She was scarwling frantically in her notebook. Anyone watching would think she was taking furious notes...a perfect student. Well, aside from the rainbow fishnets under the hockey skirt...those always threw people off. But anyway, she had perfected the "look". Write furiously for a few seconds, look up at the board or the teahcer, ponderously, and then start to write again. But if one was to walk over and glance at her writing...it would be shoved quickly under a notebook, and suddenly she would be writing in her notebook. Ah yes, after four years of high school, she had finally perfected her technique. She knew what classes to skip, what classes to take notes in, what classes to sleep in, what classes to bring the book to, and what classes to leave the book at home for. She knew the quickest way to any place in the whole school. She pirated an elevator key from a freshman her sophomore year, and had never returned it. So she could get upstairs and downstairs quickly and efficiently. She had lunch in the senior courtyard on sunny days, the chorus room on rainy days. She had her own (practically) parking spot out front. It was great to be a senior.

She popped a hershey's kiss into her mouth. Her secret psyche always got her chocolate- she was a chocoholic. She once gave up chocolate for Lent...never again. She almost died. (haha just kidding) She glanced at the teacher- she was blah-blah-blahing on and on. AP Statistics. Bah. Who needed it? And the teacher had no eprsonality whatsoever. Lived, ate, slept, breathed math. It was disgsuting. So it was the period that Boo dubbed the Note Writing Period. She was writing one to her boyfriend right now. He graduated last year, but she still wrote him notes. Every day. And then gave them all to him when she was him at the end of the week.

The bell rang. As usual, she wasn't ready. She grabbed her books in her arms, and papers flew everywhere. Jeanine laughed from the doorway. Boo scrunched up her face and stuck out her tongue, and crinkled them up, and stuffed them into a binder. Shoved the binder in her messenger bag. Threw that over her shoulder, and walked out to see Jeanine and Runion, who were waiting. Turned around, ran back in, grabbed her secret psyche bag, and THEN they went to lunch.

_____

She was in her 8th period crafts class. Unlike most of the seniors, she had a full schedule, with one aide period. She took two AP classes (stats and english), maintained a 3.8 GPA and was a member of NHS and numerous clubs and organizations, as well as Varsity Chorus, field hockey and lacrosse. And she had wanted to take an art class. So she did. How she managed to balance everything out nobody was really sure...and the adults and teachers (well, the new ones who hadn't known her all four years) wondered how in the world someone so unusual could be such a good student. But she managed.

She was painting a picture. The sky was pink, the clouds were green, and the grass was lush and baby blue. She suddenly grabbed a can of black paint, dipped in her paintbrush, and sprinkled little black dots all over the paper.

"There," she stated, standing back to look at it. "It is finished!" Her art teacher laughed. He loved her. She was already finished her project, so now she could do whatever she wanted. She was the only senior in a freshman class...and she wasn't there because she had flunked it earlier. So her teacher found comfort in her.

_____

She was walking to her car. She looked around... There he was. She ran up to Brian, and he wrapped her in his arms, swung her around in a circle. She laughed happily and pecked him softly on the lips.

"Where've you been all my life?" she asked, fluttering her lashes. He grinned.

"Well, today I've been at class, you dork," he said. She laughed. He walked her to her car. They chatted about their days. Neither noticed the man watching them, and heading straight for the field...