Chapter Text
You find the first note in your locker on Monday morning.
YOU LOOK NICE IN A SUIT. I WAS TOO MUCH OF A COWARD TO TELL YOU IN PERSON BUT I STILL THINK YOU SHOULD KNOW.
It’s scribbled on a piece of notebook paper in all-caps using a gray marker. Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes skim over the words, and you quickly look up and around to see if anyone’s watching you. Barely anyone is even around and none of them are at all interested in you. All these kids are about to be late to first period, you included, but you couldn’t care less. Someone left an anonymous love letter in your locker.
Okay, “love letter” is a big stretch there, let’s be honest. But still, it’s a really nice little note written by god-knows-who and slipped into your locker all cliche-like. You turn your attention back to the paper you’re white-knuckling and read that first sentence over and over and over. Six words is apparently all it takes to have heaven’s light surround you while a chorus of little naked angel babies sing a song of euphoria. A specific kind of euphoria.
You came out last summer right after school ended. Your brother took it well enough and helped you get a haircut and a binder and even onto testosterone shots, though it did make him up the difficulty on his strifes with you because he thinks you can handle it more as a guy, which you think is a little sexist but you’d never tell him that. You came out kind of quietly online, just changing the name on your social media profiles, deleting old ironic selfies and replacing them with new ones, shit like that. You’re not the type of guy to make a big coming out post or put the trans flag around your profile picture. You just wanted people to know enough to respect it and not ask any questions. Though soon enough, the questions started flooding in about the changes. You lost some friends but you also became closer with some of your friends and family members who accepted you whole-heartedly. Even your dumbass friend John is kinda confused but he’s got the spirit and doesn’t use your deadname anymore. You’re happy with how smooth everything went for the most part.
Though you were still nervous as all hell when you showed up to Homecoming three days ago wearing your first suit. Your sister Rose helped you pick it out and her girlfriend Kanaya modified it a little for you. You had originally wanted a really stupid-looking outfit for ironic purposes, but settled for a more normal - if colorful - attire since you didn’t want to draw too much attention to your outfit. These first few months of school have been pretty rough with a few particular students making it their personal goal to give you hell and even a few teachers who constantly mess up your name and pronouns so that no matter how hard you pass all of your classmates have constant reminders of what you were born as… but you sucked it up and still went to the stupid dance for your friends. You obviously didn’t have a date because everyone who used to crush on you is now confused as all hell, and you’re honestly confused about your own sexuality, but you and your friends still had a great time as you pretended to be unseen by the rest of the school.
But now, staring at this note and reading it for the forty-third time, you think about how apparently you were seen by at least one person. And that person apparently thinks you’re hot shit. You try to picture the scene: you and Rose standing off to the side watching with amused expressions as your other two friends dance their hearts out and look like cute idiots doing so, while someone across the gym gazes at you longingly and tries to work up the nerve to tell you that you look nice. Your brain struggles for a moment to imagine the person - boy? girl? enby? - before deciding to picture a pretty girl in an elegant ballgown that’s black with bright green gems and sequins, she has long black hair and round gl- okay stop you’re just picturing Jade. Maybe instead she’s in a soft pink dress and she's got brown hair braided with flowers in it as if she was straight out of a cottagecore Pinterest board. Or perhaps she's got platinum blonde hair like you, but its long and pulled up into a bun, and she's wearing a tiny silver dress that doesn't even reach her knees. Or-
A scowling teacher approaches you, snapping you out of your daydream, and in a hurry you crinkle up the note and shove it in your pocket so you can grab your books and head to class. In your rush you didn’t realize you grabbed your chemistry books even though you don’t have that until after lunch, so you spend all of AP Lit listening to music through the headphone hidden in your sleeve and thinking about that little letter.
You wonder who wrote it, if it’s someone you know, if it’s maybe one of your friends trying to prank you. Well, no, most of your friends are too wholesome for that, it’s more likely that if they wrote it they did it to give you an ego boost. But what if you somehow have a secret admirer? You know you’re good-looking but you also know you’re the only trans kid in this tiny school that’s smack dab in the middle of bible-belt Texas and that no one here would think of you that highly. Maybe that’s why this person is staying anonymous, for the sake of not getting bullied? That would make sense, you figure even as your heart drops at the thought.
Rose confronts you after class about how you were paying attention even less so than you usually do, but you hold off on telling her the truth for now because you know there’d be a lot she’d want to discuss about it. So you instead wait until lunch time to show your friends the now-wrinkled note. As expected, Rose is intrigued and wants to devise a plan to figure out who wrote it, Jade is gushy and makes fun of you a little for having a secret admirer, and John suggests that you wrote it yourself ironically. When all was said and done and lunch ends, you’re no closer to finding out who wrote it besides narrowing it down to not being any of your three close friends. So you start making plans for finding the person if they decide to write you again. It seems unlikely, since according to the note there’s only one thing they wanted to say and they said it, but as you board the bus home you find yourself wishing to find another note for you tomorrow morning.
There isn’t. You’re weirdly disappointed to find your locker devoid of anonymous notes, but nevertheless spend the whole school day thinking about yesterday’s and talking about it more with your friends.
On Wednesday there’s still not another note. You don’t know why you’re expecting one to be there each time you open your locker, but you guess you just don’t want to live in suspense forever and never find out anything more about this person and what they think of you. Maybe it’s all just you being conceited and wanting the attention, or maybe you’re just a really lonely motherfucker. You give up hope of receiving any more anonymous love confessions.
Come Thursday morning, however, another folded note greets you as you open your locker. Your heart leaps into your throat when you see it and you almost tear it to get it open.
I GIVE YOU ONE TINY NOTE AND YOU SPEND THREE DAYS TALKING TO YOUR FRIENDS ABOUT NOTHING BUT THAT. IF YOU WEREN’T SO CUTE I’D FIND YOU UNBEARABLY ANNOYING.
You can’t help it, you break out into a smile when you read it. It’s the same handwriting with the same marker - you’d know, you’ve memorized every detail of the first note by now. You wonder how this mystery girl knows you’ve been talking about the note for three days straight, so you interrogate your friends again when you see them at lunch to see if any of them wrote it. But they all have pretty good alibis for not caring enough to pull a prank like this. So that means the girl must be sitting near you at lunch or class, but since your group sits somewhere different every day it could really be anybody.
You spend all day swooning like a pathetic loser over someone thinking you “cute”. You’re also racking your brain on how to find the identity of this person or even how you could communicate back. You devise some plans and scribble them into your notebook, eager to try them out. Your first plan is one of communication: at the end of the school day you leave a note in your locker for your secret admirer to see.
who are you? meet me at lunch today in D hall
You fold up your note and tape it so you’ll know if it’s been opened, and write “to whoever keeps leaving me notes” on the outside of it.
The next day, your note is exactly as you left it, unopened and everything. Plus there’s no new note. Your heart falls for a moment before you realize what a dumbass you are - obviously she just slips her notes through the slots on your locker and never actually opens it, duh. Nevertheless, you spend all of lunchtime in D hall half-expecting someone to come up to you and confess their love.
No one does.
Over the weekend you spend way too much time daydreaming about the author of the notes, wondering if you’ll receive any more, if maybe they’ll have clues to her identity. You picture every type of girl as the author: maybe she’s tiny and shy and doesn’t talk much, maybe she’s tall and popular and outgoing but for whatever reason won’t reveal herself to you.
You even spend so much time thinking about it you pay less attention during your strifing and end up failing to block an easily avoidable blow to the arm. The sword cuts in kinda deep and you end up patching yourself up as always while your brother avoids you in a show of disappointment. You kick yourself for letting your mind wander so much over two dumb notes and vow to not think about it again. That proves difficult when you find another note on Monday morning.
WHILE YOU LOOK LIKE A PRINCE YOU ACT MORE LIKE A KNIGHT. VERY ARROGANT AND FULL OF HIMSELF BUT COURAGEOUS AND STRONG REGARDLESS. DOES THAT SOUND TOO SAPPY? FUCK IT PROBABLY DOES. SORRY.
The last three sentences are added at the bottom like an afterthought, and you chuckle to yourself wondering why she’d apologize for that yet send it anyway. Your curiosity comes back full-force wondering who in the world would see you like this, like a cute, brave, strong knight who looks like a prince who wears suits well. Your gender euphoria as well as ego go through the roof and you hold your head up high the whole day.
The next day you get to school really early by taking your skateboard instead of the bus and you stand by your locker to wait for a potential new note to be delivered. No one approaches, and you’re left noteless for the day.
You figure that maybe your presence scared them off, so on Wednesday you get to school early but wait down the hall instead, keeping your eyes focused directly on your locker. No one approaches it and no note awaits you when you finally go open it.
On Thursday you just take the bus, figuring that she either knew you were watching or she’s stopped writing at least for a while, and either way you cherish your sleep too much to keep coming in early. Imagine the look on your face when you open your locker and are greeted with another note and you realize you might've caught the author in the act if you had decided today to come in early.
IS YOUR ARM OKAY? WHICH BASTARD DID THAT TO YOU? I’LL KILL THEM.
You smile a little to yourself as you subconsciously rub the healing wound that you’ve been hiding under bandages and sleeves. It’s been more visible when you’re in your t-shirt for your track & field class, so you wonder if that’s where she saw it. It’s really sweet that she’s threatening your attacker, but you can’t help but think of what she’d say if she found out who actually did that to you. You don't like the thought of her finding that out.
On Friday when you receive no note, you wonder if there’s a pattern going on here. Your theory gets stronger when you receive a note on Monday.
I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT YOU. ITS A LITTLE FUCKING PATHETIC ACTUALLY.
It’s another short one, but it gets your heart doing acrobatic fucking pirouettes anyway. You wonder how she’s capable of being so aggressive yet so sweet in her notes. You fold the note back up and slip it into your pocket to add to the collection you’re keeping in your room. You’re so glad to know that you’re not the only alone in having this person run through your mind all day. Plus now you know her favorite days of the week so now you can know when to expect letters.
That next Thursday you get to school so early you’re practically the first student in the building. But your lack of sleep was for naught when you see a note is already waiting for you despite how early you are, so you make up the zees in your classes instead.
SERIOUSLY, HELP ME UNDERSTAND WHY I’M SO ENAMORED BY SOMEONE WHO WOULD NEVER HAVE A CHANCE OF LIKING ME BACK? MAYBE THE UNIVERSE JUST LIKES TO TAUNT ME. DANGLE CUTE GUYS IN FRONT OF MY FACE, WAITING FOR ME TO REACH FOR THEM, THEN SNATCHING THEM AWAY AND LAUGHING AT ME FOR TRYING. SORRY FOR THE RAMBLE THERE.
You again wonder why she’d regret saying that and still send it anyway, but now you’re racking your brain trying to think why the hell you have “no chance of liking her back”. Does she think you’re out of her league? Is she older, younger? Does she think you wouldn’t date her because of her appearance or maybe some sort of disability? You honestly have no idea why she’d think this way.
When you aren’t asleep, you’re spending your class time devising plans to find out who's doing this.
The letters keep coming every Monday and Thursday like clockwork.
I'VE SEEN THE WAY YOU CAN DRAW WHEN YOU ACTUALLY TRY. IT'S REALLY FUCKING GOOD. WHY DO YOU STICK TO THE IRONIC SHITPOSTS WHEN YOU'RE GENUINELY REALLY TALENTED? I'LL NEVER UNDERSTAND.
You try installing a camera near your locker but end up caught by teachers and given lunch detention for a week.
HOPE YOUR WEEKEND WAS GOOD. MAYBE ONE OF THESE DAYS WE COULD HANG OUT. HA, LIKE THAT WOULD EVER HAPPEN.
Your cousin who’s good with robotics made you a pressure plate to put in your locker and it’ll alert your phone when something falls on it. You’re caught again by teachers and, once you explain that it isn’t a bomb, are given just another week of lunch detention.
YOU HAVEN’T BEEN AT LUNCH IN A WHILE, WHERE’D YOU GO? ARE YOU OKAY?
You start turning your attention towards making the communication two-way instead of just finding out who’s writing the notes.
I HEARD YOU GOT DETENTION AND ALSO WHAT GOT YOU IN TROUBLE IN THE FIRST PLACE. THAT’S FUCKING HILARIOUS. TALK ABOUT KARMA FOR TRYING TO INVADE MY PRIVACY AND EVADE MY ANONYMITY, ASSHOLE.
You put a sticky note that reads “who are you” on your locker at the end of the school day on Wednesday. You come to school early again the next day and find your note on the floor partially under the lockers with some shoe prints on it. You figure she didn't even see it.
I HOPE THAT LAST NOTE DIDN’T COME OFF TOO HARSH. YOU’RE STILL ATTRACTIVE AND SOMEHOW COOL IN A VERY UNCOOL WAY, I JUST THINK YOU’RE AN IDIOT FOR TRYING TO USE TECH TO FIND MY IDENTITY.
On Friday you put another note on your locker, this time reading “who are you? add me on pesterchum: turntechGodhead” taping it securely in place. That night you get a flurry of messages from a ton of different people on Pesterchum all of various levels of harassment and trolling. You end up disregarding all of them. On Monday you find the note ripped off with only bits of tape remaining in its place.
WHY ARE YOU SO HELLBENT ON KNOWING WHO I AM? CAN’T I HAVE A SECRET CRUSH IN PEACE?
It’s thrilling to have the fact that she has a crush on you be confirmed, but it makes the suspense of not knowing who she is even more unbearable.
ACTUALLY, IT’S DAWNED ON ME THAT MAYBE THIS WHOLE STUNT HAS COME OFF AS REALLY FUCKING CREEPY, AND YOU MIGHT BE UNCOMFORTABLE BECAUSE OF IT. I CAN ASK BUT HAVE NO WAY OF GETTING AN ANSWER. I JUST HOPE YOU AREN’T WEIRDED OUT.
No, you want to shout at the letter, I’m not uncomfortable! Don’t stop, it’s not weird! Well, okay it is weird but not in a bad way. It’s just cliche and sort of cute and romantic.
On Monday, to your horror, there’s no letter from your secret admirer. You search all over your locker but find no note. You spent the whole day wondering what happened, if maybe she got sick or didn’t have time or got caught or someone stole it out of your locker or or… you don’t want to face the possibility that she stopped because she thinks you’re uncomfortable. Not only is the routine confidence boost really nice, but this is the coolest and most exciting thing to happen to you during school, and also if you never find out who wrote these you might just explode under the suspense like those videos of people who put rubber bands on watermelons until they burst. That’s you, the watermelon, and each day you don’t know who this girl is, is another rubber band.
The next Thursday, you hold your breath before opening your locker, praying to any god out there that this chick hasn’t left you alone. You swing open your locker and breathe the biggest sigh of relief as you see the newest folded note. When you open it up and see the longest letter yet, another small paper flutters out onto the floor. You’re quick to pick it up and find two stickers: a red circle and a green circle.
I SAW YOU SEARCHING FOR A NOTE ON MONDAY. MAYBE I’M JUST HOPEFUL THOUGH. BUT I DID MANAGE TO USE MY LAST REMAINING BRAIN CELL TO THINK OF A WAY TO ASK AND GET AN ANSWER. SO I INCLUDED STICKERS IN THIS LETTER THAT MY OBNOXIOUS AF BROTHER USES TO COLOR-CODE GODDAMN EVERYTHING. IF YOU WANT ME TO STOP WRITING THESE, PUT THE RED DOT ON YOUR LOCKER. IF FOR WHATEVER REASON YOU WANT MORE EMBARRASSING LOVE CONFESSIONS DROPPED IN YOUR LOCKER BIWEEKLY, PUT THE GREEN DOT ON. IF YOU DON’T CARE, DON’T PUT EITHER I GUESS. AND IF YOU PUT BOTH, FIRST OF ALL FUCK YOU, SECONDLY I’LL STOP.
You look at the stickers. A part of you wants to play it cool and put neither, look uninterested and nonchalant. But not only would that contradict your various methods of catching this person but you’re also dying to get more notes and don’t want to risk them not writing any more. You’re also excited about this invited method of communication with the admirer, so you pull out your red pen and prepare to make the most of the situation by writing something on the green dot for her. But the thing is so tiny, what could you even say?
You could attempt another “who are you” really small, but not only would it be hardly readable but you’ve tried that question enough times. You want to express how you aren’t uncomfortable at all, how you’re flattered, how nice it’s been getting these notes twice a week. You want to say how you’re dying to know who’s writing them, to meet the mystery lady, to show her there’s no way you’re out of her league. You want to crack a joke, make her laugh, or say something nice back about her (that is, if you knew anything about her to compliment besides how she writes).
After a few minutes of thinking, you settle on a stupid little way to sum up all those feelings. You draw a crappy-looking heart on the green circle and stick it on the middle of your locker, right below where she’d be sliding these letters. You keep the red sticker with the note though, just as a keepsake to add to the pile. You’ve never been the romantic type, but something about how old-fashioned this whole situation is, is turning you into a sap for love.
Love. It just now hit you that she used that word in the letter. Does she really feel that strongly about you, or was she exaggerating? Maybe it was a figure of speech? You can’t be sure, but your heart still soars at the possibility, and you ride that high for the next few days.
On Monday, the green circle is mostly peeled off your locker except for the residue it left behind, and another note greets you inside.
I SAW THE GREEN DOT, THOUGH I HAVE NO CLUE WHY YOU’RE INVITING ME TO KEEP GOING WITH THIS DUMB SCHEME. I ALSO DON’T KNOW WHY I’M CONTINUING BUT HERE I AM. BTW… THERE WAS A HEART DRAWN ON THE STICKER I’M SURE YOU’VE SEEN IT’S YOUR ON DAMN LOCKER AFTER ALL. I DON’T KNOW WHO DREW IT. I DON’T KNOW WHAT IT MEANS IF IT WAS YOU THAT DID IT. IF YOU DID, WHAT THE FUCK DOES IT MEAN? AND WHY CAN’T YOU DRAW A HEART WELL? IT’S SUCH A SIMPLE SHAPE, STRIDER.
Your heart does a little flip since she hasn’t referred to you by name until now. You smile as you read it a few more times before class starts.
Over the next bunch of weeks, you keep getting notes every Monday and Thursday. They’re always there like clockwork, and they always bring a small smile and a bit of heat to your face. After the situation with the stickers, the notes start getting longer and more gushy. They mention your “soft-looking” hair, your “beautiful eyes” that you apparently should stop hiding, your “dumb sense of style that somehow always looks good” on you, your voice that supposedly sounds like it would be amazing if you ever sang. You start holding yourself differently every day in school knowing that someone is watching you and admiring different features of you, despite how creepy that sounds. You’ve never felt a weird sort of confidence like this before; most of your arrogance has just been for show until now.
It’s been months since the first letter, it’s now the beginning of spring.
Rose approaches you one day and hands you a small poster that looks like it’s freshly torn from a corkboard. It’s a flyer for the school theater’s production of Peter Pan which is performing in a few weeks. You raise an eyebrow at her.
“Do you… want to go to this?” you ask her. “It doesn’t seem your style. Unless you have a newfound love for fairy tales that don’t involve sexy sparkling vampires or old gay wizards for some reason.”
“No, Dave, I think this is the answer you’re looking for. I was talking to the theater director to see if he’d put on certain plays I think would benefit everybody, and one of the things he told me was that these students in the play meet up after school every Wednesday and Friday, and have been since October when the auditions were held.”
“None of that means anything to me. Are you saying I should join them, or…? I’m no actor, I-”
“Yes, I think you should branch out into theater arts for a new hobby,” Rose interrupts sarcastically. “Seriously though, are you not making the connection here?”
You think really hard, use all of your brain power to piece together these clues and try to understand what your sister is getting at here. After turning your gears for a bit, you give up. Rose sighs.
“You’re useless, no wonder you haven’t figured it out yet.” Rose starts to walk past you but presses the poster into your chest and makes one final remark as she passes by: “All I’m saying is, don’t you think that would be a perfect opportunity to, I don’t know, put something in someone’s locker without getting caught?”
Everything clicks into place suddenly, and your heart starts racing as you realize you now have a big lead on this person’s identity. Not only does it narrow down the search, but you now have a good opportunity to catch them or at least have a chance to talk to them.
Her, you remind yourself. It’s fine if I’m trans but this isn’t a gay love story. You wonder if you’d feel any different if your secret admirer wasn’t a girl. Of course, wouldn’t I? I’d have to let them down easy. You aren’t entirely convinced of that but damn you’ll pretend you are.
The Thursday after that you get what you hope will be the final letter.
SOMETIMES I CATCH YOU SMILING WHEN YOU READ THESE LETTERS. SOMETIMES THAT’S THE ONLY BIT OF SUNSHINE MY GLOOMY LIFE GETS ALL WEEK. I WONDER, IF WE EVER MET, IF I COULD STILL MAKE YOU SMILE. IT’S A NICE DREAM EVEN IF THAT’S ALL IT WILL BE.
Heh, talk about irony. You have your plan already in motion, and decide that tomorrow you’re going to make your move.