To Zion

9

I couldn't sleep.

No matter how many time I tossed and turned, sleep continued to evade me. I tried to tell myself that I was still adjusting to my new room and bed, but I knew that that wasn't it. I'd been living here for over two months, and had slept just fine after the first few sleepless nights.

I felt anxious, alternatively feeling hot or cold, and not able to find a happy medium between taking my covers off completely, or hiding under them and trying to force myself to sleep.
My mind was working a mile a minute, and it was thoughts of school that kept me up. Literature class to be specific.

I had received another letter today. It was just sitting there on my desk when I walked into class today. No one seemed to notice it or find it out of place. I was the only one who's heart rate had come to a complete stop, only for it to come thudding back at twice it's usual rate a second later.

I threw my covers off of me in frustration, sliding out of bed, and rummaging through the top drawer of my nightstand until I found the paper I was looking for. Switching on the light next to my bed, I unfolded the airplane for the second time that day, rereading the words that I already almost knew by heart.

Dear Zion,

I hope I'm not bothering you by writing these. Annoying you is the very last thing on earth that I would want to do. I just can't help but write. I've been holding back my feelings for so long, and if I don't write them down, I know I'll burst. And I want to be sure that you wouldn't instantly reject me before I voice any of my feelings out loud. I'm sorry about this roundabout and secret way of doing this. I'm sure it's causing you a lot of confusion, and you probably wish I would stop. If you do, you could always let me know. I think if you crumpled up the next airplane and threw it away, I'd get the hint, and leave you alone. Of course, that's my worst nightmare, but I'd rather you let me know if I was making a fool of myself.

I'm sorry this is going on so long, and I'm sorry that I keep apologizing. I just...even though I'm not saying any of this in person, knowing you will read this makes me nervous. I'll stop now, but I just wanted to tell you one more thing. I've never seen eyes like yours. I think people call your eye color hazel, but that one boring word doesn't do justice to the constellation of colors in your eyes.

Was that cheesy? Oh god, why did I write that? I don't have time to rewrite this whole thing, so I'm gonna just go with that. Until next time,

-your secret admirer

I still couldn't believe that someone thought so highly about me. I just didn't get it.

I only realized how much their words had affected me when I found myself staring at my eyes the next time I was in the bathroom. Weren't they just boring and hazel? And wasn't my hair just annoying not brown? I know most people thought brown was boring, but I had never liked the deep, dark red of my hair growing up. Or the freckles that accompanied it.

I felt my fingers brushing over the messily written words, praying that I could find some clue as to who had written these words to me. Who liked me? Who and why?

Whoever it was seemed like they talked a lot. My theory about it being Anne seemed well founded. She talked so much sometimes that it was hard not to zone her out. And she was constantly writing notes and doing small gestures to make others around her feel better.

Maybe that was it. Maybe she was just trying to make me feel good about myself? No...no, the other airplane had said the word love on it. Whoever wrote this claimed to love me.

I couldn't even fathom that word? What was love anyways? I knew I loved Austin and Gloria. They had been the closest thing to parents I had ever known. I tried not to love anyone throughout my childhood. They had all been temporary. A boy called Jack, who I lived with for a few months, told me that my parents didn't love me and that was why I was always moving to different homes. We were only seven, but I believed him then, and couldn't shake the memory even now.

I just didn't understand the word. To me, love was an attachment. It was knowing someone so well, and feeling for them so deeply, that when you pictured your future, you saw them there. I only had a three year old's memory of my real parents, but I could never picture any part of my life with them in it. So I must not love them. Maybe it was right that they didn't love me then.

How could this person say they loved me when they only knew me from school? Could you really love someone you saw so little of?

Maybe the letters were from Miller...I could feel the shyness pouring out of the words, and Miller was so shy they sometimes didn't even address me. And they wouldn't feel like they could express their feelings without being rejected. After all, hasn't most people avoided them when they heard about their changing pronouns? Maybe they were just as scared of voicing their feelings as I was of forming deep attachments.

But why was Jason flirting with me out of the blue? Sure, these letters weren't exactly the confident words of an attractive flirt, but maybe he was trying to throw me off guard. Pretend he couldn't work up the nerve to voice his feelings, when in reality, he was making no attempt at hiding them...

Damn! It could be so many people. I was too tired to even think through Laurie's reason, if he had any. And what about Taylor? Cooper was convinced that these were the words of a nerd, but I barely knew the guy.

What about Cooper? Was he pretending to help me find the person only so that I wouldn't suspect him? No! That was ridiculous...but maybe?

Should I be worrying about Rowan too? Was everyone really a suspect?

I turned off my lamp in frustration, and threw myself on top of my covers. Something told me that I wouldn't be finding sleep anytime soon.