Unaware of his newly-acquired tapping disorder, Greg looks over his shoulder and stares into the rainy, oppresive, shadowed day, the coulds ripping and plummeting light rain and blazing sun simultaeously as if to show his different feelings, his heart shredding and falling into ribbons inside his chest, the clinking of his pencil against the metal rings holding his Math binder together reverberating off Mrs. Schwitzer's decrepit eardums. The small yet brawny, old woman slammed the chalk down onto her tidy desk and turned thoroughly annoyed to a distratced Greg, her snow white eyebrows hovering over her beady morbid blue eyes.

"Mr. Raposo," Mrs. Schwitzer bellowed at him, her lungs wheezing from reprocussions of habitual smoking, her flaming eyes boring into him as he lethargically pivoted his attention back to her, every one else in 8th period Calculus staring back at him with a hint of curiousity and concern. "Is there a reason that you insist on disrupting my class? Or has Senior-itis already kicked in?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Schwitzer," Greg apologiesed softly, praying nothing else would go wrong for him when he was in this vulnerable state of crying.

As brash as Mrs. Schwitzer was, she had a 6th sense about her students, a sympathetic feeling of when something was bothering them. Her eyes crinkled like paper behind wrinkles and thick, white-rimmed glasses, Greg peering up at her with eyes that ached with hurt, eyes that made Mrs. Schwitzer's heart ache with pity. "Why don't you take a walk to Mr. Dodge's office, Greg," Mrs. Schwitzer suggested, maybe a talk with the guidance counselor would do him some good.

Greg nodded appreciatively and scooped his red binder into his blue JanSport backpack. Throwing his backpack over his shoulder nonchalantly, he gave his classmates one last ponderous look before pacing out the door into the desolate hallway, bluish mist floating over his feet as he headed down the hall postered with light blue lockers, his head thrusted toward the floor as if carefully watching every step, his insides churning with every thought bouncing from the walls of his brain.

Walking briskly past Mr. Dodge's room, the door closed, signaling a session was in progress, he decided to ditch the rest of his last period of the day to think. He couldn't think in school.

He decided to make a left and head down a small flight of woodened stairs to his school's courtyard, a wide space of fresh air between tests and erasers encompassed by 4 outer walls of learning, a few circular marble tables and benches surrounded by a small forest of lovely roses, fierocuous tiger lilies, and sunny buttercups, all cloaked in green suit. Chucking his backpack atop the table, he plopped down on the marble bench, the bench stinging his butt like tenticles of jellyfish as he drove his fingers through his short crop, an exhaled breath of exaustion pushing his body toward the table top like a giant hand, his body going through unfavorable withdrawal from the lack of Jessa in his life as if she was a drug, addictive yet volatile.

Angry, he was, furious, he was, but lonely and regretful, he was, too. Fiddling with the straps on his backpacks, his eyes diverted to a white rose standing strong in a pile of red roses, the white rose bending down towards him as if praising him. He leaned over and plucked it carefully from its friends, his hand pensively stroking its velvety coat. He placed it cautiously in a mesh pocket in his backpack.

Normally, a guy would be more angry than hurt, testifying young love was for saps and that one sweet word caught him off-guard and left him humiliated. Greg didn't feel like that. He felt as if he was sinking deeper and deeper towards the ocean's bottom, a huge anvil of betrayal and remorse strapped to his ankles, helping him quickly reach the bottom of his emotional downfall. He spent a few days being angry, a few days being macho to keep his tears locked inside his heart, taking pictures, his bracelete he received from Jessa, and once cherished memories and stuffing them in a worn shoebox to be shoved into the back of his closet and mind until he could figure out what to do with his life and shattered heart. But soon after he banished the memories from his mind, little innuendos began to intertwine into his life that reminded him of Jessa and his undying devotion toward her, the sweet scent of oranges wafting mysteriously in the breeze, the crafty, lustful smiles plastered on girls' faces as he past them in the hallway, the girls thinking they'd be his next heartmender, Greg thinking they would be his next heartbreaker.

'You were nothing to her,' his brain was drilling him all that miserable, cold week like he was in military school, 'She used you. You were nothing but a piece in her game.' He began to question his brain, his heart burning like hot coals with a real answer. If he was nothing to her, why did she buy him a silver token of her affection? Why did she tell him she loved him, even after she was released of the pressure Greg selfishly forced upon her? Both of those things are pricey and munificent, not affordable to all the masses. They're only affordable to those who are real, those who are true, those who truly love.

'Wow,' his heart's weak, puny voice grappled with all its stenght to be heard through the depression his brain laid upon him, 'You've done more rational thinking in these past few minutes than you have all week. Listening to your heart is the only way to discover the truth.'

But there was still much thinking to be done. He wasn't sure, that is, his heart wasn't sure if he was brave enough, strong enough to hop right back into the pool of love with Jessa holding his hand as he took the plunge, his flimsy barriers of self-control barely significant protection from harsh math teachers. Love was a fickle thing like a light switch, one little lie, one tiny misconception could throw the whole intricate circuitry out of wack, sometimes never to be correctly rewired, leaving one or both parties alone and cold without light to guide their way.

The closing bell blared outside an open classroom window, signafying it was time to leave. Greg grabbed his backpack with his hands and used a small, darkened walkway to direct himself back to the school's parking lot, sparatic teenagers busting appreciatively from gray doors with chats of practice and the lastest movies, Greg's bag slipping like butter from his hands as he peered at his car astonished, approaching it carefully as if it would explode at any moment.

His pride and joy, his sleek black Lexus given to him as a birthday present last year was ravaged with white and pink toilet paper, wrapped up as if to mummify its transcient beauty, adorned with girly colors like it was the creation of an excited child. His eyes dialated as he walked closer, other students gawking at his car curiously as they walked in a slower, distracted pace towards their rides. His hands grazed the toilet paper as if metal chains were wrapped and scratching his car, little pink notes scribbled with red ink words like "July 4th", "Star Boxers", and "Time tells everything" were posted in between sheets of toilet paper, Greg's spirit easing with the realization of whose doing this was. Photos from their exhilirating summer were lined on the windshield like tiles on a floor, each a small window traveling back to the past. A few white and red bows decored the car even further, two on the windshield as if they were starry eyes. He crept around to the windows, the passanger's windows enscribed in red lipstick with "I'M AN IDIOT" and "IT WAS WRONG". Totally blown away by this gesture, messy gesture, he sprinted to the other side with an amused, smitten smile, a strange mixture of excitement and surprise surging in his veins, the last two windows saying "WE ARE FATE" and "I LOVE YOU".

A hand fluttered on his shoulder like the delicate wings of a butterfly, a familiar electricity forcing Greg to slowly turn to Jessa, Jessa gazing up at him with a blank face, tears already infiltrating her green eyes, Greg backing away as if defending his heart. Static air crackled between them, Jessa staring unassured into the asphalt, her jean jacket stiff in the wind, her light blue pajama pants wringing like a wash cloth through the silence and racing air. She look, simple and brashly put, pathetic and Greg felt awful for her and himself. But he couldn't say he was at fault because he wasn't. Their future was all up to her.

"You did this?" Greg asked evenly as if he didn't know the answer already, motioning to the car with his hand.

"Yeah," Jessa replied somberly, secretly rolling her eyes as her jean jacket wiped over her face, her face deflowered by pimples Greg was giving her, "I didn't know how to get your attention. I called."

"A few times," Greg returned coldly, resentment overtaking his love for her like a tidal wave of tar, crossing his arms boldly in front of him.

"More like a few hundred," Jessa differed in a soft voice, fondling with the cuffs of her jacket, ashamed and embarassed at her summer's evil intention.

"Well..." Greg began, her eyes lifting to his, his thoughts trailing off by her gaze, those once austere, electric green eyes now watered down by the gamble of giving into love and loosing, "What do you want?"

Jessa blinked rapidly at the question, the corner of her mouth dropping with dissapointment, "If you have to ask that, then you definately forgot what we have."

"Don't you mean, had?" Greg corrected her, spite lashing through his tone, slapping a serious look onto his warbly face, Greg building a strong dam to try to block any sympathy from expression.

Jessa took a step closer, her eyes, squinting into taunt slits, trying to decipher the conflicting thoughts between Greg's brain and heart bumping together. As if hypnotized, she raised her index finger and touched the corner of his eye gently, his flinching agreeing with her suspicions, that he did still feel. "You can't lie to me, Greg," Jessa whispered to him with an inappropriate snicker, a flash of her personaity exhibited during the summer clouding Greg's eyes, authority weighing down her already deep voice, her eyes twinkling with hope.

"I can't?" Greg responded with curiosity, his eyes grappled by the magnetisim rekindling between them.

"I can see it in your eyes," Jessa informed him, cocking her head and smiling as if something humorous laid on his lashes, "The windows to the soul. You miss me. You love me. But not as nearly as I miss you and love you, no way, impossible." The world was trembling out of focus for Greg like a higher power was shielding all unnecessary distractions from his decisions, Jessa pleading silently to him, begging him to take her back under the comfort of his wing. She was nothing without Greg, Greg like a coach encouraging her to go on in her dismal life and Greg didn't even know it. Jessa was poised to wrap her hands around his neck, dig her fingernails into moist flesh, and squeeze a reply out of his choked-up heart, a heart tangled with confusion. He was playing mind games with her, teasing her, drilling her deep into suspense. "Stop being so proud!" Jessa demanded angrily, stamping her foot as the last shred of patience ticked away like the seconds, her ponytail launching over her right shoulder as she bored furiously into his shocked eyes, her eyeballs ready to crackle and sizzle into non-exsistence. "Greg!"

Like a Casanova, Greg swepted her in his arms, his arms molding perfectly against her warm body, his arms clinging onto her like she was a doll, their heartbeats syncronizing with unity, forming a sedative beat, Jessa burying her face thankfully in the shoulder of his orange muscle shirt, Greg feeling silent cries and moisture dripping into his skin, but he didn't want to spoil the moment. He never felt more complete in his life, Jessa the missing piece in his complicated puzzle of happiness and serendipity. The wind cloaked them even closer together, drying the glue that would forever bind them together.

"You know," Greg began, his voice muffled against the sweet skin of Jessa's neck as Jessa backed off, skimming her hands joyously over her tears, Greg enveloping an arm around her waist as he flicked a tear staining her cheek away from any kissable place with the opposite hand's thumb, an austere smile revealing brilliant white teeth. He reached blindly down to his backpack and plucked a white rose for Jessa, handing it to her gently, "You never did say you were sorry."

Jessa lightly punched him in the shoulder for that stupid comment, brushing the silkened petals against her left cheek, Greg knowing very well she was sorry through the strenght with which she clung onto him as if her life depended on it, Greg briefly sticking out his tounge as Jessa seized him in a sensual kiss, her fingers lingering by his cheek, the dark clouds vanishing and leaving nothing but sun to rain down on them...for now.