Chapter 3: the Third Note
James's POV

Todd is late again... I think as I wait in front of the school.

Maybe he's arguing with his subconscious again.

I laughing out loud at my subconscious. I've learned that it's usually right and there's no use in arguing with the part of your brain made for rational thinking.

Yup. I agree.

Suddenly, I see somebody running towards me. Probably Todd attempting not to me late.

"Sup, man," I say when he finally reaches me.

"James," he says serously, "Miranda's haunting me.

"What the heck do you mean, Todd?"

He pulls two small pieces of paper from his jacket pocket and hands them to me. I recognize the handwriting. Miranda's, I think.

"Where did you find these?" I ask him.

"One was in my box fan and the other in the rose garden."

"How weird..."

"I know, right?"

"Yah."

"What should we do?"

"Well, considering the fact the bell rang about a minute ago, go to school before we're late."

"Whatever, let's go."

I hand Todd back the papers and we walk into the school. Me almost skipping with glee and Todd downhearted and sluggish. I was pretty glad that Miranda was "haunting" Todd. Even though this is all so weird.

I wondered what the notes mean. Is Miranda mad?...or sad?...or glad?... I laugh in my head. I'm a poet!

Todd and I share almost the all the same classes. We have homeroom, 3rd, 5th, and 6th hour together. As we walk to homeroom, neither of us start a conversation. It seemed like we were both lost in thought.

That's when I realized something big. Both of the notes were found in Todd's favorite places. What would we find when we got to his favorite class...?

***5th hour (social studies)***

After lunch, Todd and I met up in front of Mr. Batrsion's room, the social studies teacher. This is Todd's favorite class. I was at the room before Todd, and, sure enough, there, tapped on the door in between the door knob and frame, was a ripped piece of paper. From this side, it looked blank. But I was expecting something pretty heartfelt from Miranda on the back. So I pulled the paper off the wall to read.

There, in Miranda's handwriting, was a note just like the rest, only less. I laughing to myself again at my rhythm (AN:is this a even the right word? I don't even know...)  then proceeded to read the note. It was simply:

–Julie–