Thanks to everyone who supported me the first time I tried this story. I've made a few changes, added some things. I know it seems amateur, especially in the first few chapters but I'm using this story as a challenge to myself. I want to make my characters more 3D, so I'd love any suggestions or constructive criticism you have. Enjoy!

Chapter One: The Letter

The first time one appeared in my locker, I was pretty surprised. I mean, wouldn't you have been if a slightly wilted red rose appeared in your band locker, the stem just barely peeking out through the bars of the door and the bud of the flower and a nondescript envelope with your name scrawled across the front each lying beside your beat-up flute case. Needless to say, I was pretty suspicious. I'm not exactly a knockout, in middle school people had even used me the as the brunt of their dares and jokes, each seeing if they could keep a straight face while asking me out. Some even tried to see if I would say yes, damn I hate guys. Anyways, right now the flower is more important than some childish pranks.

I opened my locker and pulled out the rose, ignoring the letter for now. The tips of each petal were curled up and slightly dead looking, poor flower. It looked like someone had kept it a week before putting it in my locker. Despite what most girls liked, I loved it when the flower was dying. I have this theory that a dying flower is like love, there's a chance it dies and soon people forget about its radiance or it can regain its life and the flower be twice as beautiful as before. Unfortunately, this is where my cynicism comes in and I say that the dying usually wins. It's true though! Lost in my current thoughts, I nearly screamed when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning, I found Mitchell Greensling staring intently at my flower.

"Whose it from?" I know I haven't mentioned it before but Mitchell only talks when he absolutely needs to. We sort of have a friendship going, if that's what you want to call it. Mitchell is one of those quiet types who are automatically considered a 'nice little Christian boy', and I've happened to have liked him since the second semester of freshman year.

"I, uh, don't know." I remember when it happened too. One of my friends had liked him at the time and wanted to know more about him. Since I was the only freshman to have a class with him besides band, I was nominated. So I walked up to him in Spanish II, told him I was using his personality in a story I was writing and I'm going to ask him random questions whenever I wanted and it was up to him to answer or not.

"How do you not know? Was it your boyfriend?" I fell for him when he told me it was his right to answer or not and he'd appreciate if I only asked him questions in Spanish or the days we saw each other at lunch. He said he didn't want the band kids bothering us. Sure, it might not sound like a lot to you guys, but for me, a guy was stating his position and giving me boundaries. Not that I'd kept them, of course. He'd also asked to read the story when I was finished. Well, I'd written the story and it was a favorite among the band kids. No one knew that the girl in the story was me. Not my friend.

"I don't have a boyfriend. There was a letter though; you think it might have the guy's name?" Did I mention how awesome he looks? He's not movie star handsome or Olympic god handsome, he's the 'good little Christian boy' handsome or the boy down the street handsome. He's not an airhead and he loves to have deep thoughts. His hair is just passed his ears and a delightful array of every brown in the world. His eyes are beautifully brown, like hot chocolate. Is body isn't fat but he definitely isn't chiseled, like he has a slight delightful pudginess that makes him huggable.

"It might. Let's look." Mitchell grabbed the envelope and tore the side off and slipped out the letter. It looked like it had been typed and the bottom with a messy signature.

Mitchell cleared his voice and began to read, "Dear Synthea, I know that you will probably figure out who I am before I am ready to reveal myself, you are very smart after all. I've watched you since your first week here at high school. From the beginning I knew you would prove to be too smart for me to ever call my own."

With a small snort I glared at Mitchell, "I am no one's property!" Mitchell waved his hand vaguely.

"Let me finish. Where was I? Oh here, I realize that you belong to no one but yourself, but my mind still calls you mine. Knowing you, you probably threw this letter away after reading that. That's one of the things I love about you. The strong opinions you have about important things like women's lib, literature, and religion. I love how you're not afraid to be Pagan even when others call you a Satanist; I also love how you defend both religions. That's not all I love about you though. I love how you complain about your weight when all your friends agree that while you are larger than most girls in this school your self-confidence overshadows that. Not to mention that your wits, brain, and love of a good laugh help the overshadowing as well." Mitchell looked up from the paper to stare at me, "That's true, you know. No one notices your weight when they're to busy laughing at the jokes you say or listening to all the random facts you read about. I'm liking this guy more already." I blushed a little and looked around in surprise as I noticed that others had gathered around to listen, nodding their heads as well. Mitchell smiled a little half smile and took a breath to continue.

"I know it sounds like I only notice the great things about you, but I also know your faults as well. I know that you're scared to open up to people so you create this fake persona and once they become real friends you let the act slip a little and only show your true color to three people, the only three people you trust entirely. Though you'd kill for all your friends, only those three know of your past down to the last detail. Anyways, I wanted to keep this down to less than two pages so I'll end here. I'll send you another letter soon, maybe you'll even feel compelled to write back. Don't worry it won't be this long next time. Not this time though."

Mitchell paused to decipher the signature then started laughing. I snatched the paper from his hands and at the urgings of the mildly large crowd, I read aloud.

"Yours truly, blank. Blank? Who the hell would sign blank!? Can you even sign blank? Why didn't he put 'Secret Admirer' or 'Unknown Lover'!? Why Blank?" I stared at the note as the crowd murmured about the strange signature.