-Shiloh POV

He was one of those social, friendly people. I, on the other hand, had panic attacks just thinking about someone talking to me.

Most of the time, there was at least one person talking to him. I had at least one book with me at all times.

He wasn't Mr. Popular, but everyone knew him or knew of him. Most people didn't even know my name, Shiloh. Everyone knew his name, Andrew. A nice name. A friendly name. While everyone knew who Andrew was, Andrew didn't know all those people. He knew quite a few people, but not all of them. Not me.

He was going to know me. I was going to be Shiloh not Shy. With the letter in my hand, I pushed through the wall of teenagers.

This new found bit of courage came from the knowledge I had nothing to lose. Andrew wouldn't know my name or maybe he would. I hadn't decided whether I should put my name down. Also, I was moving to France. Because of my father's job, we moved every three years without fail. We would be taking the plane tomorrow. If by some strange luck Andrew found my last name and where I lived, he was seventeen and with little money. Even if he did find me what would he do?

He won't find me. That's the point of this letter. Andrew will know my feelings for him and maybe my first name.

He was the perfect boy to write a letter to. He was too sweet to make fun of my letter. That was just Andrew. Always being nice to everyone. Sickening really, because he tolerated everyone and I knew he didn't like a bundle of them.

When Andrew came into view, I decided to write my name. I think it was the way he threw his head as somebody told something that Andrew found funny. I knew Andrew. No one else knew him like I did. He deserved to know who knew him so well.

Andrew and his friends were in a small circle with a thin barrier of air between them and the traffic. I kept my head slightly down and made my way towards him. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught me and watched discreetly. I gave him my last small smile, the one reserved just for him. I moved closer towards him and carefully planted the letter in the left back pocket of his favorite pair of jeans.

I promised myself no matter how much I wanted to I would not look back. I kept that promise as I immersed myself and got lost in the crowd.

- Andrew POV

I've seen her before. I know I have.

When I'm alone, I will look at the note. If I don't, the guys will take it and read it aloud, embarrassing me and the girl. I don't want that to happen. From the way she looked at me and gave me the note, it's means a lot to her. It's going to mean a lot to me.

I listen to Buzz tell his story about 'banging' (his words not mine) his cousin by accident. I laugh along with everyone else, but my mind is on the letter in my back pocket.

I excuse myself from the group after Buzz is done and go sit under my favorite tree.

I take the note out from my back pocket. I unfold it and read:

Dear Andrew,

Now you don't know me. Though you could have seen me throw one of my 'just for you' small smiles any time. What I've found from watching you is that no one knows you like I do. I know that must sound creepy but it's true.

Andrew, you are nice or at least tolerate everyone. Everyone thinks you're their friend, but that's not true, is it? No one sees that far off look in your eyes when they talk to you. You somehow still manage to keep up with the conversation but you're not there.

You don't have any real friends do you, Andrew? That's okay if you don't. I don't have any either. In fact, no one, I repeat no one, notices me.

The thing is, you can actually talk to people but I am petrified when I talk to someone.

I could have pulled you aside and told you I like you if I was normal. But I can't. I didn't.

This letter isn't about that. It's about letting someone (you) know how I feel about something (you again).

You could have figured out that I am socially retarded when you talked to me last year. You said exactly ten words to me; I highly doubt you remember it.

I was reading a book in the courtyard during lunch alone when you sat down across from me. You waited patiently for me to give you some attention. You didn't notice me glance at you when you sat down.

You cleared your throat and said, "Hi, I'm Andrew."

I pulled my book down so you and I could make eye contact. We did and I pulled my book back up.

I wanted to say, 'I know your name, but you don't know mine. Am I right?' That was lodged in my throat, unwilling to come out.

"Are you scared to talk to me?" You asked after my silence.

"I'm petrified of talking to people." I managed to choke out before some jock stole your attention.

Ten words and I don't regret saying what I said because some actually heard the most important thing about me.

I'm almost out of paper.

Andrew, I really like you. And I know that I know you better than anyone else in this school.

All they see is an All-American boy and his popularity.

I took the time to notice that you cock your head to the right and lean your weight on your left leg. You cross your arms over your chest when your actually listening to someone. I noticed you muttered Beatles songs under your breathe when you're nervous, anxious, or bored. They're mainly 'I've Just Seen a Face', 'Hey Jude', and 'Across the Universe'. You dislike Converse, Vans, and any other skating shoe; preferring running shoes over everything else. When a girl comes up to you, the first you do is glance at her chest and never again. You like poetry, Andrew. Robert Frost is your favorite.

Had anyone else told you these things? Has anyone noticed you like I have? I bet not. That is what I wanted to say.

You won't find me.



- Three months later, Shiloh POV

The stupid phone rings, awakening me from my reading stupor.

"Bonjour, Jones' r├ęsidence. Qui r├ęclamez-vous? Hello, Jones' residence. Who are you looking for?" I say it in both French and English just in case. English has just a little more teenage-I-don't-really-care attitude.

"Um, hi, can I please speak with Shiloh?"

"That's me, but who are you?" I'm not very good with manners. I've gotten over my fear of talking to people. I, also, got a snarky attitude to go with my new skill.

"Shiloh," He sighs, sounding relieved. "It's me, Andrew, the boy you wrote a letter to three months ago."

A very long pause.

"I don't know an Andrew or anything about writing a boy a letter three months ago. I'm sorry you must have the wrong number." Click, the line goes dead.

A/N: I suggest listening to If They Only Knew by A Rocket To The Moon cause I think it goes with the story.

Now, I could have added the last few lines that is my ending to the story. But I won't because it's much more fun to speculate and come up with your own answer.

Is it any better than the other Small Smiles?