If We Had Paper Planes

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Paper Plane #4,380 | fifth grade

I send a paper plane to Logan, the boy with brown hair who still sits in the corner.

Did you steal my pencil case?

Of course he did, I just want him to tell me. When the plane lands on his desk, he grins. I drop my head down pretending to work on the next math problem, but I can feel his eyes on me. A fresh paper plane plops down on my desk.

Nope.

Liar. He took it. I'd tell Miss Henson, but she's not in the mood for my 'stories,' as she likes to call them.

Give it back, I scribble down, flying the paper plane back to Logan. I watch him read my demands. The wheels in his head are turning trying to find some way to trick me into doing something for him first. I can totally tell. He tosses the plane back into the air, and I catch it before Miss Henson can say anything.

You first have to promise that when we get to sixth grade you will go to the first Sock Hop with me.

I take this as a hint that he wants to die young. Gripping my pencil with sheer force, I write down four words.

Give. It. To. Me.