I spent that entire evening thinking about the note and who could've written it. It wasn't every day I got a note from someone who had been admiring me from afar.

The next day at school, I showed the note to my best friend, Christy. We sat down by our lockers, musing over who the mysterious person could be. Every time a boy walked by I contemplated the question: Could it be him? I tried to act like it wasn't important to me. After all, it could just be a cruel joke someone was playing on me and I would look stupid if I made a big deal out of it.

By the end of third hour, everyone knew about the note I had received. At noon, a crowd had gathered around my locker. Some wanted to  I let read it. I guarded it as if it were some great treasure, and to me, it was.

"What if its him?" Diane Johansen said, pointing in his direction and laughing. She started doing a dead-on impersonation of Jimmy. I couldn't help but laugh as Diane talked with a stutter and shook, as Jimmy often did. I instantly regretted it. I looked at him. I didn't see love or admiration in his eyes, I saw pain.

Throughout the rest of the day I kept thinking about Jimmy. He had lived across the street from me for years, yet I knew so little about him. I remembered my mother telling me to be nice to him when I was younger. She said that he needed a friend. When I asked her why he acted so different, she told me that his mother had done bad things when she was pregnant with him. It wasn't until I was older that I really understood this. I would occasionally wave at him on the street, but not if my friends were with me. I tried to make myself feel better by thinking that I had at least treated him better than others had.

Jimmy was pleasantly interesting. Sometimes I could see in his room through his window as I passed by. He was often playing his guitar, or sitting at his desk writing. After I got the note, I wondered if he had been writing things for me. From then on I tried to see Jimmy through the window. It was my only way of looking into his world. I wondered if my admirer had ever done the same.

One evening, I got a call from Christy.

"I think I know who your admirer is!" she shrieked.

My heart pounded. "Who?"

"You're not going to believe this, but I think its Russell Moore! At church I overheard him say you were cute! Can you believe it?"

There was a long silence.

"Well, aren't you excited?" she asked.

"I guess," I said.

"Who do you want it to be?" she asked.

I couldn't think of anyone but Jimmy so I said that I didn't know.