"Rick? What did you get for Number 6?"
Sleet outside the window.
Ugly, glarey fluorescent lights overhead.
Hard old wooden desk, worn smooth with
a generation of writing hands
and restless butts.
Math class is in session.
And it's life without parole.
Outside, it's winter.
The ugliest of all God's weather.
Looking down at my desk, partly covered
by my homework, which is full of aimless
scribbles, and my algebra book, which looks
brand-new and unopened.
Around and between them, you can see pieces
of the graffitti decorating my prison:
ichelle blows 4 fre Rand lov recalc SUX! Jenn John 3:1
Michelle blows for free, huh?
Like it matters to me.
How come you never see
"Michael blows for free" on a desk?
I wish I could make myself invisible.
I'd be on that sidewalk out there.
Sleet or no sleet.
I'd be down the walk, to the parking lot,
and past that, to the main road, and to freedom.
Dream on, Danny.
No one's moving out there,
not on a lousy day like this.
And it's a thousand years till the bell rings.
Hey, something's moving out there.
Something round and black against the gray.
And it's getting closer.
Oh. It's an umbrella.
Somebody's walking out there.
Geez, who would walk around on a day like this?
Looks like a kid. Well, a teenager.
He's getting closer. Can't see his face...
Poor kid's getting soaked. Look at his Levis.
I guess he has to be going somewhere important.
Wonder if I know him?
Move that umbrella, kid.
I wanna see if you're somebody I --
Oh my God.
Star. No. Supernova.
Ball of flame inside me.
Soundless avatar, in the middle of
I'm transfixed, I'm dying.
Boystruck. Strike me dead on the spot.
Stab of fear.
He called on me.
Twenty kids. And he called on me.
"Ahh... no. Nothing."
Number 14? Yes, Mr. Deering.
I can tell you the answer to Number 14.
Number 14 is that boy out there.
The one who's around 14 years old.
Number 14 is that boy, the boy with the wet Levis,
and the yellow-blond hair,
and the halo,
that corona of brilliant white light
the one that reaches a hundred thousand miles
into the sky.
He's 14, he's perfect.
He came to save me on this lousy,
when it's a thousand years till the bell,
and nothing matters more than being a boy
who likes boys
and who wouldn't trade places with a boy
who likes girls
That's what Number 14 is all about,
He's past the window now. I can't look.
But I feel his heat touching me...
and I feel it slowly ebbing, as he walks on.
He's going down the sidewalk,
out of sight.
I can't look.
But I can tell.
Vanished into the gray afternoon.
No. No, I didn't.
Last night, during homework time,
when my mom thought I was studying,
I was looking out the window of my bedroom,
the same way I was looking outside just now,
and wishing for an angel to come to me.
And now he's come.
And he's gone.
And you made me miss him.
"Um... no. I didn't read it."
I feel old.