I was tempted to call this day one of the worst in recorded history, until 4 o’clock in the afternoon. Still trying to obliterate the memory of receiving my exam results, I concentrated on the concrete path I was following.

“Hey, Demi,” a person shorter than I greeted me. I turned, whipping my strawberry blond hair in his direction.

“Henry?” I said with the most unwelcoming and irritated tone I could use, and glared with an unbecoming frown.

“Look, Demi, I really love you! Why do you make fun of me?”

“Oh, that’s a new one! I mock you? Uh! Just leave me alone,” I answered, hoping my words would do as much damage has he has done me. I had to bite my lip, so as not to cry.

“Why don’t you believe me?” he asked, puzzled.

“Because you were ‘in love’ two days ago! With Liz! She was even your muse in art class!”

“Should I prove my love?”

“You know, you’ve always found it funny that I have feelings for you, but this is too far.” And I stormed off, knowing without doubt that this is the worst day in history.