles in, dropping her papers on her desk. The two of us are acting like nothing was going on, like we were just standing and chatting. I sip my tea, and he inspects the camera.

Ms. Galas looks at us for a long moment, before asking,

"What are you doing? We're on deadline! Quick, quick, work like bunnies!"

Somehow my standard response, slipping through my lips before I can think it, has more meaning than usual.

"If we were bunnies, there would be more of us."

But we do work, and considerably more quickly than bunnies could. The "to do" list is whittled down to just a few tasks, to be completed Monday. Christopher and I agree to meet for ice cream on Saturday. And maybe a movie too. There will be time for studying and work later.

Safe at home again, my diary calls to me.

I still don't know how I let myself get talked into this. Nor do I know why the rest of the staff doesn't seem to care as much as I do. But Christopher cares. . .

. . .I think it was worth it. . .

. . .I'll definitely sign up again next year.