I should not have played with the pencil.

The pencil that I flipped, was landing on the chair in front of me.

This would not have been a big problem if there wasn't a girl that was just about to sit on the very same chair.

No, why was I even playing with pencils?

They're pointy and could blind you or hurt you.

That was stupid.

Now the girl's going to sit on the chair, no, on the pencil.

What if the pencil landed pointy side up?

No. That's not going to happen.

What are the odds of a pencil landing that way?

As usual, the probabilities did not matter.

The pencil landed that way.

I had milli-seconds until the girl make contact with her death.

Should I have just screamed her name and told her not to sit?

No. How would I explain to her why my pencil is there?

Time was running out.

I'm a smart guy if I say so myself, but do I look like I knew what to do in that situation?

The answer is yes.

As a teenager, I spend most of my idle time fantasizing about the what-ifs encounter with the girls.

Usually, they do not end well, so I was forced to come up with unrealistic premises.

My research has shown me that there is at least one way this could turn out well.

My school life was basically going to be screwed because I played with a pencil.

If there was any chance it won't happen, I'll take it.

And so, I prayed to God. Please, somehow, let this end nicely.

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Woooosh.

The pencil tipped over.

That was the last I saw of the pencil before it was engulfed by the girl.

-- BREAK --

The wind changed everything.

It didn't just move the pencil, it gave me the sacred knowledge.

I then knew that the color of her panty was red.

That was enough to turn my thinking process into a mush.

After all, blood was no longer reserved for my brainpower.

It had a new place to be.

Absolutely not going to happen.

I mustered all the willpower I had to concentrate on the matter at hand.

The girl was sitting on my long hard stick. My pencil.

Seconds passed.

She stood up abruptly, and quickly placed the pencil on her desk.

She looked around, as if to make sure no one saw what happened.

No one did though, except me.

My heart was probably beating the fastest it ever had, as she examined the pencil.

The pencil read "Clint Clark".

That was me, and my quirk of labeling my stationery with my name.

She turned around.

This was it. My life was over.

"Is .. is this your pencil?"

My brain lost its ability to continue thinking about how to survive high school humiliation.

What was this?

She was .. blushing?

What the hell, she was super cute.

I could only mutter out a word.

"Yes."

{Art of girl blushing}

She handed it to my hand, and turned back around.

What just happened?

Could it possibly be .. that?

Why else would she had been blushing?

There was only one logical explanation.

My stick hit her at the right spot, and now she likes me.