He probably didn't even pull my name from that jar at all. Probably, he picked Lana's name and has been putting those roses

in my locker, thinking it is Lana's, seeing as how God knows she never hangs out in front of her own locker.

What's even worse is that Tina told me yellow roses mean love everlasting.

Which of course was why I figured maybe Kenny was the one doing it after all.

Oh, great. They are passing around the printouts with our grades on them. I am not looking. I don't even care. I DO NOT CARE ABOUT MY GRADES.

Thank God for the bell. I'm just going to slip out of here — totally not looking at my grades - and go about my business like nothing out of the ordinary is going on.

Except, of course, when I get to my locker, Justin is there, looking for someone. Lana is there too, waiting for Josh.

You know, I really don't need this. Justin revealing that he is my Secret Snowflake right in front of Lana, I mean. God only knows what she's going to say - the girl who has been suggesting I wear Band Aids instead of a bra every day since the two

of us hit puberty. Plus it isn't like she's been super-happy with me since the whole mobile phone thing. I'll bet she'll have something extra-mean all prepared for the occasion . . .

'Dude,' Justin says.

Dude? I am not a dude. Who is Justin talking to?

I turn around. Josh is standing there, behind Lana.

'Dude, I've been looking for you all week,' Justin says, to Josh. 'Do you have those Trig notes for me or not? I've got to make-up the Final in one hour.'

Josh says something, but I do not hear him. I do not hear him because there is a roaring sound in my ears. Because standing behind Justin is Michael.

Michael Moscovitz,.

And in his hand is a yellow rose.

Friday, December 18, Winter Carnival

Oh, God.

I am in so much trouble.

Again.

And it isn't even my fault this time. I mean, I couldn't help myself. It just happened. And it doesn't mean anything. It was just, you know, one of those things.

Besides, it's not what Kenny thinks. Really. I mean, if you think about it, it is a complete and total letdown. For me, anyway.

Because, of course, the first thing Michael says when he sees me standing there gaping at him while he is holding that flower,

is, 'Here. This just fell out of your locker.'

I took it from him in a complete daze. I swear to God my heart was beating so hard, I thought I was going to pass out.

Because I thought they'd been from him. The roses, I mean. For a minute there, I really did think Michael Moscovitz had

been leaving me roses.

But of course this time, there's a note attached to the rose. It says:

Good luck with your trip to Genovia! See you when you get back!

Your Secret Snowflake,

Boris Pelkowski

Boris Pelkowski. Boris is the one who has been leaving those roses. Boris is my Secret Snowflake.

Of course, Boris wouldn't know that a yellow rose represents love everlasting. Boris doesn't even know not to tuck his

sweater into his trousers. How would he know the secret language of flowers?

I don't know which was actually stronger, my feeling of relief that it wasn't Justin Baxendale leaving those roses after all ...

... or my feeling of disappointment that it wasn't Michael.

Then Michael went, 'Well? What's the verdict?'

To which I responded by staring at him blankly. I still hadn't quite gotten over it. You know, those brief few seconds when

I'd thought - I'd actually thought, fool that I am - that he loved me.

'What did you get in Algebra?' he asked slowly, as if I were dense.

Which, of course, I am. So dense that I never realized how much in love with Michael Moscovitz I was until Judith Gershner came along and swept him right out from under my nose.

Anyway, I opened the computer printout containing my grades, and would you believe that I had raised my F in Algebra all

the way up to a B minus?

Which just goes to show that if you spend nearly every waking moment in your life studying something, the likelihood is that

you are going to retain at least a little of it.

Enough to get a B minus on the Final, anyway.

I'm trying really hard not to gloat, but it's difficult. I mean, I'm so happy.

Well, except for the whole not-having-a-date-to-the-dance thing.

Still, it's hard to be unhappy. There is absolutely no way I got this grade because the teacher happens to be my stepfather. There's nothing subjective about Algebra, like in English. There's no interpretation of the facts. Either you're right or you're not.

And I was right. Eighty per cent of the time.

Of course, it helped that I knew the answer to the Final's extra credit question: What instrument did Ringo, in the Beatles, play?

But that was only worth two points.

Anyway, here's the part where I got into trouble. Even though, of course, it isn't my fault.

I was so happy about my B minus, I completely forgot for a minute how much I am in love with Michael. I even forgot, for a change, to be shy around him. Instead, I did something really unlike me.

I threw my arms around him.

Seriously. Threw my arms right around his neck and went, 'Wheeeeeee!!!!!'

I couldn't help it. I was so happy. OK, the whole rose thing had been a little bit of a bummer, but the B minus made up for it. Well, almost.

It was just an innocent hug. That's all it was. Michael had, after all, tutored me almost the whole semester. He had some stake in that B minus too.