Yearbook Committee : One Shot

At the beginning of my sophomore year in high school, I had joined the Yearbook Committee. I hadn't really wanted to, but my mother and my homeroom teacher had both been pestering me about doing extracurricular activities so that I would actually have something to show on my college application that I cared about my education. Of course, seeing as I didn't really give a damn about the committee, it came as a surprise to me when I somehow got voted to be the head of it. Probably it was my own fault, for standing up to the annoying prick that had originally been chosen as the head.

At any rate, having overthrown the tyrant whom had ruled the Yearbook Committee with an iron fist since his freshman year, it was put upon me to come up with something spectacular and new. Unfortunately, I had no clue what to do. So, after a few weeks of watching me dragging my feet, my homeroom teacher suggested I look at the yearbooks of the past to find inspiration for this year's new book. Seeing as I had no better ideas, I agreed to his; and so I was given access to the school's own collection of yearbooks to sift through.

Though I flipped through the pages of book after book day after day, I was able to draw no inspiration from any of what I saw. It wasn't that the yearbooks were boring or anything, just that I didn't have the cleverness required to be inspired by looking at a bunch of books. It was just when I had begun to think of ditching the "search for inspiration for the present from the past" route that I found it. It was the yearbook from when my mother was a sophomore at this school.

It actually didn't mean that much to me when, whilst flipping through the pages with boredom, I came across a photo with my mother's name printed under it. If finding her in the book meant anything at all, it was only because her last name in the book was different than the last name she had at present. I had always assumed that her last name was her maiden name, since, although she had never made it clear who my father was, she always made it clear to me that she would never have married him. It seemed she had changed her last name at some point after all, though, despite never being married to my father or any other man.

However, all things put aside, the yearbook only became truly important and interesting to me when I came across a photo that had my name printed under it. My name exactly. First, middle, and last. I was so startled when I came across it that I actually dropped the book and lost the page. Naturally, the instant my shock had passed, I snatched the book back up and madly riffled through the pages until I found that one again. Finding the page a second time confirmed that I was not hallucinating. Years ago, there had been a male student with my same name at this school at the same time as my mother.

Once that small bit had been confirmed, I suddenly had all these other thoughts that needed to be confirmed. Was this person with whom my mother had conceived me? If so, why hadn't she ever told me? Had she even told him about it? My homeroom teacher had been a teacher at the school at the time of this yearbook, so had he known as well? Had he even suspected? If this person in this photo wasn't my father, though, then why was his name the same as mine? And, whether or not he was my father, where was he now?

There were possibly even more questions beyond that to be asked, but my mind got stuck on that one. Where was this man, this former student of the school? I had never seen him around town nor heard of him anywhere before. And, though he was listed as in his sophomore year in the yearbook, I hadn't seen him in any of the yearbooks that came after this one. Had he moved away to finish his schooling elsewhere, or had he altogether dropped out of highschool? If he had dropped out, how would I possibly be able to track him down? If he hadn't, though, I might be able to look for record of a transfer...

Except, I didn't want to bring this discovery of mine up with anyone, let alone an adult. For some reason, it felt as though I would be prevented from pursuing further information if I were to let anybody know about him. Which meant I was going to have to break into the school's files, if I was going to look for transfer papers. I just hoped the school still kept paperwork that was so old.
Under the guise of working on the yearbook, I then began to snoop around in search of any information pertaining to the person in the photo. Although I was unable to locate any paperwork of a transfer, I was fortunate enough to come across his name on a list of former students who received an annual "Catching Up with Classmates" booklet to keep track of those whom had graduated in the same year. Even more fortunate, that meant I also had discovered his home address.

The problem was, the address was from on the complete opposite side of the country. And there was no telephone number or email address given, either. At first, this freshly found out information seemed as though it had brought an open-ended ending to my search for answers. However, after just a day or two of staring at the address I had copied down from the school's files, I was inspired: I could just contact him through snail mail.

True, it would cause much anxiety as I awaited a return letter-if he replied at all-but it was better than simply giving up. I feared to write the letter while in the comfort of my own home, however, for it actually would feel quite uncomfortable to have my mother's presence in the house when secretly writing a letter to the man I believed she had conceived me with. So, one afternoon in the Yearbook Committee room, I put pen to paper, beginning to write with far more care than I usually might.

To one Mr. Maximim Shane Rodrigo,

Mr. Rodrigo, as you must have noticed upon receiving this letter-and perhaps also the reason for which you did open this letter-we have, curiously enough, matching names. Our names are not, however, the extent of our similarities. You see, I happened to come across your name while leafing through old yearbooks belonging to my high school as part of my work on the Yearbook Committee. Although I do not know whether you actually did graduate from this same school, I do know that you at least attended for your first two years of high school.

That brings me to our next similarity: one Ms. Shanna Rodrigo-or, as you may know her, Shanna Anola. As it were, you both attended this school at the same time for a two year period, although you were neither in the same class nor grade. And, it just so happens that she is also, as you may have guessed, my mother. Despite the fact that I cannot find any obvious link between the two of you, I found myself wondering if there was some perhaps private or even intimate connection you have with her. I'm sure you can understand why, considering how she not only changed her last name to yours, but also seems to have named her son, me myself, for you.

Of course, as you may or may not be aware, she never has been married, so I know that is not the cause for her change in last names. I'm sure that by now you must see where I am going with this, so I shall just pose my question frankly: Whether you were aware or unaware of my existence before now, do you believe that you may be my father?

Curiously,
A younger Mr. Maximim Shane Rodrigo

I mailed the letter off that very afternoon, prior to returning home. I continued to act as though nothing had changed from a week ago, before I had discovered the photo in that yearbook. My mother had no clue that I had discovered what very well may have been her deepest, darkest secret. I preferred her not to know, since it had not yet been confirmed, and since I honestly had no clue what I would do if it were true.

Really, what sort of affect would it have if I truly had found my father? It wasn't as though I had ever much cared to know about the man whom have my DNA came from. I will admit, I'd always had a mild curiosity about it, as any person naturally would; but I'd never been curious enough to pester my mother about it when she told me she didn't wish to talk about the subject the few times that I had brought it up. Knowing the truth about a man I had never even once met had just never seemed that important.

Somehow, though, my curiosity had increased tenfold when I had come across that photo of him. So I was actually quite appetent about it when I finally received a response letter nearly a week after sending the letter off. When I found that letter sitting in the mailbox after heading home from school, I knew there was no way I would be able to hide my excitement from my mother. So, I took the letter and headed straight back to school. Only once I was in the relative safety and privacy of the Yearbook Committee's room did I dare open it.

To the younger Mr. Maximim Shane Rodrigo,

I must say, I was quite startled when I received your letter. However, my startle was not because I believe we may be related, but because I know that cannot be. Though I normally might be hesitant to admit this, when dealing with a situation of such importance I must put aside my male pride and admit that I...have never had the pleasure of intimacy with any woman. Though I do find the fairer sex quite intriguing, intercourse with them holds no interest for me.

Still, even knowing we cannot possibly be related, I'm quite shocked to learn that Shanna not only changed her last name, but had named her own son for me! I honestly had no idea. And I actually feel somewhat terrible for my ignorance, since all it would have required for me to discover this sooner would to have actually read the annual booklet I receive in the mail from the high school about my former classmates. If only I had, we might have avoided this horrible misunderstanding. I can only imagine that your hopes must have gotten so high when you discovered me in that old yearbook, only to now have them dashed by my reply...

However, while I cannot offer you any information about who your father may actually be, I feel I must at least offer some insight as to why Shanna may have made such choices in regards to names. You mentioned that you were on the Yearbook Committee, and I can only imagine that it was your mother who recommended you join. You see, she was on the committee for all four years of high school-and I was on it for my first two years.

We were actually quite close back then, although not intimately so. I think that she may have misjudged our relationship, however-Check that. I know that she must have, considering her reaction when she discovered my own....feelings. I imagine that, prior to her realizing I was not romantically interested in her, she must have entertained the idea that we were "an item" and, judging by how she changed her last name after I moved out of town, she might very well have fantasized about us getting married one day.

Of course, judging by the fact that she has made no attempts to contact me over the years nor apparently ever me to you, I can only assume that she outgrew whatever obsession she had with me sometime after giving birth to you. Speaking of which, though I know it is no business of mine, might I inquire as to your age and/or grade?

Sincerely,
The elder Maximim

Needless to say, I...felt quite deflated when I first read his words. However, as I read the letter over a second time to better absorb what he had said, I found my curiosity being rekindled in a similar and yet unfamiliar way. Although this man I had discovered was not my father, he still was, in a way, related to me, if only in that my mother seemed to have at least at one point wished me to grow up to be like him. Perhaps she even still now wished I would grow up as her ideal imagining of the man she clearly had loved to great extent in her younger years. Before I even really knew what I was doing, I'd taken up a fresh piece of paper and begun a second letter to him.

To the elder Mr. Maximim,
Actually, in all honesty, I....am really not all that disappointed. To tell the truth, I've never really had much interest in knowing who is my father. I only wrote you about it because it would simply have been impossible to pass up an opportunity that had been all but thrown in my face. I think I'm actually more interested learning that you are a person my mother once felt for so deeply than I would have been if I had learned you were my father. After all, it seems that, whoever actually is my father, he meant as little to her as he does to me.

To answer your own inquiries: I am seventeen and in my sophomore year. To answer an inquiry I'm sure you'll have upon learning that information-as everyone does tend to-I did, indeed, have to repeat a year. It was my freshman year of high school that I had to repeat, actually. You see, originally mother wished to homeschool me for my high school years, but... Well, it didn't turn out so well. I ended up failing the state exam at the end of the year that determines whether or not homeschooled kids have been educated well enough to move on to the next grade. In the end, it was decided it was in my best interests to simply attend public school.

Also, I must mention that you were correct in assuming that it was my mother's wish that I join the Yearbook Committee. It was both her and my homeroom teacher-you might know him, Mr. Persnickety-that goaded me into it. I didn't really have interest in any shape, way, or form in the whole yearbook thing, until I came across that one from your sophomore year. By the way, might I be so bold as to inquire as to why you did not appear in either of the yearbooks that would have been for you junior and senior years here? Was it because you moved out of town prior to graduating?

Sincerely.
The younger Mr. Maximim

Again I mailed the letter off immediately, this time even going so far as to have it sent express so that it would be with him by the very next day. I wanted not only to have his reply faster, but for him to have my reply faster. Perhaps I should've added a postscript to the letter asking for his email. Of course, there was the possibility that he might not even have an email address. He wasn't so terribly old that I'd think he was out of touch with technology, but still.

Besides, I sort of liked being able to hold his letters in my hands and read his very own handwriting. I didn't feel that I really I ran the risk that my mother might find his reply letter in the mailbox before I did, since I was always the one who brought the mail inside. Speaking of which, I was overjoyed to find his letter in our mailbox just two days later. He had sent his reply express mail just as I had! Naturally, I wasted no time in dashing back to the school, to the safety of the Yearbook Committee's room to read the letter.

To the younger Maximim,

There's so much to respond to and so many ways I could respond, I don't know where to begin! But, then again, perhaps I do: Mr. Persnickety. What are the chances that you would have him as your homeroom teacher? No, I didn't have him for mine, but Shanna did! Did either of them ever tell you that? I tell you, he loved her like a daughter. Yes siree! That's probably why he hated me so much. No father likes any boy that their little princess likes, unless he was the one that picked that boy out for her.

I will admit, he at least stopped hating me so openly those last two years. Yes, I did attend there all four years of high school. The reason you can't find neither hide nor hair of me is because, while I quit the Yearbook Committee after Shanna and I had our falling out, she did not. I'd always figured the reason she was careful to omit any mention of me from the yearbook-even removing my name from my own class roster-was because she wanted to erase me from her life. I actually unintentionally helped her out with that, by not having anymore extracurricular activities after I quit the committee and missing the day everybody got their yearbook photos taken for both junior and senior year.

Of course, considering how she apparently reacted after I moved out of town and actually was erased from every aspect of her life, perhaps she didn't really want me erased at all. I guess maybe she was hoping I'd get peeved at her altogether omitting me from the yearbook and confront her. Can't imagine what good she hoped would come from that. I suppose it doesn't much matter now. Things worked out how they did, and there's no changing that.

Anyhow, how is Mr. Persnickety treating you? You're your mother's son, yet you've ended up with my name; I can't imagine it's easy for him to figure out how to handle that. It kind of makes me laugh, trying to picture his reaction the first time he called your name when taking attendance for class. It's probably only harder on him if you look more like your mother than your father.

Sincerely,
The elder Maximim

P.S. I hope you don't mind, but I have elected not to address you as "Mr." from this point forth. You may feel free to do likewise, if you so please.

For some reason, reading that letter put a smile on my face. I don't know what I was smiling about. His letter wasn't particularly amusing, but something about it just made me want to laugh like a longtime friend and I had just been sharing an inside joke. I happily set about writing my reply. Just as I finished up the letter, something caught my eye. It took all of a single second for me to decide to add a postscript this time-along with a little something else.

To Maximim,

I don't mind at all your choice not to use "Mr." before my name. Actually, though, if I had the choice as to what you would call me, I'd most prefer simply "Shane". I've always favored being called by that name. Somehow, it just feels more me than "Maximim"-or even just "Max" for short-does. Who knows, maybe it's because subconsciously I could tell that people were thinking of a different person when they referred to me as Maximim? Or it might just be that I feel closer to my mother when addressed by a name more similar to hers...

Speaking of names, the first time Mr. Persnickety called my name during attendance was not the first time that he ever saw me. For as long as I can remember, he's been in my life. I've always known him as a "family friend", and I suppose he's probably viewed me in the same fatherly-or is it now grandfatherly?-way that he did my mother. I guess he would be the main "male role model" of my life, except for I've never really viewed him as such. Probably that's what mother and he both think he is to me, though.

But, yeah, he treats me quite well. I kind of wish he weren't so kind to me, at least during school hours. Really, though, it's probably less how he treats me kindly and more how much attention he treats me with. I'm forever labeled as the teacher's pet because he gives me so much attention. I swear, the only reason I'm able to write these letters in the privacy of the Yearbook Committee room is because he's already gone home for the day. If he were still around, there wouldn't be any privacy to be found here at all. I don't know where I'd be hiding out at to write these letters then.

Admittedly, I didn't mind all of the attention prior to my high school years. It was alright having a teacher as a close friend before, since I could, on occasion, get him to help me with my homework and then brag to the other kids at school that a highly high school teacher had helped me. When you're actually in high school, though-and the high school that teacher works at, no less!-it's quite suddenly not something to be bragged about if said teacher helps you a little with your homework. Actually, even when he doesn't help me, the other kids tease me about having his help. It doesn't matter if I point out he didn't help me, either.

Ah, high school, I'm sure I'll look back on these years in the future and wish to live them all over again! Have you yet to hit that time in your life where you actually long for the prison sentence they call our high school years? Not to insinuate that you're old, of course. You aren't even yet thirty-five, after all, correct?

Sincerely,
Shane

P.S. Though you didn't actually ask, as you did mention whether or not I look more like my mother than my father, enclosed is my photo for this year's yearbook. What do you think? Do I look more like a male version of my mother than some stranger that would be known as my father?

As per my usual, I immediately went to the post office and mailed out the letter, again sending it express. I then headed home, anticipating receiving an equally express reply two days from now. Sure enough, when I got home from school two days later, there was his reply in the mailbox. So I grabbed it up and dashed off back to the Yearbook Committee room at the school, which I was now referring to as "my letter lair" in my head.

To Shane,

Correct you are. I'm thirty-four, to be exact. Turning thirty-five early next year, though. Of course, while you did specifically state that you are not insinuating I am old, I so suddenly feel like an old codger, looking at this photo of you. Ah, days of youth, how I miss thee so! Just kidding. I don't miss that damnable high school at all. I know that, as your elder, I should tell you that what you're experiencing is a marvelous, chaperoned trip through your adolescence. But, as I was brought up not to tell even "little white lies", I cannot bring myself to speak such lies, let alone write them down so that there is a record of my fibbery.

Speaking of suffering the unwanted and intolerable presence of bothersome adults, I truly feel for you, having Mr. Persnickety as your "father figure". With him filling that void in your life, it's no wonder that you have little care to know your real father. Perhaps, though, since he loves you so, he might be understanding if you were to talk to him about his relationship with you smothering your high school life? Or am I barking up a tree you've already tried to climb?

Back to the topic of my feeling old: I felt it only fair that I include a photo of myself in this letter. However, as seeing your sprightly photo has made me come down with the illness most adults inevitably suffer from-insecurity over age, shortened to I.O.A. if you prefer-the photo I have sent along with my letter is admittedly somewhat outdated...

Also, before I forget to mention it I actually almost did), I think you look quite a bit like your mother. If I didn't know better, I would say she had conceived you all by herself, without an ounce of help from any man. Or perhaps just that the "man" was an alien of such sorts that you inherited no physical traits from him.

Slightly jokingly but no less sincerely,
The feeling-much-elder Maximim

P.S. By the way, what did you mean saying you're hiding out to write to me?

Naturally, I had actually stopped to look at the photo before reading the letter; so when I read the part referring to the photo, I couldn't help but laugh aloud. The photo wasn't just somewhat outdated-it was older than the photo from the yearbook! He couldn't have been older than ten in the photo he sent me. What's more, he was dressed up like a ballerina! I couldn't even begin to imagine what had lead up to this photograph being taken.

To Maximim,

Now I'm the one who isn't sure where to begin in my responses to your letter! I suppose, though, that it would actually be best if I began at the end. So, in response to your postscript: I'm sure that you can imagine what sort of Hell might be raised if either my mother or Mr. Persnickety were to discover that I had discovered you, and that you and I have been exchanging letters. Of course, I myself hadn't the faintest clue about that when I wrote that initial letter to you, but I just knew somehow that things would turn ugly if I turned to either of them with my discovery. That would be why I decided instead to write to you; since, while I was uncertain of what you reaction would be, there was at least the chance that you would not react as badly as I'm sure they would have.

In response to your theories about my origins: I'm fairly certain that there was, indeed, a male presence (whether alien or not) involved in my conception, if only because mother is determined that she never would have married whoever or whatever it was that she did conceive me with. I find your speculations quite amusing, though. I'm half-tempted to share them with mother as my own speculations when I head home once I finish writing this letter and mail it off. Actually, assuming you don't mind, I'll do just that, if only to see her reaction.

Now, having saved the best for last, in response to your photo: You cannot possibly have sent me this and then not explain yourself. If this correspondence means even the slightest bit of anything to you, your next letter will have a thorough explanation as to why you are wearing a tutu. Also, in case you need further motivation to explain yourself, know that I will be lying awake at night, tossing and turning, unable to sleep because I cannot get that image of you out of my head until I know why it is so.

Amusedly Yours,
Shane

When I was finished writing the letter, I did not immediately run off to the post office to mail it. I first had to take some time to figure out what to do with the photo he had sent me before I could send my reply. Where could I keep this that nobody would discover it? I didn't feel safe taking it home, since mother might come across it. Neither did I feel safe just keeping it in my locker, as it seemed most high schoolers did with photos that held some meaning for or amusement to them.

I half-considered keeping it in one of my schoolbooks, but I feared it might fall out in class without my noticing and be lost or, God forbid, Mr. Persnickety might find it when advising me about my schoolwork or helping me with my homework. I'd feel somewhat safe keeping it in my wallet, except my mother sometimes went in it to add my allowance or borrow a few bucks. Finally, after much agonizing over what to do with it, I decided to keep the photo of Maximim where I was keeping the letters from him: in the yearbook my mother had from her sophomore year that I had taken for indefinitely extended borrowing without notice so that I wouldn't have to take out the school's copy every day and risk Mr. Persnickety catching on to me.

Having come to the obvious conclusion some minutes after setting out to think up a good hiding spot, I tucked the photo in the book with the letters, and then went off to mail my next letter to him. I sent the letter as express mail, of course. Then I headed home, to find Mr. Persnickety had, like me, not headed straight home today: unlike me, however, he had headed straight to my house after school. Uh-oh.

Dear Maximim,

My deepest apologies for not replying to your letter sooner. I did receive your reply the very day after you mailed it, as always. However, it's getting harder and harder to reply in a timely manner with Mr. Persnickety always watching me like a hawk. I actually am only now able to write you my reply because I have finally grown desperate enough to be daring enough to write this right in the middle of class. Not in homeroom, of course.

As to your suggestion in your last letter that we exchange email addresses and contact each other that way, it would be no easier to write each other that way than to write each other this way. If anything, it may prove more difficult. All the computers at school and the library are set up so that one cannot access their email, and I do believe mother has begun to log into my email at home to see if she can find anything suspicious. I'd have to completely delete your letters after replying to them, and I don't think I could stand to do such a thing. If only this damn town had an internet café or something of the sort.

But, I don't want to spend this whole letter talking about the negative! Let's talk about something positive. Did you realize that we have been corresponding for almost eight months now? It seems that it was such a short time ago that I came across your photo in the yearbook... Speaking of yearbooks, it only just occurred to me to check the signature section of the sophomore yearbook I got from mother to see what you signed. It actually took me a bit to figure out that it was you, because of the nickname you used. In case you don't recall, you put:

"I hope you realize it's ridiculous having me sign this when we're going to see
each other tomorrow.
Love, Mim

P.S. Just kidding. You know I'd have to beat you with my yearbook if you hadn't
let me sign yours."

I'm half-tempted to check mother's freshman yearbook to see what silly note you wrote in there. I fear I might feel compelled to indefinitely borrow that book, too, though, if I did. So, instead, I'll ask you: Do you remember what you wrote? If so, what was it? Also, what did mother sign in your freshman and sophomore yearbooks, if you don't mind my asking?

Yours Sincerely,
Shane

I had to sneak out of school at lunch to go to the post office and mail the letter express. I then sneaked back into school, with Mr. Persnickety hopefully none the wiser. Two days later, I raced home as soon as my last class let out, intending to grab Maximim's reply and dash back to school with it before Mr. Persnickety could realize I had gone. This was how I had been doing things for a while now. So, while it felt like a safe routine because I had not yet been caught, I should have known that it was only a matter of time before I did.

I had my hand in the mailbox and the letter in my hand when I felt the tap on my shoulder. I knew who it was before I even had turned around, if only because it had become a daily thing for me to feel him looming behind me. Wisely, I released the letter from my hand before I withdrew said hand from the mailbox and turned to face him. "Mr. Persnickety, what a surprise to see you here!" I declared, deciding to go ahead and act innocent-since I was. Regardless of how secretive I was about my correspondence with Maximim, I had not done a single unlawful or immoral thing.

"I wish I could say the same. It really isn't a surprise for me to find you here, though, considering I cut my last class of the day short just to come here and prepare to catch you in the act," he stated simply, sounding neither friendly nor unfriendly.

"Catch me in the act of what, may I ask?" I asked, still playing up the innocence.

"Good question," he replied, quirking an eyebrow at me. He raised his hand and reached out, and instinctively I stepped to the side to avoid his touch. As it were, he hadn't actually been reaching for me, and my side-stepping allowed him easy access to his actual target: the mail in the mailbox. As he pulled out the stack of mail, he was immediately able to spot the letter from Maximim, which was right on top.

There was a moment of time that seemed to just stand still. Of course, it was actually just me frozen in something akin to horror as Mr. Persnickety did little more than run his eyes over the envelope, reading the information on it. "...It is both from and to a Mr. Maximim Shane Rodrigo..." he noted aloud, his eyes briefly cutting to me before returning to the envelope in his hands. There was a second moment where time and I both seemed frozen, and then he flipped over only the single letter addressed to me.

"Don't you dare!" I blurted out. I made a grab for the envelope, but only succeeding in making him drop most of the mail other than the letter.

"This is from him, isn't it?" the elder male asked, only the "him" that was a reference to Maximim being spoken with vehement dislike.

"That is none of your damn business! Give it to me! It's my letter!" I shouted, making another failed grab for the letter before holding out my hand demandingly. I didn't need to jump around like a little kid trying to get my lunch money back from a bunch of bullies. He was an adult, and a teacher at that! He had to give it back. He had absolutely no right to disregard my request that he return the letter.

"None of my business? Need I remind you, Shane, that I am not only your teacher and not merely a family friend, but your godfather?" he asked. I had forgotten about that aspect. Well, fuck, he still had no right to do as he was doing.

"You may be my godfather, but you aren't my actual fucking father, and that makes it a federal offense for you to withhold mail addressed to me! And you aren't my guardian unless something happens to mother, so you have no legal right to take that from me! Now give it back!" I shouted.

For a moment he just stared at me in silence, and I thought that he was actually considering handing the letter over to me. However, I learned otherwise when abruptly he stepped around me and headed up my front walk. "Where are you going?!" I demanded, almost tripping over my own fee tin my scramble to go after him.

"You are correct in saying that I have no legal right to withhold this letter, and so I am taking it to your mother," he stated simply. As it were, all of my shouting from before had caught my mother's notice, so she opened the door before we were even halfway up the walk. "Shanna, I have something you should see," Mr. Persnickety stated, holding out the confiscated envelope to her as he continued up the walk.

I made one final grab for the mail, lunging forward and around simultaneously to try to snatch the envelope from his filthy mitts. Alas, he'd seen that one coming, and was able to lift his arm so that my aim was thrown off. As it were, my balance was also thrown off by his counter-maneuver. I would've ended up falling flat on my face, but he managed to hook his arm around my torso just under my arms to keep me from doing more than falling forward a little bit. Naturally, this only made me feel all the more defeat as I hung there in the air, kept up only by one of his arms as he lowered the other arm to again extend the envelope to my mother.

My mother took the envelope from him, took one look at the names on the envelope, and then looked back at me. Briefly she had the look of a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. After that, though, she had wiped all emotion from her expression. "Maximim Shane Rodrigo, you are grounded for the rest of the school year! You may even be grounded until next school year! As a matter of fact, you'll be lucky if I don't end up deciding to ground you until graduation day of your senior year!" she exclaimed. And that was that.



It took just under a month for me to be able to contact Maximim again. But that didn't mean he didn't try to contact me. After the first two weeks of no response, he sent a second letter. After three weeks of no response, I received a letter every other day. By the fourth week of no response, a letter arrived daily. I didn't get read a single one of them, either. I was lucky enough at first to at least get glances of the envelopes before Mr. Persnickety would take them inside to my mother, who would burn them. By the time they were coming daily, though, I only knew that they were coming daily because every day there was a freshly put out fire in the fireplace when Mr. Persnickety brought me home from my after-school Yearbook Committee activities.

At any rate, just a few days before the final day of school, I finally was able to concoct a way to contact Maximim. In the Yearbook Committee room after school, as we prepared the boxes of yearbooks we would begin selling tomorrow, I wrote a brief note on both sides of both corners of my copy of this year's yearbook, then passed said book to one of my fellow committee members as I declared that we got to have an early yearbook signing amongst ourselves to celebrate our hard work. Written on the front of the bottom corner and continued on the back of it:

Lida,

I need a favor. After you sign, rip both corners off the page. Express mail the top corner to the address on its backside. Tell no one.

I'm begging you,
Shane

Written on the front of the top corner:

Dear Maximim,

If our correspondence means anything to you, I'll get you a copy of my yearbook for this year.

Miss You,
Shane

P.S. You missed my birthday.

It felt so strange that, while I finally found a way to write him again, I had to make the note so very short and sort of use a code. What the note meant for Maximim actually meant was "I was caught. I'm in trouble. Please don't think I've ditched you. I will find a way to contact you." I just prayed that he could read between the lines.

By the time my yearbook was back in my hands, having been signed by all my fellow committee members as well as our overseeing teacher, Mr. Persnickety, the corners had been torn off my signature page, with Lida having signed her first name along the bottom tear and her last name along the top one to have a sort of excuse for having torn off the corners. I had actually noticed as the yearbooks were passed around that she had made this her "signature" for everybody's yearbook, so as not to arouse suspicion by only doing so to mine. I swear, if I hadn't been trying to be secretive, I'd have kissed her full on the lips for not only doing the favor, but doing it so well.

Two days later, it was the last day of school. I had started out the day helping sell off the last few remaining yearbooks we hadn't sold yesterday, then had been a mandatory attendance of school ceremonies such as the graduating of the senior classes, and finally there was roaming around the school, searching for friends from other classes to have them sign my yearbook. At least, that's why other students were roaming around. On the other hand, I was in search of Lida to ask her if she would slip off real quick to see if there was a reply letter for me in her mailbox. I knew better than to try going home to check my own, since I was sure Maximim wasn't stupid enough to send anything there again.

Though I searched high and low, she was nowhere to be found. I even tried questioning around to find out if anyone else had seen her, but nobody had. A small, paranoid, possibly schizophrenic part of my brain had actually begun to worry that Mr. Persnickety had realized something was amiss, had snatched her up when nobody was looking, and was in the middle of forcing her to sit through a grueling interrogation.

That is, until I spotted her running  down the hallway in my direction, waving a yearbook at me. "Shane, a friend of mine who is shy but likes you asked me to ask you to sign her yearbook!" she declared, thrusting said book in my hands. I knew immediately that she had made this up, as no female in the world would scream that out for the whole world to hear if it were in the least bit true.

I just nodded my head, pulling out a pen as I opened the yearbook to the back pages where signatures were collected. My suspicions were confirmed not only by the presence of my signature-proving that I had already signed this yearbook, and that it was her own book-but also by the presence of an envelope that had Maximim's information where the sender's name and address went. I skipped over pretending to sign, resting my pen in the nook of the spine of the open book as I used my now free hand to open the envelope and pull out the letter. It was, like my last note to him, brief and to the point. Unlike my message, however, his letter was loud and clear.

Dear Shane,

I'll be at the airport in your town by the time you read this. I'm waiting inside. If you don't show by 12:30, I'll be boarding a plane back to my city with an empty seat next to mine.

Much Love,
Mim

P.S. I'll be wearing a tutu so you can recognize me.

The first thing I did after reading that letter was check my watch. The second thing I did was scribble a new end-of-the-year note in Lida's yearbook beneath my old note of "Thanks for everything. Have a great summer. Shane".

Dear Lida,

I owe you more than I could ever say or repay. I won't see you this summer, but I'll be sending you another note soon. I don't have the time now to explain everything, let alone write it down in your yearbook.

Eternally Grateful,
Maximim Shane Rodrigo

P.S. Tell your "friend" she's a wonderful person and a great friend.

"Thanks! I'm short on time, so I've got to go now!" I declared as I snapped the yearbook shut and thrust it back into her hands. I took off for the school's front office now. I needed to get the letters from and photo of Maximim back. After my secret had been discovered, while I hadn't been able to keep the yearbook I had "borrowed" from my mother, I had been fortunate enough to slip out the letters and photo I'd previously had hidden in said book. I had then sneaked the letters back to school and actually hidden them in one of the unused cubbies of the teachers' mailbox in the front office. It was a risky hiding place, but safer than leaving them at home.

Luck was on my side, because, while there were adults in the front office, they were not in the main area, which was where the teachers' mailbox was located. I snitched my letters from their hiding place, stuffing them into my yearbook before ripping out one of the blank pages from it. Looking about swiftly to ensure that nobody was coming into the main area anytime soon, I scribbled a quick note.

Dear Mother (and Mr. Persnickety)

I'm leaving this in Mr. Persnickety's teacher mailbox so he won't find it and bring it to you until it's too late. I know that you're only trying to do what you think is best for me, but I tend to disagree with what you think is best. As you are aware, I am legally an adult now, and can thusly decide what is best for myself. And I have decided.

Forever your son (and godson),
Shane

P.S. I'm leaving this letter in one of the envelopes from Maximim to me. If you don't hate me-which I'll entirely understand if you do-you may contact me at the sender's address. But only by letter, please.

I carefully folded the page, placed it in the envelope, and placed the envelope in the proper mailbox cubbie. With all that I needed to do now done, I turned on my heel and took off.I did not head to my locker, for there was nothing in there except school things, none of which I needed now. Also  I did not head home to pack anything, for my mother was there. So I headed straight to the airport, with only the clothes on my back and the yearbook clutched to my chest.

Though my heart was racing and I was most definitely in a rush (though not due to lack of time), I entered the airport casually and calmly, not wanting to freak anyone else there out by seeming to be in a panic or anything. If you looked closely, though, you could tell I was anxious by how I clutched my yearbook so hard that my knuckles were almost turning white. I felt my anxiety swiftly melt away, however, when I spotted a man wearing a little pink tutu as a headband and holding up a sign that said "Shane" in handwriting that I was quite familiar with.

I couldn't keep a grin from breaking out on my face as I made a beeline toward him. A broad smile broke out on his face as well when he spotted me heading toward him. "Do you realize you aren't wearing that tutu properly?" I asked as soon as I stopped in front of him.

"It wouldn't fit. Apparently department stores don't usually carry tutus in adult sizes. It seems one would have to go a specialty store to order such a large tutu. I really didn't have the time to wait on an order to be custom-made, though, so I settled on this compromise," he replied casually, as though this were the most normal situation and conversation in the world.

"Right," I laughed, "....So, what, do we shake hands...?" I added questioningly, glancing down at the yearbook I clutched in my hands and then at the cardboard sign he held in his.

"Well, I was sort of hoping for a hug and maybe a peck on the cheek. But not right here and now, because I'm already getting weird looks for my head-tutu. So the whole joyful reunion-slash-first face-to-face meeting should probably wait until we get home," he replied.

"You're seriously serious about that?" I asked, unable to help but pose the question. I already fully believed in my heart that he was serious, but I still just had to ask.

"Would I be wearing a tutu on my head if I wasn't serious?" he asked me, somehow managing to ask that with a straight face. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing aloud at that, although one small bit of laughter did manage to escape me before I could stop it. "You have a lovely laugh, and voice," he said now, his voice warm as he gave this compliment. Immediately the urge to laugh left, and I now struggled with the instinct to blush. "So, did you bring only a yearbook because you thought this wasn't real?" he inquired, still sounding casual rather than now sounding accusing.

"I brought only a yearbook because I promised I'd get you one. Plus it's the only thing of value I possess," I stated lightly, "....Not to mention, I couldn't exactly sneak into my room to pack when mother is at home."

"So you didn't tell Shanna, huh? Are you sure you're eighteen? I don't want to get arrested for kidnapping, after all," he said, "Just kidding. Seriously, though, do you have an ID of any kind of you? Because you're going to need it to fly."

"I've got a driver's license in my wallet. I always thought it was useless for me to have it, since I've got nowhere to drive to. Guess it was just saving up it's usefulness until now, though," I answered.

"Perfect. Let's go get checked in, then. They'll start boarding the plane in just about ten minutes. I double-checked when I got here. If they'd changed the time of the flight, I planned to turn into a full-on pedophile and pick you up from school," he said with a chuckle.

"Hey, I'm legal age now, so you're not a pedo anymore! Although, I must admit, you probably still count as a sexual predator for as long as you're wearing that tutu," I said with a smirk.

"Hardy har har. Okay, Mr. Comedian, put the book in my carry-on. I don't think they'll let you board the plane if you're just holding it in your arms, and this is the only bag I brought," he said, faking a scowl as we got into line for check-in. He slid his messenger bag off his shoulder, then opening it for me to put the yearbook in.

"Okay, but I want it back as soon as we're aboard our flight," I said as I slipped the book into his bag. I then took the name sign that he'd tucked under his other arm, slipping it into the bag as wlel for him.

"I thought it was for me?" he asked, now faking a pout as he closed and shouldered the bag.

"It's shared property, okay?" I returned.

"Agreed," he said with a grin. He now hooked his arm around loosely my neck, holding me to his side save for the bag hanging between us. His arm stayed around my neck as we checked in, as we waited briefly to board the plane, and even as we did board the plane. It was only once we reached out seats that he released me, and even then it was only because he had to remove his arm from my neck in order to remove his bag from his shoulder.

"Don't forget to get out the yearbook," I said as I swiftly claimed the window seat despite him having called dibs on it while we waited to board.

"I hadn't forgotten. I'm not so old my memory goes that quickly, you know," he said. He swiftly removed the book from the bag before stowing said bag. "Here, one yearbook from your sophomore year," he said, handing it to me only after he'd claimed the seat beside me, "I notice you don't have Shanna's yearbook from sophomore year anymore. I suppose she took it back from you. Well, don't worry about it, since I've got a copy of my own that you can look at anytime you please."

"You don't want to look at it?" I asked curiously even as I took the book from him.

"Well, I've already seen the photo of you that's in the yearbook, so why else would I want to look at it?" he asked in lieu of an answer.

"Well, considering that you inspired the theme for this year's school yearbook, I'd have thought you'd want to take a look..." I replied innocently as I fingered the cover of the yearbook.

He raised his eyebrows curiously, his mouth tilting up in a charming, lopsided smile similar to the one he wore in his sophomore year school photo. "I inspired it, did I? You never mentioned that to me before," he murmured thoughtfully, "I'll tell you what, I'll look, but you have to give me a "tour" through the book." As he finished speaking he laid his arm across the back of my seat, leaning over to have his head all but resting on my shoulder so that he has a good, clear view of the book sitting on my lap.

I couldn't help but blush just slightly, though it was due less to his close proximity and more to the concept of giving him a "tour" of the yearbook as I flipped through it. It would be so much less embarrassing if he would just flip through the book himself, rather than watch me flip through it as I explained how it was inspired by him. If I had to do it, though, then I was going to make short and sweet. There was less chance of me stuttering or my voice wavering out of embarrassment that way.

"Well...." I said as I flipped through the book, briefly skimming the pages until I had passed the "people" section that had all the faculty and student photos, "...In the "academics" section, all of the classes offered by the school at present are listed, as well as what classes were offered around eighteen years ago. There's also, of course, information about school projects from this year, which is compared to notable or similar school projects from around eighteen years ago."

"In the sports and clubs sections, we have photos and details of not only the groups as they were this year, but also as they were anywhere between ten and eighteen years ago-dependant upon when said group was actually established-to compare how they have developed and how far they have come. Then, after the advertising and index sections, but before the colophon and signature sections, comes a special section not normally included in the school yearbook, which has to do with this year's theme," I continued the would-be tour.

I paused briefly, although only verbally, as I skipped back to the section in question. "This is the "Stars of the Past" section. Here, photos of various former students from past yearbooks are shown, with their achievements while in school, the hopes they'd told of in yearbooks of the past, and their present job or hopes listed. Then is the "Stars of the Future" section, where photos of various students at present are shown, with their current list of achievements while in school and their hopes for the future listed," I said as I slowly turned through the pages of just the Stars of the Past section, "There's also a "Stars Forever" section with some present faculty members being compared to how they were when they first joined the faculty."

"Hold on a second, turn back the page," he said even as he reached out to turn the page back for himself, "....That's me. You put me in the Stars of the Past section. I can't believe Mr. Persnickety let you get away with that."

"Well, I actually went right to the principal and told him my idea. I said I was telling him because I was afraid to tell Mr. Persnickety, as he kept rejecting my ideas. I made sure to mention this idea had been inspired by my finding a former student with my very same name, of course, so there was no way you wouldn't be included," I replied.

He cracked a grin at this information, chuckling as he withdrew his hand. "You are a sneaky devil, Mr. Maximim Shane Rodrigo," he laughed, "I'll bet he was sure pissed off about you going over his head. I don't suppose you left him out of the Stars Forever section just to piss him off even further, did you?"

"Actually, I not only included him in the section for faculty, but I also included mother in the section for former students," I said, flipping first to Mr. Persnickety's page and then to my mother's page, "I don't go to all lengths to omit people from my life when I actually still care for them. I make sure they know they're loved, in case they happen to still love me in some amount or manner, too."

At my words his grin warmed up into a smile and his laughter softened down into a please hum. "I guess that's something you inherited from your father rather than your mother," he said.

"I guess so. Speaking of guessing, do you want to take a guess as to what the theme of this yearbook is?" I asked curiously.

"Hmmmm... "We're all stars"?" he guessed.

"Nope! With a first guess like that, I can guarantee you'll never in a million years be able to guess the theme!" I said, snickering at him as I closed the book now.

Assuming form how I closed the yearbook that the tour was finish, he pulled his head back to look at me rather than the book. "Alright, I'll bite. What is the theme?" he asked, giving me a bemused smile in reply to my amusement.

I smiled in return before looking away and opening the book again, this time only flipping to the title page. "Established on the past, building toward the future," I stated the theme as I moved the yearbook over to his lap so that he could see it written on the page.

"Aha! So all of those mentions of stars were just to throw an unsuspecting person that is skimming through the pages off the trail of the past-and-future theme you've got going on! You truly are sneaky!" he declared as he pointed at the theme typed on the page, held his pointed finger up in the air, and then snapped the book shut as though to show he had just closed the case.

I started to roll my eyes and laugh at him, but suddenly a thought popped into my head that immediately made me turn my eyes down to the yearbook and halt my laughter. "...Say, does this mean I'm a high school dropout?" I asked.

Though he was clearly caught off-guard by the question, he only spent a brief moment glancing thoughtfully between the yearbook and I before he answered. "Actually, I was thinking that you should be enrolled in homeschool for your final two years of high school. I'll even let you be on our school's Yearbook Committee. What do you say?" he asked lightly.

"....I say, how can a homeschool have a yearbook, let alone a Yearbook Committee?" I asked.

"Okay, I will admit, it's pretty much just going to be a photo album or a scrapbook, depending upon how into it you get. If we do one for each school year, though, it's the same as a yearbook," he replied.

I stared at him for a moment, then suddenly leaned over to give him a hug and a peck on the cheek. "I can hardly wait to get home and have a tour of my future educational institution!" I said happily, "Of course, before the tour, you are definitely going to have to remove that ridiculous tutu-along with anything and everything else you're wearing."

"Well, alright. But, just so you know when the next school year comes around, removal of clothes will have to wait only until after the school day is over, not until the school year is over," he murmured, dropping what was slightly more than a mere peck on my cheek in return. I was half-tempted to ask him if it would count as getting a head start on extracurricular activities for the next school year if I dragged him to the bathroom to join the Mile High Club. Unfortunately, we hadn't yet taken off, so establishing our membership in that particular club that would have to wait. I kind of doubted it was the kind of activity that could be included in a yearbook, anyway.