Straight black locks showered his head, sunken blue eyes sung out to all in the vicinity. His rigid height held him tall, his tanned complexion played over him.

I snapped the book shut, closing the information from my eyes. But still, although the words were blocked from view, the image was embedded in my mind. His sullen features, his undying beauty of beauties.

I never understood the craze of falling in love with fictional characters. I never understood how words on a page could turn into so much more. Until now, that is. Somehow, amongst the oddest of odds, I was in love. With Michael. Just thinking his name made me twirl with nausea. He wasn't from a popular book, few people had even heard of it. Possibilities by Susan Hity. As soon as I had read his stunning description I was turning, my heart pounding, my mind spinning. I was head-over-heels in love with him. I was falling for something that I so profoundly protested, and I could do nothing to stop it.

"Hey, has anyone read this book?" I held up the book, casually, displaying the cover to me friends.

"Why?" Amanda questioned. "Anything important about it?"

"No," I lied. "I was just wondering if I should do it for my English assignment."

"Why not, it's a book ain't it?" Jess observed.

"Well nah, it's a libretto," I humoured.

"You're in year ten, you shouldn't even know that word," said Ira. "What's it mean anyway?"

"I have no idea, I think something to do with TV," I guessed, trying to recall where I had heard to word.

"The book will be fine," Jess returned to the previous subject.

"I guess so," I replied warily, the book returning to my bag.

That night I sat blank at the computer, the book resting beside me. Earlier on I had satisfied my cravings and finished it, hungering on the sections with Michael. Now a laborious task presented itself before me. My English assignment. It was a simple task; complete a book review on a chosen novel. Well I had chosen my novel, but still all I had managed was a title.

Maybe a little reading would help me, I decided.

"Did you finish your review?" Jess questioned me the next day.

My eyes were sore from reading late into the night. My body tired with an intense lack of sleep. Sitting for hours re-reading a novel doesn't do much good when you have to go to school the next day.

"I got distracted," I answered truthfully.

She gasped. "Madeleine Jones got distracted, this is a new day, I have to note this down." Opening her diary with a flourish she began to write. "Tenth of the sixth two thousand and ten. Madeleine Jones admits to being distracted instead of doing an assignment."

"Thanks," I muttered.

"Don't mention it. In a thousand years people will look upon this diary and read this. You'll be famous when you're older so this will open up new knowledge about you," she added as a side thought.

"Famous for what?"

"Something big, like the cure for cancer," she declared.

"I hate science," I stated plainly, a monotonous tone in my voice.

"So, just remember me when you're in the spotlight."

"Sure, sure," I causally smoothed.

Determined to finish, I again sat by the computer, the lure of temptation thrust under my pillow.

Once again I read the guideline sheet.

Discuss the role of the characters and the importance they play.

The characters. I whipped out the book, sneaking glances as if I was doing something wrong. Flipping through I came upon the desired page.

Smoothly he walked through the woods, pausing to snip a leaf off a branch. With a swagger he placed the leaf in his pocket, then softly continued on his way.

This part was the defining moment in the book. The lead up to his brilliant feat. So if I focused on this moment, then the rest would come. Wouldn't it.

I continued to read the rest of the page, then once read I read it again. Amongst the words I started to pick up the smaller details. Like the way he always moves with a gallant gait, or his hair always blows to the left, allowing his fringe to whimper. Quickly I found myself immersed in his glory, falling for his unrequited love.

With a flick I snapped out of it. The page still lacking all but a title. I tossed to a different section, attempting to disperse myself into a less interesting section.

His blue eyes surveyed the dropped landscape around him, as his calloused hands enclosed around the sunburnt ring.

Again I broke out of my reverie. My fantasies of him, nothing more than my imagination. But this time, something different. This time, something that enlightened me to him, that made me understand him.

Hurriedly I began to type, desperate to hang onto this sense.

"Put your reviews on my desk as you leave please," my teacher called out as the bell sounded over the school.

I placed mine with a smile on her desk, my one page typed to the bottom.

"You look like you did well," my teacher commented.

"I enjoyed writing it," came my honest reply.

"You actually enjoyed writing it," commented Ira, distaste loaded in her voice.

"I enjoyed having a reason to keep reading the book."

"Well I think I failed," she stated.

"You always do well at English, you'll do fine."

"We'll see," was all she said.

Two weeks later we sat, identical seats housing us. Papers dispersing amongst the room by obedient followers.

I sat with my hands curling around each other, anticipation building up inside me.

"Here you go Madeleine," a sheet was passed to me.

Forcefully I drove my gaze to the red pen at the bottom. 8/15. My heart sank. Slowly I read the comment.

Two much detail.

I felt as though everything I had included was necessary, every little detail meant so much.

"How'd you go?" Ira peered at my page.

"What about you?"

She showed me her sheet. A delicate 13/15 imprinted on the page.

"Don't be too upset," Ira sympathised, "there's other things."

"Yeah," I didn't care about my mark, to me I knew that I had discovered more about the character of Michael.

"Hey, look at that hot new guy over there."

I directed my eyes to her point.

Straight black locks showered his head, sunken blue eyes sung out to all in the vicinity. His rigid height held him tall, his tanned complexion played over him.

He looked at me, moving his delicate blue eyes over my gaze.

Suddenly I realised something. Michael was just a fictional character, nothing more. He was just words on a page. But this, I looked over at the stranger gazing at me, this was real.