How to Steal a Happy Ending

•twenty nine• Case the joint

"When you find yourself the villain,

in the story you have written. "

          -Tourist, Death Cab for Cutie.

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It would have to be Sara.

Because all through that god awful movie, the even worse ride home and the sleepless night that followed, I had run through every possibility of it being James. And all had the same outcome.

He would barely listen and there'd be too many questions. And by the time I placated his curiosity, his boredom would drop by and whisk his attention away to a more interesting thing. Which, these days, happened to be Sara. So James would be no good.

In fact, it was probably best if James never caught wind of this. If not forever then, atleast until we're so old that it wouldn't matter anyway.

It would definitely have to be Sara. But I couldn't just take the idea of James away from her. No, she was probably clutching it like a ravaged bear would a pot of honey. The only way for this plan to work was if I tossed at her another, equally delectable heart to cling on to.

My first order of business then was to decide who's that heart would be. And what better place to do that then in English class? But I couldn't just choose anyone. No, my alternative had to be the sweet gooey center to Jimmy's crumbly cake crust demeanor; the boy next door to his devil's advocate. For that was how love triangles worked. And in this worn out plot line, the nice guys always finished first.

I scanned the classroom in search of the lucky boy that would get to fill these shoes. The kid at the back wearing sunglasses? Too stoned. The detention blondie?  I snorted, as if.

There was Mark but he was too edgy; and Henry, too cookie cutter; and Peter, just plain ugly. Great, now the only single guy left in this room is the teacher.

I was seriously starting to consider the latter when fate threw it's own suggestion at me.

Timothy Crowell.

As I watched him trip- first over a classmate's bag strap and then over his own feet- I knew Tim was the one.  With his beautifully comprehensive collection of notes, awkward-sometimes cute- laugh, and the glorious markings of puberty, he was the perfect image of what Sara would need- someone to settle for instead.  Fate was definitely the best casting agent I could ever ask for.

When my not-so golden boy took his seat, I jumped into action. Scooting my chair a little closer, I tapped on his shoulder, consequently earning a frown. It didn't really faze me though. In fact, after three years of being in the same English class as him, it was basically our way of saying hello.

After flashing a smile as fake as his irritation, I gushed. "Heyy, I really liked your speech yesterday. You know, the one about how there are clues in Hamlet that tell us who the real writer was?"

A look of disbelief shone from behind his glasses, "Oh, and you people actually listen in class?"

"Uh-" Nope, I was mistaken; it wasn't disbelief that lay behind those spectacles. It was scorn. The same kind that hid within Sara's benign smiles while she more or less told me that I couldn't hold a candle to her brains.

Clearly, these two are a match made in heaven.

Nonetheless, I couldn't afford to toss my plan out the window just yet, especially over something as insignificant as a snub from some loser with poor foot-eye coordination. So I smiled wide and played into the role they'd carved out for me.