It all started in a classroom, the air choked with the dense fog of adolescent angst, not to mention such physical manifestations as paper airplanes and spit-balls. Two dozen separate individuals, tied together by the fact that they were all, in different ways, coping with their rapidly changing outlooks while simultaneously trying to find a place in this world, which seemed so cruel and foreboding. Of course, this event was nothing new, it had been going on for as long as humanity had, although each generation brought a new twist, a new flavor to the cycle.

Some things however, never changed, and were never absent from the minds of the young men and women who spent so many hours a day trying to cram seemingly insignifigant words into their memory, which they would rather use for things that seemed more useful, such as a girl's phone number, or a movie actor's name. That thing that was ever-present in life was universal, is universal. The Alpha, the Omega, the thing that most people would like to forget as the driving force of their lives.

It was love.

Seemingly derilect and foolish in such a setting; indeed, most of the room's inhabitants (maybe even the teacher) hadn't yet figured out what love really was, what it represented to an otherwise lonely life spent processing data and contributing to a society that would rarely ever give thanks to those leading normal lives. But one boy, (or was he a man?) thought he knew. He would never say the word, not to her face, or to anyone's. He would never write sonnets and poems, or write letters like the days of World War II. But neither was he the type of boy-man who would relish the curves of the opposite sex, and speak of them as if they were just another sports trophy, something you somehow had to deserve. He wouldn't talk about any girl that way, or any woman; indeed, in his mind was forged a respect for the softer, seemingly weaker sex, brought upon by his upbringing by his single mother. Firsthand, he had seen how strong she really was. Therefore girls were not prizes to him, they were separate consciences, which needed to be treated with the utmost respect...

Yes, he was uncomfortable. Like a caterpillar who realized he would become a butterfly in front of nature's etherreal gaze. He struggled with the feelings he felt, just as all teenagers did. Of course, he knew by his schoolwork that "teenager" was just a term invented in the recent past, that before it was created, kids his age were expected to act as adults did, to feel as adults do, to know what adults do. And that was the one thing that kept him interested in this girl, knowing that somehow, his feelings were not only the result of hormones, but something else. His discomfort grew as she sat down in the desk directly to the left of him. The pace of his heart quickened.

She was beautiful. Not in the way that society saw beauty as, but in a wholesome, intelligent way, much like his mother. Her shoulder length hair was of a dull brown, the color of her eyes. And yet those eyes transfixed him, was that her mouth moving? Her lips were plump and red as they opened and closed, forming words. Who was she addressing? Was it him?

"Hello? Steven? Can I borrow a pencil?"

He snapped out of his dazed state, fumbling around for a pencil in his desk. His school had not yet reached the technological advancements that every other school in the country had seemed to take for granted. There was but one computer, in a locked room that no one he knew had access to. While in so many schools children had their own laptop computers ready at their desks, everyone in his town was too poor to afford such a thing, even for their own children. The school system had no money for such 'neccessities' either, and as a result grades were signifigantly below the state average. Although the blame couldn't be placed on only the teachers and the system, for Steven knew the minds of his fellow classmates were on other things, things that wouldn't matter ten years from now, things that might not matter tomorrow morning.

But she was different.

She was quiet, but he knew she did well in school. He could tell by the way the other girls shunned her, especially the popular ones. He could tell by the way she could talk about things that he couldn't even begin to wrap his tired mind around. Politics? How were Liberals different from Conservatives? What makes an atom? What exactly does the theory of relativity mean? She could answer all those questions, and without letting their individual fields consume her thought. Most boys his age were intimidated by such a mind in the head of a girl, whom society judged should be pretty, seductive, even talented, but not smart. Surely he saw her get looks from other guys, but those were looks of lust, looks of want.

She, unlike the majority of the girls, wasn't sucked into the seemingly unavoidable world of dating and love. What was love to them anyway? Nothing more than pleasure, which seemed so right in the process, but was as short lived as a common fly. He often scoffed at his friends when they tried to tell him about their feelings for the female equation, which were always shallow, always about looks.

He handed her the pencil, the blood rushing to his ears from the slight touch of her hand. He hoped no one would notice, hopefully preoccupied with talking to someone they knew before the teacher entered the room. Luckily, she didn't notice his outward display of embarrassment and lithely snatched the pencil from his suddenly strong grip. She smiled, flashing her braces at him. He turned quickly, pretending to be interested in the surface of his desk to avoid his intense blushing being noticed. Such things happened to him whenever he was around women, though he was far from shy. Many a girl had been attracted to his athletic physique, even though he was barely a day over sixteen. He refused, however, to become one of the arrogant jocks of the school, who walked around with a swagger that was matched only by their rank attitudes. They were comparable, if one would make the connection, to the cheerleaders of the local football team.

He knew that physical appearance had nothing to do with the inward qualities of a person, although it often affected how they lived their lives. He had often been teased for hanging out with the people the school had dubbed "outcasts", who were nothing worse than those who didn't fit into popular criteria. He knew, too, that Megan was the same way, shining with an inner light, understanding, loving...unbelievably so.

Megan...

Her name sent shivers down his spine.