Friday. I loved Fridays. Life was actually life during the weekends. My affection for Fridays could only be measured with my strong dislike for the beginning of the week. I fucking hated Mondays. But for the moment the nearest of those dreaded days was over 48 hours away, and the weekend was ahead of me, so no negative thinking allowed. I threw the World History binder (who cared?) and the Pre-Cal book (who the fuck cared?) in my locker and closed it. The sound barely heard in a high school hallway filled with newly liberated people. My best friend Adam pacing beside me, eager to get out, home and away. Adam and school didn't exactly get along either.

"What's up for tonight?" I asked as we were dragged into the current that were going to lead us out through the glass doors. I remembered it was a friend of a friend of Kat's hosting something, but not much more.

"Nicole's. Parents' away, all that shit," Adam said and pulled his bangs, already looking a bit more cheery thinking about the weekend of general debauchery in front of him.

Surrounded by people stumbling into you and constantly stepping on your toes or putting their elbow in you back, it took a while before I noticed that someone beside me was very gently tapping my shoulder. I tried to slow down and almost tripped over my own feet from the force of a hundred people moving forward behind me. A brown-haired girl pulled me by the arm to the side and the more quiet waters by the lockers.

"Hi," she said, and smiled hesitantly, fidgeting with the keychain attached to her bag.

"Um, hi," I mumbled, searching for Adam's black mop in the river of people for a second, but gave up the next. Adam was only 5'5. The girl touched my arm again, there was something with how she did it, like the way you pet a dog when you're unsure if it's going to bite you or not. Looking at her she was pretty in very obvious way. I didn't care much for that kind of prettiness. Also, she was wearing a white polo shirt, a pink cardigan and boot-cut jeans. Which meant one thing. Choir girl, and one of the hard core ones too.

"Matthew O'Neill, right?" she asked, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Pearl studs in her ears. Yeah, total choir girl.

"I am. And you are?" I mumbled, forcing myself to actually look at her and not just turn around and leave, because whatever she wanted I really couldn't be bothered.

"I'm Lisa, Lisa Hargreaves," she said and smiled again, more confident now, when she thought she had my undivided attention. The name rang a bell. A very far away one.

"Ok," I shrugged and crossed my arms. Maybe she went to some class with me. Psychology?

It seemed like she'd been hoping for some other response, because she bit her lip and her eyes flickered away from me. She did look familiar. World History maybe? It had only been two weeks on the new semester.

She took a deep breath. "We have World History together and I've seen you in class and I thought maybe we could do something sometime?" She blurted out the question twirling her hair again. "Are you doing anything this weekend?"

"I am," I said casually, trying to keep me face straight because this was priceless. She was asking me out. Usually wearing a black hoodie and a studded belt meant you kept these people at arm's length or more. Shouldn't she be dating someone like Darren Campbell or Shayne Anderson? Or one of the Bradford's? Or at least a nice guy, like a nicer guy than me? Yeah, I'd heard Trish and Kat and the other girls going on about how hard it was to find a nice guy, blah blah, but really? Was it really that hard to find one?

"Well, next week maybe?" she said brightly, actually persisting! I could hardly hide my surprise and turned to look out over the thinning crowd again.

"Maybe," I nodded half-heartedly. That was meaning no. Never. Not in a million years. Even though she was actually really pretty. But no.

"Ok, great!" She smiled big with relief, and pulled out a folded note from her jeans pocket, held it out. "Here's my number."

"Thanks," I uncrossed my arms and took the offered square of paper from her hand. Now that she thought she'd succeeded she visibly relaxed, but also seemed eager to be done with it, eager to get out, home and away like everybody else.

"Well, have a nice weekend!" She literary beamed at me.

"You too," I nodded, smiling at little at her because poor thing.

She nodded smiling for a final time and turned, heading towards the south entrance, looking quite pleased with herself. Well, that was weird.

Adam was already laughing as I walked up to him. Even though I hadn't seen him, he'd apparently seen the whole thing.

"Didn't know you had such a universal appeal," he punched my arm and we walked out through the north entrance. I had to hold the door open for him. Lazy bastard.

"I feel like assaulted or something, like she even knew my name. Stalker alert." I unfolded the note, it contained her name and cell number written in big loopy handwriting. Pink, glittery handwriting. She even had it written out beforehand. So fucking weird.

"Let me see!" Adam demanded, snatching it from me. "Oh, that's so fucking cute. She's like totally in love with you."

"Yeah." I shrugged, not that I believed him to be right, but whatever.

"So, when're you gonna call her?" He asked teasingly, handing me back the note.

I made a face. "Well, not tonight, that's fucking sure."

I folded the note once, twice, three times as we made our way to Adam's car. I considered throwing it away for a second but then I tucked it into my back pocket. You never know.