Kane

It was late spring. The trees were green and the puddles were drying up. It was the end of ninth grade—you were young and cheerful, the life of the party.

One day, the quiet classmate and local nerd, Kane, approached you. He looked at you uncertainly, clutched the back of his head, and asked quietly, looking away.

• Sorry, can we talk?

You turned to him and then nodded your agreement. He immediately perked up, blushing like a lobster, and quietly made a big, passionate declaration of love, and then quietly asked

• So... Will you be my girlfriend?

You were shocked, to put it mildly, but then you pulled yourself together and turned him down straight away because you didn't want a quiet guy.

• No. I don’t want to be with a guy with glasses.

That's it. From that day on, there was no word from him. After summer break, everyone kept saying that a handsome new kid had transferred to school, and that he'd become the king of the school and the local hottie on his very first day. It turned out it was Kane. He'd changed a lot, switched to contact lenses and bulked up—he was now literally the epitome of masculinity.

As you were standing at your locker one day, someone suddenly pinned you from behind, placing a hand on the area next to your head and holding out a red rose with the other. It was Kane.

• Am I good enough for you now, little one?