One Dozen Reasons Why

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"You excited for Friday?" Max asked when the bell rang and everyone started pouring out of our AP English class. He knew that excitement was the last word I'd use to describe my feelings toward the upcoming Friday, and his lips tugged up into a crooked grin when I wrinkled my nose.

"Funny," I said and I rolled my eyes. "I'd have more fun celebrating Groundhog Day."

There were only four more days until February 14th, AKA my least favorite holiday of the year. I didn't hate Valentine's Day for all the typical reasons that people did, like the fact that it was a scam created by greeting card companies and florists to get people to spend money, or that the day was a yearly reminder of how single I was (and always had been). There was one very specific reason why I hated Valentine's Day: the flower fundraiser.

Student council ran an annual carnation sale to raise money for the school's spring dance. Anyone could order a flower and have it delivered to another student during 8th period on Valentine's Day. There were three different colored carnations and they each stood for something different: red for love, pink for friendship, and white for secret admiration.

The concept was harmless enough, but the carnation sale wasn't just a cute idea that made every girl with a boyfriend happy. It was one huge popularity contest that served as a reminder of just how utterly plain and uncool I was. Every year, the girl who received the most white carnations was labeled as the hottest girl in school. Normally the title went to Nora Hartman, the captain of the volleyball team and Slinger High's resident queen bee.

The other girls in school sent their friends pink carnations, and that way, if they didn't have a boyfriend or a secret admirer, they didn't go home empty-handed. I, however, wasn't that lucky. There were a few girls in my AP calculus class that I talked to on a regular basis, mainly we just compared notes and studied together, but I didn't have any real girlfriends. As a result, I'd received a whopping total of zero flowers over the course of my high school career. That wasn't something Nora could let go unnoticed, so last year she'd added a new category to the contest: the girl who received the least amount of flowers was dubbed Slinger High's ugly duckling, and that girl was me. Fair to say, my hatred of for February 14th was duly warranted.

Max laughed. "Groundhog's Day? That's like the lamest holiday ever."

I blew a strand of brown hair out of my face. "At least there's no carnation sale," I grumbled.

"Come on, Claire Bear," Max said. "I know you have this thing against the fundraiser, but I could really use your help with it."

Normally I was a sucker for when Max used the nickname he'd given me years ago, but there was nothing he could say to get me to help with this. "There are like a million people in StuCo who could help you," I told him as we neared my locker. "You should ask someone who's actually part of the club."

Max was the president of student council, which meant he was in charge of overseeing all of the organization's initiatives. He'd been trying to get me to join since he became a member sophomore year, but I knew I wasn't cut out for it. Everyone on student council was friendly and outgoing, while I was the total opposite—the girl whose face turned red with embarrassment whenever the teacher called on me in class.

But Max wasn't shy like me. He was the kind of person who could be friends with anyone, and even though he wasn't the quarterback of the football team or the bad boy that all the girls swooned over, everyone at school loved him.

Which was somewhat annoying.

Don't get me wrong, I was happy that my best friend was excelling at the social aspect of high school—something I'd never mastered—but when freshman year come along, girls finally started to noticed that my best friend was, well—hot. His family had moved next-door to mine when we were both eight, so for nearly six years of our lives he was mine alone. Suddenly I had to share Max with the rest of the female population, and I was less than thrilled. That's when I realized that my feelings for him had developed into something more than just friendship. I had a crush on my best friend. Cliche, I know. Shoot me.