Free His Kiss by Melanie Marks Page A

still had a lot of time left before the late bus was supposed to come, so I went into the library to work on this song I was writing called, “No More Writing Songs Together,” and I guess I lost track of time.
    When I realized how late it was I scrambled toward the library exit and was almost out the door before I realized I forgot my song-journal behind. I had to turn around and go back for it … and then I missed the bus.
    The crazy thing was—this wasn’t even my first time to forget the journal. Well, okay, this particular one I hadn’t ever forgotten. But, of course, I’d filled up hundreds of them since I started keeping one. A few years ago I had forgot one in the school cafeteria. Or it might have been in a class. Or the school bus. Actually, I had no idea where I’d left it. But it turned up missing and I searched my house for it for days—weeks. Then it showed up—in the mail! Someone sent it back to me. The freaky thing was though: it didn’t have my name in it—anywhere. So, how did the person know it was mine?
    I had no idea, but realizing someone had found it—and probably read it—was creepy enough. But somehow they had known it was mine and where I lived, but they didn’t let me know who they were. They sent it back without a note or a return address or anything. It gave me the shivers just thinking about it.
    But after that, for years, I was always cautious with my notebook—making sure I had it at all times and that I didn’t accidently leave it around anywhere or forget it. But d’oh! Today I almost did forget it. I came so close it made me shudder.
    When I realized I missed the late bus, I consoled myself thinking, “Well, at least I’ve got my notebook.”
    Seriously. I was able to console myself with that—even though the day was cold and drizzly and I had a six-mile walk ahead of me.
    But I barely made it off the school grounds before Griffin’s red Mustang pulled up beside me. When I saw it, my heart got all fluttery and violent and I almost tripped over my own feet.
    He opened his window. “Need a ride?”
    My pulse raced hearing his offer and seeing his adorable, boyish grin. Little did he know but I’d secretly left him a huge cookie again—at his locker during third period this morning and I’d written him another anonymous poem to go with it. This time the poem was about his kiss. But I’d made it really vague again, so he wouldn’t have a clue it was from me.
    “Um …” I tried ignoring the small voice at the back of my head that was screaming, “Stick with vanilla, Ally! You need vanilla. This flavor will only give you cavities!”
    I smiled. “Sure! That would be great!”
    As I rounded the car to climb into the passenger seat I tried reasoning with the voice. After all, it was cold and rainy out. I’m only accepting the ride to get out of the wet, I told myself.
    It seemed perfectly reasonable. Right?
    As I buckled up my seatbelt the weather took a turn for the worse. It started drizzling harder, practically raining. Like it was a sign—I was supposed to be in Griffin’s car. It made me smile. Only, right then , Griffin reached out to flip on his windshield wipers and right then I remembered: Gummy bears!
    Guh!
    I’d slid a bunch of them under Griffin’s windshield wipers this morning. Why? I don’t know exactly. Just for fun, I guess. Mom had dropped me off at school after my dentist appointment and she had to write me a note so I could be excused for missing French class, so she pulled into the nearest parking spot to write the note and it was right next to Griffin’s Mustang. And so when I got out of Mom’s car and I was right there, next to Griffin’s prized possession, it seemed I had to do something .
    At first I just had the impulse to write Griffin a quick, anonymous note or draw him a smiley face or something—something to tuck under his windshield wipers. But when I reached into my backpack, what I pulled out was my stash of gummy