February 14, 2015 - Worth Part 1

As always, I was late.

At this point, it didn’t even feel like a flaw anymore - more like a biological setting I’d been born with. Some people had dimples. I had chronic lateness. I wasn’t even walking fast; I was strolling, borderline gliding, like a man taking the scenic route to his own execution. Why would I rush? What was the point of rushing to that hellscape? If the world had any compassion at all, mandatory education would come with a clause allowing students to complete their requirements inside cafés. I could be sitting beside a window right now with a cheap latte, reading a book sad enough to ruin my entire week, and nobody would bat an eye.

But no. Society insisted I show up. School required my presence like a clingy ex. And cafés… well, cafés had people. People who stared. People who judged. People who wondered why I was reading instead of having conversations like a normal human being. At least in school, everyone had gotten used to me ignoring reality in exchange for novels. It was my brand.

And recently, even the “cool girls” had accepted that brand. Pat swung by every morning now with a casual “hi,” and her entire flock hovered around my desk like I was hosting a fan meet-and-greet. They were loud, chaotic, beautifully obnoxious - the kind of girls who treated inside voices like an optional setting. Ginny’s eye twitched at least twice a day because of them, and honestly? I respected that. It meant I wasn’t suffering alone.

As I wandered the street, eyes scanning for stray dogs to feed kibble, something unusual caught my attention.

The street leading toward school had transformed overnight. Flower vendors - dozens of them - lined the sidewalk with tiny plastic chairs and buckets full of roses, carnations, and those glitter–covered abominations that looked like someone had tried to bedazzle nature. Bright colors spilled everywhere. Reds, pinks, whites. The morning sun hit the glittered ones so hard they practically shouted.

Vendors raised their voices like auctioneers.

“Fresh roses!”

“Sweet price, young man!”

It was chaotic and cheerful.

For a moment, I smiled. I even liked the flowers. They were a nice break from the usual morning scenery - cracked pavement, puddles, and stray dogs darting under cars.

Then I saw the banner taped to a vendor’s umbrella.

VALENTINE’S DAY SALE!

My smile evaporated instantly. My chest tightened. It felt like the universe had delivered a personal insult. If the Grinch hated Christmas, I hated this. My heart shrank three sizes too - but instead of bitterness, it was good old-fashioned teenage self–pity.

The vendors’ cheerful voices suddenly sounded like they were mocking me.

“Sir, flowers for your girlfriend?”

Translation: Hah, pathetic.

Another vendor: “Roses for your special someone?”

Translation: Look at this lonely creature walking alone.

I puffed out my cheeks and blew a loud raspberry, my signature “life is suffering” sound.

Normally, vendors didn’t bother me. But I had a fatal weakness: kind, tired-looking mothers. The ones who worked from dawn, sitting in plastic chairs older than I was, hoping someone would buy anything at all.

Near the end of the row sat one such woman. Middle-aged, dressed plainly, wearing a smile that was trying its best but losing the battle. Something in her expression triggered an old memory - Paulie’s mother.

I didn’t stand a chance.

I approached and asked for the cheapest flowers she had. She lifted a plastic bucket and I picked out the three saddest roses alive - wilted, slumping, stems bent like they were in pain. The transparent plastic wrapped around them looked burial shrouds.

Perfect.

She brightened when I paid her. A real smile - one that reached her eyes, even just a little. That tiny shift in her face eased something in my chest. My heart grew back to it's normal size again.

I shoved the roses into my bag like stolen goods and continued my walk.

School was impossible to miss - not because of its size, but because the administration had apparently decided Valentine’s Day should look like a wedding convention. Giant tarpaulins hung everywhere with heart graphics, cupids, and red ribbons flapping like taunting flags. Someone had even tied balloons to the school gate.

It was nauseating. As I was busy scowling my way into the gate when I noticed Kyle.

He stood in front of a delivery van looking like a man who hadn’t slept since 2002. Stress radiated off him in waves. When the delivery guy handed him his order, everything made sense.

It was a teddy bear the size of a small planet.

My laugh exploded out of me - loud, abrupt, uncontrollable. A couple of other students turned around, startled.

Kyle flinched and spun around defensively before relaxing when he saw me. “Christ sake, Al. Thought you were someone else.”

“Dum–dum,” I said, grinning, “where are you even gonna put that? In Minnie’s garage? Her will?”

The delivery guy perked up. Kyle jerked his chin at me. “Sir, give the bouquets to him.”

Before I could protest, two enormous bouquets were shoved into my arms. My face immediately disappeared behind a mountain of petals. They smelled expensive - like the kind you’d buy only if you needed forgiveness or wanted a yes to something big.

“Follow,” Kyle ordered.

So I followed - partially blind, drowning in roses, and fully embarrassed.

“Bro, how is Minnie supposed to take this home?” I asked, peeking over the blooms. “That bear is bigger than her entire torso.”

He ignored my questions.

We were lucky most students were already in class. Only a few stragglers saw us, and their smirks made me reconsider every life choice that led me to this moment. I could already imagine the afternoon: me, Mike, and Joseph carrying all this crap across the neighborhood like emotional pack mules.

Kyle led us to the janitor’s storage room. The janitor, leaning against the doorframe and sipping coffee, looked like he had seen countless Valentine's operations enter this sacred room. He and Kyle exchanged a nod, money discreetly changing hands, and he pointed at an empty corner like a hotel concierge.

We stashed everything - bouquets carefully, teddy bear with a struggle. The thing slumped sideways like it had fainted dramatically.

“Today’s the day?” I asked, stretching my arms.

“Maybe,” Kyle muttered, trying to sound nonchalant. But the tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth said everything. He was nervous. Deeply, desperately nervous.

He stared at the gifts for an extra second, probably whispering some bargaining prayer to the universe: God, look how much I love her. I spent actual money. Please let this work.

Then he clapped his hands once and said, “I told Minnie I needed to pee.”

I nodded, and we headed upstairs.

“What time are you giving that to her?” I asked.

“Lunch break.”

“Outside, yeah?” I said. It wasn’t a real question. Minnie loved an audience.

“Yep,” Kyle said. Then he eyed me seriously. “You are helping me.”

“I know.”

“And taking all that to Minnie’s house.”

“I know.”

“You got nothing lined up.” Kyle finished as we reached our homeroom.

“You know it,” I said, pushing the door open.

I was thankful Kyle was there - his large frame acted like a human shield, blocking the early-morning stares of everyone already seated inside. He walked ahead like some kind of bodyguard, and I followed in his shadow, head down, eyes glued to the floor tiles like they were the most fascinating thing in the room.

This had become routine for me. Walk in. Don’t make eye contact. Hope no one tries to talk to me before my brain has booted up.

As I made my way toward my desk, I risked one quick glance - Minnie already had a bouquet of pink roses propped neatly on her table. Pink. Of course. Her favorite color. They weren’t even subtle; they practically glowed. They made her desk look like a princess’s vanity.

I smirked to myself. Kyle was going all out with his surprise - and she wasn’t even aware that the real firepower was still hidden in the janitor’s room like contraband.

When I sat down, I remembered the roses in my bag. The three miserable, droopy things I’d shoved inside earlier. My original plan had been to toss them into the garbage bin outside - quietly, discreetly. But between the vendors, Kyle, and the emotional workout of hauling bouquets, I’d completely forgotten.

Class started. Or tried to start. The whole room was vibrating with Valentine’s Day energy - a kind of chaotic, fizzy static that made concentration impossible. Even when the teacher walked in, the excitement only dimmed a tiny bit, like lowering the volume on a loud TV instead of muting it.

Eventually, I **** myself to lift my head and pretend I was listening.

That’s when I saw Jackie.

She had a bouquet too. Not like Minnie’s - Minnie’s was out on full display, practically an announcement. Jackie’s was discreet, tucked under her desk. Hidden, almost. Like it wasn’t meant for the world to see, just for her.

Something about that difference hit me in a place I didn’t want to talk about. Minnie’s flowers were a performance. Jackie’s felt… intimate. Quiet. Intentional. Like a promise whispered instead of shouted.

I tore my gaze away, scanning the rest of the room. Taking inventory like some emotionally damaged census collector.

The cool girls all had bouquets - of course. Pat included. Hers was a large bouquet of white flowers, elegant, expensive-looking, probably fragrant enough to make an asthmatic collapse.

She saw me looking and lifted it dramatically, waving it like a flag. She mouthed, Where’s yours?, eyebrows dancing.

I did my trademarked gesture: both hands raised, palms up, the universal symbol of Look around. Observe the nothingness that is my romantic life.

Pat laughed, tossing her hair back like she was in a shampoo commercial.

My eyes moved away from her and drifted across the room. A few girls had single roses on their desks. Just one stem each. Simple, sweet. The kind of gesture that meant something without being too heavy.

My brain started forming hypotheses, because apparently that’s how I coped with social situations now. Those with bouquets were either actively being courted or - like Jackie - already in a relationship. The single roses? Probably admirers testing the waters. Meanwhile, I… well. I was busy giving myself a PhD in observing romance instead of participating in it.

Then I glanced behind me.

Ginny didn’t have anything. Her desk was aggressively empty, like it was staging a protest.

I leaned slightly - subtly - to peek under her desk, just in case someone had given her something she’d hidden.

Nothing.

Just the metal legs of the desk and her bag.

A sharp tch came from her direction. Then the rustle of paper. Before I could turn, a balled-up piece of paper flew toward my face at lightning speed. I dodged instinctively, and to my utmost horror... the projectile smacked the back of Jackie’s head.

Jackie turned, eyebrows raised in confusion.

“Sorry,” I said quickly - too quickly - immediately staring back down at my desk, cheeks warm.

She lingered for a second. Long enough for me to feel the weight of her gaze. Like she expected me to say more, to explain, to… something. But I’m me. One-word apologies were already pushing my social limit.

I turned to Ginny and narrowed my eyes.

Why didn’t you say anything? I mouthed.

She smirked, pointed at me like I was an idiot, and mouthed back:

Dum–dum.

Her victory face was unbearable. And deserved.

Break came, and before June could even uncross his legs or gather his things, I was already slipping out of my seat and drifting toward the back of the room. The bookshelf - a small corner of the world where the air felt less heavy and Valentine’s Day didn’t cling to my skin like static. It was a ritual at this point. An instinct. The one place where I could breathe and not feel like the universe was mocking me with bouquets and teenage romance.

I slid the book I’d finished into its place, letting my fingers trail along familiar spines as I scanned the shelves. Today felt like it demanded something soft and romantic - not my romance, obviously, but someone else’s. I always matched my reading to the day: horror on Halloween, tragedies on Christmas, and now, apparently, cheesy teenage romance because the calendar said so. Small, private traditions I could do alone.

Then something caught the light.

A chocolate. Small, wrapped, placed right on the shelf like someone had tucked it away for safekeeping. One of those shiny, gold-foil ones that was way too expensive. Someone must’ve hidden it there - maybe saving it for later, maybe planning to give it to someone without risking the embarrassment of being watched. And really, if you wanted something to stay hidden, this was the right spot. I was the only one who ever came back here.

It wasn’t mine, so I picked it up gently and set it on top of the shelf. Then I slid a thin book in front of it just enough to keep it hidden but not crushed. Whoever left it would find it exactly the way they intended. Their secret was safe.

Behind me, a sudden chorus of groans erupted.

I froze. My stomach dropped. When I turned around, a group of girls - the cool crowd - were staring at me like I’d just drop-kicked a puppy. Their faces were scrunched, eyebrows furrowed, mouths open in varying degrees of “oh my God.” And because reactions in high school work like falling dominoes, everyone nearby turned too. It was as if the fluorescent lights spotlighted me specifically, melting me into some awkward, jelly-like creature who’d committed a crime without knowing it.

Pat was laughing the hardest. And not politely - not the “oops, silly you” laugh. This was the loud, wheezing, incredulous kind, the kind that said she absolutely predicted I’d manage to screw up something today, and I had delivered beautifully. Her laugh spread like a ripple; the others followed, more amused than frustrated now, but still - laughter wasn’t that much better than judgment.

“What the hell did I do now?” I thought, panic slipping under my ribs.

I didn’t dare ask out loud.

They were scary - not dangerous, just socially powerful. A stamp of disapproval from them was social ****. Jackie had her own quiet, intense brand of intimidation, but this… this was the crowd who could ruin your week simply by exchanging glances.

One girl dragged her hand down her face dramatically, muttering something I couldn’t hear.

Another shook her head at me like I’d committed a crime worthy of detention.

It occurred to me - sharply - that this must’ve been how Paulie felt when I bullied him. Being laughed at by everyone at once. That helpless confusion. That paralysis where you don’t know which version of yourself you’re supposed to be.

Should I smile?
Should I laugh along?
Should I get defensive?
Say sorry?
Make a dumb joke?

One wrong move and somehow everything would get worse.

So I did what I always did: I inhaled, **** a shrug, **** a small smile, and pretended I understood the joke. Then I grabbed the most obviously-romantic book on the shelf - something with a pink spine and an embarrassing title - because if they weren’t going to explain anything, I would bury myself in fiction instead.

When I returned to my desk, Ginny was biting her lip. Not looking annoyed, as usual, but pleased. Like she had just watched the world’s most predictable disaster unfold exactly the way she expected. Her eyes glittered with smug satisfaction, like she’d won a silent bet with herself.

I opened my mouth to demand answers, but then I felt it - someone staring.

Jackie.

She was watching me too. Not with judgment, not with confusion. Her expression was soft, almost curious, and the tiny, unreadable smile on her lips made something in my chest tighten. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t mockery. It was… something gentler, something I didn’t have the emotional intelligence to decode on the spot. We held eye contact for maybe half a second before I looked away as fast as humanly possible.

I pretended the moment didn’t happen. I pretended I wasn’t thrown off. I pretended that smile didn’t bury itself under my ribs.

I paid it no mind.

I don’t think I’ll ever understand them.

---

I thought about the worth of a rose and a bouquet.

A single rose felt light - casual, almost like a question.

A bouquet, though - that was weight. A declaration. The difference between tapping someone on the shoulder and dropping to one knee.

And I was in a weirdly romantic mood.

Maybe it was the stupid holiday. Maybe it was the warm, sugary atmosphere hanging over campus. Or maybe it was the Twilight book I’d finally caved and started reading. I’d fought it for years, swearing I wouldn’t fall for the hype, but here I was - halfway in, fully invested, rereading paragraphs because Edward’s brooding made me feel things I didn’t want to unpack. Bella was such a blank slate she was practically a ghost. Replace her with me, and suddenly it was me who was being stared at by a dramatic, sparkly vampire. Worked like a charm.

The teacher before lunch didn’t even show up. We half-joked she was probably outside being wooed by someone brave enough to sing off-key. Serenades drifted in through the windows - a guitar here, a cajón there, a boy’s voice cracking like puberty had come back for round two.

When lunch finally came, Mike leaned toward me like we were in a spy movie.

“Al,” he whispered, “you know where it’s stashed, right?”

I nodded.

“Kyle said we should wait for him there. Then he’ll swing by and bring it all to Minnie.”

“You, me, and…?” I asked, suddenly aware that Joseph is nowhere to be seen. He must've sprinted out.

“Just you and me, dum-dum,” Mike said. “Joseph had, like, a forest worth of roses, so he’s already ran off to give them to every girl he’s ever made eye contact with.”

I laughed. “By the time Lunch Break ends, he’ll be in at least five relationships.”

“Simultaneously,” Mike said, nodding gravely.

We played it cool as we walked to the janitor’s room - or tried to. But Joseph was already there, crouched like a gremlin, one eye peeking out the small window on the door.

He was stalking someone.

We watched him spring out like a possessed jack-in-the-box, thrusting a rose into a junior student’s hands. She froze and almost screamed. She accepted it, yes - technically - but the way she pressed her palm to her chest afterward made it look more like she’d narrowly escaped a horror movie jump scare.

“Dum-dum, you’re gonna make someone faint in fear instead of love,” I told him as he scrambled back inside.

He shushed us violently and pulled us quickly inside. “That’s the plan. I’m gonna be memorable. They’ll think I’m spontaneous.” He peeked out the door again. “Girls dig that.”

Then he paused and looked at us, needing reassurance. “Right?”

“Absolutely,” I said.

“How could they not?” Mike added, equally serious.

We all nodded like generals approving a battle strategy. Then Mike and I slid down to sit against the wall, talking about absolutely nothing important while Joseph resumed his rose-sniping from the doorway.

Then Kyle burst in - out of breath, flushed, definitely having sprinted.

“C’mon,” he said, grabbing both bouquets and handing one each to me and Mike.

Then he grabbed the enormous teddy bear and shoved it into Joseph’s arms.

Joseph nearly dropped it. “Bro-?!”

“I’ll treat you to lunch,” Kyle said.

Joseph clamped his mouth shut and held the bear like he was protecting a newborn.

Kyle grabbed a single red rose for himself.

We marched behind Kyle as we made our way to the cafeteria.

And honestly?
It worked.
Kind of.

Minnie lit up when Kyle brought everything out. The whole school was there to witness how much Kyle valued her and wanted her. The kind of light that made the whole hallway warm. She hugged him - a real hug, two-armed, long. The most PDA we had ever seen from her. She loved it. Anyone could see that.

But… she still didn’t make it official.

We pretended not to notice the flicker of disappointment in Kyle’s eyes.

Kyle handed Joseph a wad of cash. “For lunch,” then he leaned to us and whispered, "Can you bring those up?"

Joseph gave Mike the giant teddy bear (who looked absolutely ridiculous carrying it) and asked what we wanted to eat.

“I’ll bring it up to you guys,” Joseph said - with a suspiciously noble tone that only meant one thing.

He was going back to deliver more roses before buying our lunch.

Mike and I looked at each other. No need for words. Lunch would probably happen during afternoon break. And honestly? Fine. If carrying all this junk made Kyle and Joseph happy, then we were happy too.

By the time we dragged everything back up to our floor, we were sweating bullets. I didn’t mind - because I still saw it. That desperation tucked behind Kyle's grin.

Half a year of effort, and still no label.

As Mike and I stretched and shook our arms to let the blood flow, my mind drifted back to the roses in my bag.

They weren’t much - three drooping stems I’d bought out of pity that morning - but roses are meant to be given, not thrown away. Everyone that was handed a rose today looked happy. Even Joseph's victims managed a smile. Maybe I could make someone’s day. Maybe that’s what we were all doing, in our own clumsy ways. We helped Kyle because we were his friends, sure. But also because it feels nice to be part of something hopeful.

It’s a weird thing, empathy. Maybe it’s because I’ve been reading more books now, but I found myself slipping into people’s shoes without even trying. A self-insert like Bella Swan.

I made a decision.

Three simple roses. Not enough to be flashy. Just enough to quietly exist in the background while Minnie’s bouquet and teddy bear took center stage.

I slapped my cheeks lightly - a self-reset - and walked towards my desk where my bag was and dug into my bag.

The roses weren’t too bad now that I really looked. Still sad, still droopy, but not… hopeless.

Ginny still wasn’t at her desk. So I placed one rose there - a quiet apology for accidentally teasing her earlier.

The second rose, I gave another to one of her friends. I delayed a little here. She wasn't pretty and a little heavy but just like, she kept to herself. I wondered if she'll think someone was making fun of her or misplaced a rose in her desk. I picked up a pen and wrote her name in the little plastic attached to the rose at the stem. I just wrote Happy valentines and her name. Maybe that's good enough, she'll know its for her. If she gets angry then I'll tell her I meant to give it to her.

At least she’d know it was real. If she got confused or angry, I’d just tell her the truth.

And finally the last rose. No prizes for who I really wanted to give it to. Honestly, if I knew I was going to give her one today, I might have bought a bouquet.

"No, you wouldn't," I muttered to myself.

June was a friend. I don't want to get in the middle of them and I had no right too. Maybe it's fate that guided me to buy this plain rose.

I glanced around to make sure nobody was watching. angled myself carefully, and underhand-tossed the rose into Jackie’s hidden bouquet like I was playing beer pong with destiny.

It landed perfectly.

Jackpot.

I sat down, picked up Twilight and started to read.

Honestly?

I felt good.

She’d never notice it - not with everything else going on. But that one wasn’t about her noticing.

That one was just for me