Jessica vs. The Jerk

25. Secret admirer

Less than a week into the semester, I have to concede that Dan was right. Prom obsession has begun. Each semester typically starts with a House meeting, and I don't know what it was like elsewhere, but in my House, all anyone wanted to talk about were the Combined International Schools Association Easter tournament and prom. I'm involved in both, and I can tell that this quarter will be super busy.

On the second week of semester, the student council finalizes the calendar of events for the rest of the academic year. Because I'm a junior, I'm automatically put on the prom committee. And because fate has a beautiful sense of irony, I'm given the task of organizing the Valentine's Day fundraiser. This sounds like a fluffy job, but it's a very important event, because there's no better way to extort money from the student body than by giving them the illusion that a grand gesture might actually land them their crush.

So I approach my job like a mercenary. I barely have time for lunch after that, and the only way my friends and I can spend quality time is for them to volunteer for the Valentine's Day committee, not that I would have let them shirk. In retaliation, they come up with all sorts of ways to rub in the fact that my crush has basically ignored me after one non-date and one non-kiss.

The week before Valentine's Day our fundraising stall is inundated. For the measly price of five-hundred pesos, any student can drop off their Valentine's Day message and we'll deliver it to their object of affection on the day. Even at this outrageous price, I couldn't guess how many anonymous confessions are contained in what Renie has started calling The Bright Pink Box of Lurve. Teddy bears and chocolates are optional extras. It's a logistical nightmare, but the students love it. In five days, we've raised enough to cover the decorations for prom. We've also read enough lovelorn poetry to traumatize us for the rest of our lives.

'Can I stop now?' Renie moans. 'These people have ruined One Direction for me!'

It's true. The number of cards with song lyrics has been staggering. Some of them aren't even correct, and every time I read one of those, I cringe. But the worst are the ones with modified words. I just...I can't.

'You don't have to read every word.' Mila has the tallest stack of messages beside her. 'Just skim it for rude words and abuse.'

Part of the agreement with the Faculty is that we screen all the messages for inappropriate content. The students knew the rules before they paid for the service, so we haven't had to cull anything yet, but I can't risk even one gross message getting out, so we have to go through each one. Mostly we select at random, except for anything addressed to us -- no one is allowed to read their messages until Valentine's Day.

When the big day arrives, our school becomes a seething mass of pheromones and gossip. The upperclassmen deliver the envelopes and gifts addressed to lowerclassmen, and vice versa. Benjie Cooper tops the tally for the boys at thirty-eight lovegrams, eleven teddy bears, and six boxes of chocolate. I hope he drove to school today, because I'm not sure the bus driver will let him in with all that stuff. One of the senior girls comes in at sixth place, thus proving that girls are suckers for abs (the top five were all athletes, including Dan) and that guys are stingier or less desperate, I haven't decided yet.

Jonah got five, not that I was counting or anything. And no, none of them were from me. I bought cards for my besties and my podcasting freshmen because they're awesome. No love poetry from me, no matter the temptation.

For the postmortem, my friends are in my bedroom enjoying the spoils of heartbreak.

'I love Ferrero Rocher,' Renie sighs. She's still chewing when she reaches out to start unwrapping another piece. We've decided to pool our bounty, and now that the lovegrams have all been delivered, we get to enjoy the fruits of our labor.