I am the person at school that you choose not to see. I am the girl that sits behind you in English class that never says a word. My words, though written, touch your heart. And while you may not realize who wrote them, you feel like you know me quite well. And all I want is for you to notice me. To recognize that I am speaking to you when I write. Just to you and no one else. Wake up and see me. See me for who I am and who I want to be. Who I want to be is the person I might become when I am with you. For I love you. I have watched the funny way you stamp your foot when you sing in a concert. I have watched you grow your blond hair long, only to cut it off again. I have watched your blue eyes fill with tears when you speak of your dead grandmother, and sparkle when you sing of new love. You give me hope. I long to be in your arms. Notice me, please, notice me. So I don’t feel so invisible anymore.
Lyssa clicked on the save button and saved her latest journal entry. Then she closed her computer down. She stood up and stretched, yawning. It was almost midnight. She slid into her bed and turned off the lamp on her night stand. She drifted off into dream land as she fell asleep.
Taylor Hanson walked confidently into the front lobby of Union High School. It was Monday again, unfortunately. He was suddenly surrounded by hordes of girls, pulling at his letterman jacket. Lyssa Matthews watched him from a bench outside the office. He was so gorgeous. Not to mention popular. But that was only because he was a celebrity. And one of the nicest guys at Union.
Taylor Hanson had once been a member of the band Hanson. He and his brothers had formed it when they were younger. About a year ago, they had split up, because Isaac had wanted to go to college. They still made records, and toured during breaks and summer vacation, but they had started going to regular school. Supposedly, their dad had been forced to go back to work, to pay for Isaac’s college tuition. And their mom had seen no sense in home schooling them anymore, so she sent all of the Hanson kids back to public school. Taylor was on the football team, the field goal kicker. He was really good at it, too. He wasn’t little mister preppie, either. He was more grunge. Everyone seemed to love him. Not just the girls. He was well liked by most of the guys at school. And the teachers. He was a good student, and ahead of most of his class as far as credits and courses went.
Lyssa stood up and walked off. She always felt like such a love sick puppy dog. Even if she wasn’t, entirely. At least she didn’t follow him around like most of the girls in school did. No one really even knew how she felt about him. She had friends, of course. They were a tight-knit group, Lyssa, Marissa, Mike, Jason, and Altamira. They all knew how Lyssa felt about Taylor, but that was about it. Most of the time she felt pretty invisible. Marissa Dean and Altamira Phillips were Lyssa’s best friends. So were Mike Williams and Jason Bates, but they were guys. They were also two of Taylor’s closest friends. That was how she knew Taylor liked her writing.
Maike Andrews sat down next to Lyssa in her sixth hour English class. Maike was known as the school slut, supposedly. It was rare for her to make an appearance in English class. In any class, for that matter.
“Hey, Lyssa,” Maike said. She took her leather jacket off to reveal a thin see through dress. Maike was probably the most audacious person Lyssa had ever met. She wasn’t afraid of anything, and least of all what people thought of her. “How’s it going?”
“Good, I guess. I’m just a little restless, that’s all,” Lyssa said.
“I know the feeling. You just need a little change is all,” Maike said.
“No, what I need is him,” Lyssa said in a whisper, as Taylor walked in the room. Maike began to snicker softly. “What? It’s not funny!”
“Yes, it is!” Maike exclaimed. “He’d never notice you in a million years! Not even if you stood on your head and sang Christmas songs backwards at the same time!”
“Oh, gee, thanks. It’s nice to know that you have so much faith in me!” Lyssa said. Taylor came and sat down in the chair in front of Lyssa.
“Well, you always say you feel like you’re invisible. So why would he notice an invisible girl?” Maike said. “But I do have a question.”
“What?” Lyssa said, distracted. She was staring at the back of Taylor’s head.
“Are you the one that keeps writing all that love poetry? I mean, it’s really obvious that it’s about him, but it never occurred to me that you wrote it,” Maike said.
“Yeppers! I wrote them! Now hush! I don’t want him to know!” Lyssa hissed. Maike began to snicker again. The teacher walked into the room. His name was Mr. Secalla, and he was the gayest man that Lyssa had ever seen. He wore a toupe and walked sort of prissy, prancing everywhere he went. He was nice enough, but he kind of freaked everyone out.
“Good morrow, class,” Mr. Secalla said. “How are you all?” He sat down in his chair, causing a loud farting noise. The entire class erupted into a fit of giggles. He stood up again and pulled something out from underneath him. “Okay, who put the whoopee cushion in my chair again?” He looked around the room. “Alright, since no one wants to confess to it . . . everyone has to read their own poem aloud today. So we can find out who’s been writing what, and put an end to all of the mystery.” Everyone groaned loudly. “Who wants to go first? Ms. Matthews?” Lyssa slid down in her seat. “Yes, Miss Matthews. You may go.” Lyssa pulled her poem out of her binder. She stood up and began to walk to the front of the room.
“Good luck, Lyssa!” she heard Maike say, laughing lightly. That alone caused her to turn red as it was. But what she was about to read made her turn redder.
“My poem . . . ,” she started out weakly. “My poem is titled ‘Maybe Tomorrow’.” She took a deep breath and began.
“Maybe tomorrow
Maybe we’ll find a way somehow.
To keep this love of ours together.
Even if it is just for now.
Maybe tomorrow.
Maybe we’ll find our peace of mind.
To bring us back to each other,
There’s just one thing we have to find.
Maybe tomorrow.
Maybe we’ll finally find ourselves.
In a world inconstant and cold.
I need someone to hold.
And it has to be you.
Alone in this dark and lonely room.
I pray you’ll come to me.
That you’ll see the light soon.
Maybe tomorrow
Maybe we’ll win this fight yet.
And in a world that’s void of love,
I need someone to hold.
And it has to be you.
Maybe tomorrow* . . . ,” she finished, as the class began to clap. She went back to her seat and sat down, sliding down into it. That hadn’t been as bad as she thought it was going to be. She looked over at Maike and smiled. At least she didn’t feel quite so invisible anymore.
“Beautiful, Miss Matthews, beautiful,” Mr. Secalla said, clapping his hands lightly. “Now, who wants to go next?” Taylor raised his hand. “Ah, Mr. Hanson. You may go.” Taylor walked to the front of the room.
“My poem is titled ‘Mystery Love’,” Taylor said. He began.
“My love is a mystery.
Her words speak volumes,
Yet I have not seen her face.
Despite this, she seems perfect to me.
From the first syllable to the last,
I love her with all that I am,
With her I am sure I could be completely whole.
Just to know her name would make me happy.
I would so love to hold her in my arms,
To not have just her words gracing my anxious ears,
I live day to day, waiting to hear from her again.
Please show me who you are.
Mystery love*.” He walked back to his seat and sat down, while the class clapped for him. Maike tapped Lyssa on the shoulder and gave her a look. She passed her a note discreetly. Lyssa unfolded it quietly.
I think you have bewitched your golden boy with your words. You should tell him you wrote those poems.
Lyssa looked over at Maike and shook her head. Why not?, Maike mouthed. I just can’t do it, Lyssa mouthed back. Lyssa stuffed the note in her backpack. The bell rang, startling Mr. Secalla.
“I guess today is a short day,” he said. “I’ll see you all tomorrow, and you’ll continue reading your own works outloud.” The class groaned, as everyone gathered their things together.
“So . . . um . . . your name is Lyssa, right?” Taylor said, turning around to face Lyssa.
“Yeah,” Lyssa replied. Maike gave her another look as she left the room. “And you’re Taylor?”
“Yeppers . . . ,” he trailed off. God, we are perfect for each other, she thought. “You know everyone here a little better than I do. Do you have any idea who has been writing that poetry? I mean, the love poems to me?” She sucked in her breath. He really did want to know who wrote them.
“No . . . ,” she said. He looked disappointed. “I mean, no, I don’t know everyone in here that well. But I do know who wrote the poems.”
“Who is it?” he asked, with a curious look on his face. “It isn’t that weird girl Maike, is it?”
“No,” she replied simply. “I’m not even sure if you really know the person that well. Or at least, you wouldn’t expect it to be her.”
“I feel like I’ve known her forever, just from hearing her poems,” he said. “I’d give anything to meet her. Please? Will you tell me?”
“Well . . . um,” she began.
“Miss Matthews, your poem was splendid!” Mr. Secalla said, walking over to the pair. She breathed a sigh of relief. Saved by Mr. Secalla. “I thought you might be the one who was writing all of that love poetry, but I wasn’t sure.” Lyssa put her head in her hands, turning red. “You’re mighty lucky, Mr. Hanson, to have such an intelligent, pretty girl as Lyssa writing poetry like that for you.” Lyssa slid down in her seat. She could feel Taylor’s eyes on her.
“Yes, I am, Mr. Secalla,” Taylor said, looking at Lyssa, amazed.
“Just be sure not to let her slip away from you,” Mr. Secalla said. “Girls like her are far and few these days. If they weren’t, there might have been a Mrs. Secalla. Oh, well. I will see you two tomorrow. Just shut the door behind you when you leave. Good bye.”
“Bye,” Taylor said. Lyssa just raised her hand and waved at him, as he walked out of the room. Lyssa was just waiting for Taylor to yell at her or something. “You? You wrote those poems?”
“Guilty as charged,” she said. She stood up and began pacing. “God, I feel like such a heel. I hadn’t ever meant for you to find out. I didn’t want you to think that I was obsessed or something. And I certainly never meant for Secalla to figure it out. Or anyone, for that matter.” She sat down on top of a desk in the back of the room. “See, the thing is . . . well, you’re like Union High’s golden boy or something. And on top of that you’re famous, you and your brothers. And everyone adores you. You have all the girls at school dying to date you. And it’s just . . . what would I be compared to that? I mean, no one really knows I’m alive. You didn’t even notice me until you needed something. I’m like this invisible girl, that no one really sees, especially you.”
“But I do see you. Don’t you think I haven’t noticed you in the halls before? And I know you’re friends with Mike and Jason,” Taylor said. “Besides, you made me notice you. You wrote about me, for me.”
“But you weren’t even sure what my name was a second ago,” Lyssa said. “And I want you to be with me for me, not because I wrote love poems for you. I mean, I just wrote those . . . well, so I could get you out of my head. And while the sentiment I put behind them is quite real, I fell for you from knowing you. From observing you. You can’t honestly say that you’ve done the same with me.”
“And who’s to say that I haven’t?” Taylor said.
“But you haven’t! You haven’t watched me the way I watch you! I have watched the funny way you stamp your foot when you sing in a concert. I have watched you grow your blond hair long, only to cut it off again. I have watched your blue eyes fill with tears when you speak of your dead grandmother, and sparkle when you sing of new love,” she said, quoting her own words. “And all I want is for you to notice me for who I am. For what habits and traits I have.”
“And your writing is not one of your traits or habits?” Taylor said. “Or the way you twirl your hair when you get nervous about something? Or how you feel completely invisible whenever you’re around other people, instead of alone? Or how other girls make you feel like an idiot when they follow me around, because you would never have the courage to say to my face how you feel about me, like they would? Or how your eyes sparkle whenever Secalla reads a Tennyson poem? You think I haven’t noticed you, but I have! I’ve even noticed your worst habit,” he said.
“And what is my worst habit?” she asked, quietly, suddenly feeling timid.
“You put yourself down entirely too much,” Taylor said. “You are perhaps the most wonderful person I’ve ever met. And you don’t even see it.” He walked over to where she was sitting. “If I love you, why is it so hard for you to believe that other people will, too?” She looked into his blue eyes. They were so sincere, so passionate. That was when she realized she had been beaten. He had won this little game. He had her hook, line, and sinker.
“You love me?” she said, smiling.
“Yes. I love you. You’re beautiful, and funny, and a talented writer, and smart. You even say the same things I do,” Taylor said. “You’re perfect.”
“Yeppers,” she said, breathlessly. He began to laugh at that. “What?”
“You even say ‘Yeppers!’ I thought I was the only person in the world who said that,” he said. He put his finger under her chin. “I love you.” He kissed her gently on the lips, sending shivers down her body, from head to toe.
“I love you, too,” she said. He kissed her again, and she knew this time, the dream was for real. She loved him. And he finally loved her.
*All poetry by the author
