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Valentine’s Day. A day of romance and happiness and a load of couples being lovey-dovey. Of mushy words, the sappy letters, the chocolate boxes and flowers and teddy bears. Probably the sappiest and most disturbing holiday that America or anywhere else could ever possibly celebrate. I usually bear it. If I have a girlfriend on that day, I’d humour her. Buy her all the pathetic little gifts and be lovey-dovey, just like everyone else, because if I didn’t, it was a problem. If I didn’t, I didn’t love her enough or at all, or I was cheating on her and bought that stuff for the other girl. Or something else would come up that would inevitably end in a break-up.
I’d never been one to do much on Valentine’s Day. No slipping notes into a bag or locker or desk. I didn’t confess to girls, or ask them out. I was usually the one to get that kind of stuff. I’d be confessed to. I’d get the letters of admiration, or whatever you call them. I often ended up dating one of them. I didn’t really like being with someone on Valentine’s Day, though. It was annoying to have to buy all this ridiculous stuff to just keep your girlfriend happy. I think that I was only with someone three times before this year. Once in fifth grade, once in seventh, and then once in my freshman year.
If you’d told me last year that I’d be reduced down to slipping a poem into the locker of my crush as a junior, I would have laughed at you. But that was exactly what I was doing.
I felt stupid and awkward as I sat on the bus, fingering the small slip of paper that I clutched like it was my lifeline. I was being a girl, or that’s what it felt like, anyway. There was even a box of assorted chocolates in my backpack. I was well aware of the folded-up sheet of paper that burned a hole in my front jeans pocket with its presence, a poem written on it in my clumsy scrawl. The tiny bit of paper in my hands, a small strip no longer than three inches, was crumpled and creased. I unfolded it and looked over the written numbers for the eighth time this morning.
560.
Written in the curly handwriting of a good friend, the numbers almost resembled calligraphy. The second line had both a number and a note.
12-27-6 Good luck! 
–Minxymoo
I smiled every time I read that. Michelle, who everyone called Minx, was very supportive of my plan. I mean, she’d gotten the locker number and the combination for me. But the note made me nervous, too. The bus pulled to a stop outside the school and I sucked in a breath as I stood, letting everyone else file past me before stepping into the line, the last to get off. I crumpled the paper in my hand, not caring if it would get wet in my sweaty palm; I’d memorized it already, anyway.
The moment my feet touched the ground, an arm went around my shoulders, and I smiled as I looked to the person beside me. It was Minx, as I expected, her purple highlighted hair pulled up in a high ponytail today.
“Ready for today?” she asked, her British accent thick in her words. I gave an exaggerated sigh.
“Not really,” I replied truthfully. “But it’s now or ever, right?” She nodded at me, squeezing my shoulder reassuringly.
“You’ll be fine,” she said. “Well, I gotta run. I’ve got a present for Kristen, and I can’t let her open her locker before I put it in there. Good luck!” She darted into the building then, and I smiled at her enthusiasm. After a steadying breath, I walked into the school as well. I had five minutes. I could do it. Just go up to his locker, put the things in, and walk away.
Oh, by the way, my crush was a guy. Steven Viking, to be exact. He was super shy, adorable to no end, and overall amazing. He and I had been best friends for years, but it wasn’t until last year that I’d realized my feelings. It had been a total shock to realize that I was attracted to guys the same way and just as much as I was to girls. After that wore off, though, it got a whole lot harder to stop thinking about it. When I told Minx at the beginning of this school year, along with Galm and Smarty, they were all glad I’d finally come to terms with it. Apparently, I’d been more than obvious about it.
In any case, all of them had been pushing for me to confess since then, always assuring me that everything would go well. But I was unable to bring myself to do it. I was afraid that by confessing, if he didn’t feel the same, I’d lose friend. And in all honesty, being friend-zoned was a whole lot more enticing than losing the friendship altogether. But then, yesterday after school, all three of them came over to my house. Minx shoved the paper with the numbers in my hand. Galm threw the box of chocolates on my bed, and Smarty put the poem on top of it. They told me that I didn’t have a better chance than tomorrow, the sappiest holiday ever. After I thanked them, almost in tears, they left after making me promise to go through with the plan. I stared at the numbers from Minx. I read and reread the poem, one that I’d written for English class last year. I’d given it to Smarty last year so he could use it on his own crush, but that didn’t happen. She rejected him before he could even read it, and then he spent the entire dy at Galm’s side.
So, of course, I didn’t really have any way to back out. I wasn’t one to break promises, and not only had I promised my friends, but also myself, that I would do it.
I walked through the halls, searching for Steven’s locker. Well, not searching. I knew where it was. We talked at his locker al the time. I found it easily, one of the top lockers near his first class, which we shared. I stood in front of it, biting my lip. I took three breaths, closing my eyes as I reached up and fiddled with the lock. I opened my eyes after a second and put in the combo. Twelve. Twenty-seven. Six. Pull.
It didn’t work.
I frowned. Why didn’t it work? I looked down at the slip of paper again, going over the numbers. I tried again, but once again, it didn’t work. I groaned. Did Minx seriously give me the wrong combination? I gave it a third try and then rested my head on the locker with a sigh.
“Anthony?” a voice said to my left, and I looked over, surprised. Adam, another friend of mine, was watching me with a shocked expression. “What are you…?” His eyes drifted to the chocolate box I held in my hand. I looked back at the locker.
562.
Oh, God. I’d been trying to open the wrong fucking locker! I turned to Adam.
“Uh, well,” I began, “see…I was just…” I heard someone behind me drop something on the floor with a loud bang. I looked behind me and my heart dropped. Steven was there, looking beyond crushed. His two textbooks were on the floor, along with…a box of chocolates? It wasn’t the box that surprised me; it was my name written on the tag of it.
“Steven, I—wait!” I exclaimed, but he was already running down the hall. I sighed, running a hand through my hair.
“I figured you were being stupid,” Adam said from behind me, causing me to turn to face him. “You got the wrong locker.” He said it as a statement, and I nodded in confirmation, surprised. “Minx said you were finally going to tell him.” I groaned, Not only did Minx not keep the secret – which I should have, and honestly had, expected – but I was way more obvious than I had assumed.
“Yeah, well now I won’t get the chance,” I said gloomily. “He thinks I was confessing to you.” Adam grinned, picking up Steven’s things.
“Leave it to me, my friend,” he said mischievously. “I’ll fix it for you.” And then he walked down the hall; in the same direction Steven had gone.
//--//--//--//--//--//
Steven wouldn’t even look at me. All day, he was silent, and if we ever caught each other’s gaze, he would turn away and wouldn’t look at me after that. I couldn’t bring myself to confront him about it, so I was really banking on Adam pulling through. Usually, I wouldn’t trust him, but I was sure he knew how important Steven was to me, and I figured he’d stay true to his word.
By lunch, my faith in him was almost nonexistent. I sat down at a table with a huff, and I glared at Adam as he sat beside me. I opened my mouth to speak, but he stopped me.
“Before you say anything, I’m sorry it look so long,” he said. “I had to…uh…do something.” He blushed lightly and I had quite a feeling I knew what he was busy doing. “As for Steven, go to room two-sixteen. Don’t ask, just go. And get there first.” I didn’t question him. I stood up and hurried out of the cafeteria, making up the excuse of going to the bathroom to the teacher watching. The moment I rounded the corner, I sprinted to the room Adam had said. I was glad I’d kept the poem. I’d given the box of chocolates to Adam, because he’d forgotten to get something for his own crush, which I presumed had something to do with why he was busy. Within a minute, I made it to the classroom, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Steven wasn’t inside. I stepped into the empty room, noticing all of the desks were pushed up against the walls, except for one. It sat in the middle of the room, a box – no, Steven’s box – of chocolates resting on it. I moved over to it and picked it up, reading the tag. I opened it and a heart-shaped piece of paper rested on top of the chocolates, likely done to match the shape of the box to allow for a better fit. My eyes scanned over Steven’s handwriting, and my heart began to race. I heard the door open behind me, and I turned to see Steven, who looked shocked when he spotted me, the door drifting shut behind me.
“Anthony…?” he said. His eyes traveled to the box in my hand, and he took a step back.
“Wait, Steven,” I said quickly, stopping him mid-step. I pulled out the poem. Within seconds, I was in front of him, holding out the poem I’d written, my hand shaking, clutching the box in my other hand tightly. “Read it. Please.” My voice was quiet, and Steven took the paper hesitantly. I stared down at my feet. There was silence for a few moments. Then--
“Anthony,” Steven said quietly. I didn’t speak, worry filling my heart. “Anthony, look at me.” I swallowed and looked up, and before I could say anything, he pressed his lips firmly to mine. They were soft and warm, and I felt myself relax immediately, snaking my arms around his waist as I kissed him back, pulling him closer. His arms wrapped around my neck, and he hummed into the kiss, making me smile. After a moment, he pulled away.
“You were looking for my locker, before,” he said, and I chuckled lightly.
“Yeah,” I said. “But I kept trying to open Adam’s instead. I’m an idiot, huh?” Steven smiled sweetly.
“Yeah,” he agreed, “but you’re my idiot.” And he brought our lips together once more, making the rest of Valentine’s Day fade away into a memory of many, many kisses.