After about an hour of staring at the send button Conner made a snap decision and pressed cancel. How exactly did you reply to “Ok, we can try.”? What does that even mean? Should he ask her out? Does she think that he already did? Sometimes girls can be so confusing.

Glancing at the clock he realized that 2 o’clock actually did happen twice a day. He slapped the laptop closed and decided to get some sleep.

Twenty minutes of winkless darkness later, he got back up. What to say? What to do? Why am I asking myself all these questions?

He sat down at his desk and stared at the books that lay in great heaps, some ancient relics passed down throughout the family line, a book on cooking, and a journal. Out of habit he took the journal and flipped it to the last page. Several entries were scrawled out across the sheet, mostly just silly stuff, but then there was the last entry, “Alright, I’m giving Mira the poem today, and whatever she says, I’m going to take it like a man, no hiding in the bathroom, no dodging the subject, and don’t do anything stupid.”

Well, that was a relief, he hadn’t left a single rule unbroken. Maybe he could make up for some lost time.

He opened up his laptop, loaded facebook, and wrote Mira a message, “Sorry for that awkward moment, how about I make it up to you over dinner this friday?”

The blue backlight of the laptop shone in his face as he stared at the message, simple, sweet, basic, it would do the trick. Without thinking twice, he pushed send.



Morning found his face squished to the keys with drool running down his cheek. The alarm blared. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! There was no way to escape, no way to avoid the day’s tribulations. He slammed his fist down on the alarm, hoping that with the end of the noise his troubles would end too, but there was no such luck.

Conner leaned up, stretched out his muscles, and glanced at the clock. his eyes grew wide, “Eight o’clock!” he shouted to himself, “I’m going to be late for scool!” Conner raced time itself now, brushing his teeth, grabbing a pop-tart, and hoping that through some stroke of luck he could make it to school on time.

He blared down the steps and out the door. He had to move faster! He glanced at his watch, 8:10, it was a ten minute bike ride, he could barely make it in time.

Pedals blazed that day, running in the hall was no longer banned, all that mattered was time!

Conner shot thruogh the school doors and blared past the secretary’s office. The door to his first period class was jammed! What to do? What to do? He pulled harder and harder! It wouldn’t budge!

The janitor walked up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. “What on earth areyou doing? I get enough of you trouble makers during the week, now on saturdays too?”

Conner crumpled to the ground, all of that racing for nothing. “Sorry sir,” he apologized, “I’ll be going now.” The janitor glared at him as he went, and after a while returned to his mopping.

He made his way back home, constantly thinking of two things, his stupidity in asking out Mira, and his stupidity in going to school on saturday. Apparently he was just plain stupid, but hey, who said you have to be smart to be lucky?

As Conner pried open his laptop he saw that Facebook was still open, and there was a little 1 above the mail icon, Mira had written him back.