Joey had never put effort into anything.
Not schoolwork. His grades hovered somewhere between average and below, drifting along with whatever minimal attention he bothered to give. Not football. He showed up, ran drills, followed instructions—but when match day came, he sat on the bench, every single time. Not bad enough to be cut, never good enough to start. Not even socially. He kept to himself, quiet, careful, a ghost among crowds, invisible by choice and habit.
And then there was Anita.
High school government president, impossibly composed, smart, and radiant in a way that made her presence unavoidable. She smiled at everyone, spoke to everyone, but when she looked at Joey, it was different. She listened. She noticed him—not in a casual, passing way, but like she could actually see him.
Something inside Joey shifted. Something he didn't recognize at first.
He wanted to be seen back. He wanted to matter.
So, for the first time in his life, Joey tried.
He wrote a letter. Not just scribbled words like he usually did on worksheets or half-hearted homework assignments. He wrote, erased, rewrote, tore up drafts, and started again. He measured every sentence. Crossed out every word that didn't sound right. He folded the paper with care, slid it into an envelope, and wrote her name neatly across the front. Clean. Simple. Honest.
Then, without thinking too much, he slipped it into her locker. A small, deliberate act, something that required more effort than he had ever given anything in his life. And then he walked away, chest tight, stomach fluttering—waiting.
The next morning, he walked into school with that same anxious weight, expecting… anything. But not long after he arrived, he was approached by Layla, one of Anita's best friends, holding his letter. She simply handed it to him and said "Anita doesn't take letters". And just like that he was rejected.
The hollow hope he had carried melted into something heavier—disappointment, shame, frustration. He had known the odds were against him, had braced for rejection in theory. But somehow, in the act of trying, he had allowed himself to hope. And now, that hope had been pulled out from under him, leaving him feeling smaller than ever for the rest of the day.
Outside the window, students poured past, laughing, talking, moving effortlessly out of school gates. And there she was—Anita—smiling, surrounded by friends, carefree and luminous in a way that made the world feel impossibly bright from this side of the glass.
Joey didn't move, completely slumped on his desk in the empty classroom.
The classroom doors then creaked. Footsteps echoed softly on the floor. He barely noticed.
"Hey—uh, you seen a locker key anywhere?"
The voice was distant, almost irrelevant. Joey's mind was elsewhere.
A shadow moved under his desk. Hands rifled. Clink. The keys appeared, jingling lightly, and were pocketed by the same calm, steady presence he had been expecting but hadn't fully acknowledged until now.
Joey finally looked up. Layla.
Her eyes took in his face, pale and slack, and her mouth twisted into a faint frown.
"You look terrible," she said, quietly, almost to herself.
Joey didn't answer.
"What happened to you?" she asked again, more pointed this time.
He didn't respond, staring blankly out the window at the scene he couldn't touch, couldn't be part of. Layla followed his gaze. Her expression shifted, understanding settling over her features.
Then, quick and playful, she flicked the side of his head with her fingers.
Joey jolted upright. "Hey! What was that for?"
"Stop being a sore loser and move on, man," Layla said, leaning against the desk. "You didn't even have the guts to face her. You don't get to cry over her now."
Joey swallowed hard. The sting radiated through him, but underneath it, clarity began to form.
"…I know..," he muttered. "I shouldn't have even tried in the first place." He looked at her, meeting her gaze briefly.
He gathered his bag slowly, shoulders heavy, and walked out.
Layla watched him go, a strange knot tightening in her chest. A strange feeling curled in her chest. Not pity. Not sympathy exactly. But something like responsibility.
Layla caught up to him just outside the classroom.
"Your first mistake," she said, not slowing her steps, "was writing a letter in the first place."
Joey stopped.
He turned halfway toward her, brows knitting. "What?"
Layla faced him fully now, hands tucked into her jacket pockets. "Letters are cute. Sweet. If you're in middle school." She tilted her head. "If you actually wanted a chance, you should've walked up to her and said it to her face."
Joey let out a short, humorless breath. "You make it sound easy."
Layla didn't respond.
"You know shes popular," Joey continued, voice tightening. "I wouldn't even get two steps toward her without half the campus staring, the thought of it alone makes me tense up"
He looked down at the envelope in his hand, fingers curling around it.
"And I didn't half-do it," he added quietly. "I actually tried. I put everything into this letter."
He hesitated, then looked at her. "Did she at least say… what she didn't like about it?"
Layla stopped walking.
She closed her eyes for a second and sighed, like someone bracing themselves.
"It's not about what she didn't like," she said. "She didn't read it."
Joey blinked. "What?"
Layla nodded once. "You heard me."
He stared at her, waiting for the punchline. None came.
"Anita gets letters all the time," Layla continued. "All. The. Time." She lifted a hand, palm up. "To the point where it's exhausting. She's got events, meetings, planning committees—she doesn't have the energy to go through anonymous confessions."
Joey's grip tightened around the envelope.
"She didn't even…" His voice cracked, just slightly. He swallowed. "She didn't even open it?"
Layla shook her head.
Something inside Joey sagged. His shoulders dropped, like whatever had been holding him upright finally gave out.
"I mean," Layla added quickly, "if she didn't read it, then it wasn't personal. So don't—"
Joey looked at her.
Not angry. Not accusing.
Just empty.
Layla stopped talking.
Joey nodded once. "Thanks. For telling me."
He looked at the envelope one last time, then dropped it into the trash and walked away without looking back.
Layla stayed where she was.
Her eyes drifted to the bin. To the white envelope resting inside.