He grabbed my yearbook in reply. “I, Casper the Great,” he said nobly, hand over heart, “am going to write you, Ms. Friday, a full page.”

I groaned in protest.

“I suck at yearbooks.”

He chuckled mischeiviously and said, “Just wait.”

I was finished within a matter or minutes, and spent the rest of the time wandering the empty classroom. I paced.

It was odd. An empty classroom. Everyone had gone to a different class to watch a movie or ditched. It was, afterall, the very last day of school.

At long last, he finished, and as much as I wanted to read it, I didn’t. My cheeks burned at what I had written.

“Where to?” he questioned.

My shoulders slumped. “Idunno.”

Guidance by his invisible thread I was pulled through the quiet hallways. Empty lockers stood, cold and propped open with air unattained by books.

His smile was open. “Which class?”

It was nice, him by my side; didn’t even need words to fill the blank spots. But we seperated.

I wanted a movie, he chose people.