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Oh, I couldn't quite believe it. Even when I was watching my funeral, I was still in denial. I'd wake up the next morning and shrug the dream off. But deep down, I knew that I was just trying to rationalize my death. It just wasn't fair. Sure, I went out in a blaze of some kind of glory, but who ever said I wanted to die a hero?

I knew there was a reason I hated Valentine's Day so much. Ever since I was little, the whole idea, a sugar-coated form of love covered in chocolates and those sour hearts with the messages on them, topped with presents or guilt trips that lasted throughout the year. On the side, there was all that encouragement to tie a noose around your throat, stand on a chair, and give someone the choice to shoot off the legs in the form of a dramatic confession.

Yeah, I was one of those girls who couldn't muster up the courage for that. I wasn't a stalker, as in, I had some form of casual relationship with the boy in question, and I didn't try to follow him around and assimilate my personality and habits to his. I didn't join the sport he was in. I didn't listen to a lot of the music he liked. Sure, I read some of the books he read, but in all honesty, they were good books that I probably would have found on my own.

I didn't stare at him, didn't get weird whenever he was around. No doodling hearts with Mr. and Mrs. That Guy in my notebooks, because my mind mainly stayed focused on my schoolwork. Love wasn't going to get me into college.

Anyway, it all started when my mother overheard one of my phone conversations. I was bringing one of my most trustworthy friends up to speed about all the horrid things I heard were going happen on Valentine's Day. He was breaking up with her, she was going to cheat on him, they planned on staying out late, you know, all that jazz, when she mentioned his name.

I fought the urge to hyperventilate (don't look down on me, it's just that I'm easily prone to panic attacks when stress suddenly piles itself on) and, needing a way to work off the nervous energy that was building up, I shrieked his name in reply with a questioning tone and then explained to her exactly why I was not going to go jumping off a cliff like that.

Like I mentioned earlier, my mother overheard. I found that out the next morning, Valentine's Day of course, when she handed me this giant box with an equally large solid chocolate heart inside. She gave me a knowing smile, and said that she hoped to see me come home without it. I returned the grin, albeit a much weaker version, and quickly left to go catch the bus. I discovered that the paper bag was quite useful to breathe into.

I made it to school, looking very winded according to my flock of friends who made a beeline towards me at the sight of the bag.

I had no real choice but to tell them what was in it. They squealed, and told me how cute he and I would look together. I said no in very clear terms. They cooed encouragement, and defeated by the majority, I gave in, with few conditions. The gift-giving would happen during lunch. My friends would walk with me most of the way, and then stand guard to sweep away the shattered pieces of my self-esteem. They also talked about catching me should I faint from happiness, but I didn't consider the possibility very likely.

The day seemed to speed by faster than any other Valentine's Day before it. St. Valentine had obviously joined in this little goal of the world, to give birth to my love life.

And then it was lunch time. Oh, I had to constantly breathe into that bag. Earlier, a teacher took pity on me, and though she wouldn't send me home, she gave me a second sack to use for the chocolate.

I nearly backed out. I was so close to a full-blown panic attack. My hands gave off the telltale beginnings of tremors. My heart raced wildly as my breathing fought kept up with it. There was but a moment's respite where I was able to sit down at my usual lunch table before two friends hooked their arms with mine, the rest flanking on either side as they marched me three-quarters of the way to the lunch table where that boy and all his friends sat.

Like a baby bird kicked out of the nest, left to fend for itself, I was shoved forwards. I was either going to fly gracefully into a new life or fall to the forest floor below and get eaten by a coyote or something.

Though I could have sworn that I took the smallest steps I could, I was suddenly standing at the foot of the table. The orange of it was hypnotizing. Probably because the room spun like a tornado.

My name was called, by of course him, and I snapped out of my calming trance, my mind immediately back in a shaky, scary place, like a pirate ship's plank. And I heard my name again, with a touch of impatience. What did I want? the voice demanded. I say voice because I couldn't lift my head to look at his face.

I...I wanted...wanted...um...

"IJUSTWANTEDTOSAYTHATIREALLYKINDALIKEYOUWOULDYOUBEMYVALENTINE?"

Taking a shuddery breath, my clumsy fingers pushed the sack across the table. His head tilted to the side, face expressionless as he took the box out of the bag. For the first time, I saw the embarrassing decoration on the front of the heart. It prettily, yet boldly stated

"I Love You !"

Underneath, in a hasty scrawl I recognized as my mother's, was another message.

"Go easy on her. It took a lot for her just to go to school today.
P.S. Mindy, since I know you'll read this, I just want to say that everything's okay. Calm down."

I was kneeling now, face mostly hidden by my arms as I rested on the table, trying to avoid using the bag in front of him. Sneakily, my eyes watched for even the slightest twitch of an expression.

And then he smiled. "Wow. You know, I never would have been able to ask you."

The last thing I saw before my system shut down forever was the sweetest blush on his face and the mouth shape needed to make the "yuh" sound.

Like I said, I couldn't believe that when everything was going so well, the shock killed me.

Description
Oh, I couldn't quite believe it. Even when I was watching my funeral, I was still in denial. I'd wake up the next morning and shrug the dream off. But deep down, I knew that I was just trying to rationalize my death. It just wasn't fair. Sure, I went out in a blaze of some kind of glory, but who ever said I wanted to die a hero?

I knew there was a reason I hated Valentine's Day so much. Ever since I was little, the whole idea, a sugar-coated form of love covered in chocolates and those sour hearts with the messages on them, topped with presents or guilt trips that lasted throughout the year. On the side, there was all that encouragement to tie a noose around your throat, stand on a chair, and give someone the choice to shoot off the legs in the form of a dramatic confession.

Yeah, I was one of those girls who couldn't muster up the courage for that. I wasn't a stalker, as in, I had some form of casual relationship with the boy in question, and I didn't try to follow him around and assimilate my personality and habits to his. I didn't join the sport he was in. I didn't listen to a lot of the music he liked. Sure, I read some of the books he read, but in all honesty, they were good books that I probably would have found on my own.

I didn't stare at him, didn't get weird whenever he was around. No doodling hearts with Mr. and Mrs. That Guy in my notebooks, because my mind mainly stayed focused on my schoolwork. Love wasn't going to get me into college.

Anyway, it all started when my mother overheard one of my phone conversations. I was bringing one of my most trustworthy friends up to speed about all the horrid things I heard were going happen on Valentine's Day. He was breaking up with her, she was going to cheat on him, they planned on staying out late, you know, all that jazz, when she mentioned his name.

I fought the urge to hyperventilate (don't look down on me, it's just that I'm easily prone to panic attacks when stress suddenly piles itself on) and, needing a way to work off the nervous energy that was building up, I shrieked his name in reply with a questioning tone and then explained to her exactly why I was not going to go jumping off a cliff like that.

Like I mentioned earlier, my mother overheard. I found that out the next morning, Valentine's Day of course, when she handed me this giant box with an equally large solid chocolate heart inside. She gave me a knowing smile, and said that she hoped to see me come home without it. I returned the grin, albeit a much weaker version, and quickly left to go catch the bus. I discovered that the paper bag was quite useful to breathe into.

I made it to school, looking very winded according to my flock of friends who made a beeline towards me at the sight of the bag.

I had no real choice but to tell them what was in it. They squealed, and told me how cute he and I would look together. I said no in very clear terms. They cooed encouragement, and defeated by the majority, I gave in, with few conditions. The gift-giving would happen during lunch. My friends would walk with me most of the way, and then stand guard to sweep away the shattered pieces of my self-esteem. They also talked about catching me should I faint from happiness, but I didn't consider the possibility very likely.

The day seemed to speed by faster than any other Valentine's Day before it. St. Valentine had obviously joined in this little goal of the world, to give birth to my love life.

And then it was lunch time. Oh, I had to constantly breathe into that bag. Earlier, a teacher took pity on me, and though she wouldn't send me home, she gave me a second sack to use for the chocolate.

I nearly backed out. I was so close to a full-blown panic attack. My hands gave off the telltale beginnings of tremors. My heart raced wildly as my breathing fought kept up with it. There was but a moment's respite where I was able to sit down at my usual lunch table before two friends hooked their arms with mine, the rest flanking on either side as they marched me three-quarters of the way to the lunch table where that boy and all his friends sat.

Like a baby bird kicked out of the nest, left to fend for itself, I was shoved forwards. I was either going to fly gracefully into a new life or fall to the forest floor below and get eaten by a coyote or something.

Though I could have sworn that I took the smallest steps I could, I was suddenly standing at the foot of the table. The orange of it was hypnotizing. Probably because the room spun like a tornado.

My name was called, by of course him, and I snapped out of my calming trance, my mind immediately back in a shaky, scary place, like a pirate ship's plank. And I heard my name again, with a touch of impatience. What did I want? the voice demanded. I say voice because I couldn't lift my head to look at his face.

I...I wanted...wanted...um...

"IJUSTWANTEDTOSAYTHATIREALLYKINDALIKEYOUWOULDYOUBEMYVALENTINE?"

Taking a shuddery breath, my clumsy fingers pushed the sack across the table. His head tilted to the side, face expressionless as he took the box out of the bag. For the first time, I saw the embarrassing decoration on the front of the heart. It prettily, yet boldly stated

"I Love You !"

Underneath, in a hasty scrawl I recognized as my mother's, was another message.

"Go easy on her. It took a lot for her just to go to school today.
P.S. Mindy, since I know you'll read this, I just want to say that everything's okay. Calm down."

I was kneeling now, face mostly hidden by my arms as I rested on the table, trying to avoid using the bag in front of him. Sneakily, my eyes watched for even the slightest twitch of an expression.

And then he smiled. "Wow. You know, I never would have been able to ask you."

The last thing I saw before my system shut down forever was the sweetest blush on his face and the mouth shape needed to make the "yuh" sound.

Like I said, I couldn't believe that when everything was going so well, the shock killed me.