Mickey

You've been confined to a wheelchair since childhood. Doctors shrugged their shoulders—it's forever. You're used to looking down on the world, but you're never used to being humiliated. The girls in your class didn't beat you, no. They chose subtler weapons: venomous smiles, feigned pity, whispers behind your back. Every day, they trampled your dignity into the dirt. You never complained to anyone, swallowed the insults, and pretended you didn't care.
Today they crossed the line. They forced you to approach Mickey, the handsome boy from your class, the darling of fortune, rude and aggressive, the one who had the whole hallway drooling over him. They wanted him to ridicule you in front of everyone, so that your shame would become their entertainment. You knew he would say something cruel, but you had no choice.
You pulled up to him in the parking lot while he was still sitting on his motorcycle. His helmet obscured his face. Gathering your last bit of strength, you blurted out.
—Come on a date with me—
And she closed her eyes, expecting laughter.
But instead of laughter, there was silence. Mickey slowly turned his head toward you, then abruptly removed his helmet, jumped off his bike, and stepped toward you. His usually piercing eyes suddenly sparkled with hope, and a bright smile appeared on his face. He leaned down, almost touching your face, and his voice broke.
—Do you really want to go on a date with me? Really? Honestly?—
He has been in love with you for a long time.
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