Easy.

[Hannover, Deutschland.]

“No, Lennart.”

He had heard this answer at least a dozen and a half times in the last two weeks, and now that the third week was rolling around he was beginning to become frustrated. The third week was a marker in reference to how long the new exchange student from the United States had been in his class at school, the very same one who had given him that seemingly cold-hearted response.

“No, Lennart, not today.”

The Bahn—the subway—was late, which should have been an indicator already that the day wasn’t going to be ideal. And yet there he stood, fidgeting about with the beige scarf about his neck, as if trying to keep it from strangling him. Actually it was because he was nervous, terribly so that he could feel his knees shaking and threatening to buckle beneath him, and sticking out of his backpack was the reason for his case of the jitters. It was a single rose wrapped in clear plastic about the stem, leaving the head exposed to whatever elements it encountered on this cold winter morning. Luckily he currently waited on a subway platform in the train station that was located underground, keeping the frail flower’s head safe for now. Dirtied, leather shoes scuffed at the pavement beneath his feet as if in annoyance at the incredible delay of the Bahn.

Ten minutes.

How was he supposed to get to school in ten minutes? Even if he went through the city instead of taking the Bahn there was still very little chance of making it up to his classroom in time, and the last thing he needed was to lose the package that stuck from the unzippered section of his backpack. Upon his next nervous shift of his weight, the lights of the Bahn caught his attention and everyone around him seemed to rush forward. Following the flowing mass, he squeezed his way onto the vehicle once it arrived, only to find himself stuck between the awkwardly retracting doors and a man who clearly didn’t know that the rest of the passengers could hear what he was playing through his headphones. Tugging his bag to his front, the boy set it down between his feet like a mother penguin would her egg, staring down at the bobbing head of the rose as the Bahn took its twists and turns through the tunnel system.

Reaching the main stop where his school was located, it wasn’t unusual that more than half of the passengers exited there. Most were younger school students, in the classes much lower than his, like 5 or 7. Being in class 10, as he was, meant that the next year was going to be much different than the past school years, that is was going to be—

“Hey, Lennart!”

‘It’s Lenni…’

“Lennart, hey!”

Stepping off the Bahn, Lennart slung his bag onto his back once again, turning towards the direction from where the voice had called to him. It was a girl from his class, Ruth, and boy did she look upset as ever. Maybe it was the odd angle at which her glasses sat on her thin nose, or perhaps the seemingly constant ratty state of her dirty-blonde hair that caused her to come off perpetually aggravated with the world.

“… Hey,” Lennart replied, making his way in her general direction, however not towards her. “Why are you late? That’s not like you.”

Reminding her of this fact didn’t seem to make this encounter any better, and she huffed loudly at him as he strolled past.

“The Bahn was late, I wasn’t,” she informed haughtily, stalking after him and adjusting her bag back to a comfortable position on her shoulder. Reaching street-level, the pair were hit was a gust of strong winds mixed with flecks of snow from the nearby dunes created earlier that morning. Snatching her glasses as if to keep them from flying away, Ruth grumbled, saying, “Herr Kettner is
probably going to wonder why I’m showing up with the likes of you.”

Still as snooty as always.

Rolling his eyes, Lennart pulled his scarf up about his nose, heaving a sigh as the pair rounded a corner, continuing down the street. Cold hands retreated to the pockets of his navy pea coat as his head focused on preventing himself from slipping on icy patches as opposed to listening to Ruth complain and jabber about how “treacherous this is going to look,” when they both entered at the room at the same time.

Soon the pair found themselves scrambling up the front steps of the school, throwing each other looks that seemed to say, “Don’t make this look bad,” before shoving past each other to get through the door first. As they climbed the stairs to the second floor, it was then that Ruth noticed the unusual looking item sticking from her classmate’s bag.

“Who is that for?” she asked, wrinkling her face almost as if in disgust. Raising a brow, Lennart glanced back in the general direction of the flower. Reaching the landing, they continued down the hall.

“Merle,” he answered simply, reaching out the for door handle of their classroom upon their arrival.

It was then that Ruth let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head as a frown crossed her lips. “Right, good luck with that.”

Mumbling a few words under his breath, Lennart opened the door and stepped inside. The entirety of the class turned to look at him immediately; his friend Sophia waved from the far, back corner of the room. Their teacher, Herr Kettner, however wasn’t quite as pleased to see him arriving so late. Turning to face the pair in the doorway, Herr Kettner gave the boy a questioning look.

“Well, Lennart,” the teacher said, “What was it this time, a pack of wild dogs?”

‘It’s Lenni.’

“The Bahn was late,” he replied, pulling his scarf from his face and dipping his head in what could have been mistaken as shame as he moved for his seat in the back beside Sophia. She looked splendid today, as always, and that white smile of hers only seemed to be brighter than ever. Leaning sideways towards her friend, she giggled quietly, glancing back at the blackboard as Herr Kettner finished speaking with Ruth and returned to writing notes on the board.

“You should have gone with the wild pack of dogs excuse,” Sophia said, eyeing Ruth now with a teasing grin from across the room. “I would love to see her try and fend some of those off.”
Muffling a laugh, Lennart brought his attention to the blackboard as well, pulling his bag to his lap. Removing various school items, it was the flower that interested Sophia the most, and she almost screamed when she saw it.

“Who’s that for?” Sophia asked in a hushed whisper, her bright blue eyes wide and shining. He knew that a part of her was wishing it was for her, and he understood that, but it had been years since they had dated and he thought they were past that regretful, resentful stage. Apparently not. Stowing the backpack and flower under his chair, Lennart smiled softly, taking dark eyes from the front of the room to give his friend a quick glance and respond to her inquire.

“Merle.”

“Oh,” she heaved, dropping her pencil on the desk in order to make her hand vacant for her chin, which now rested there. “I should have known.”

After almost two hours of constant mental nagging and horribly obvious stares across the room, History had ended, and suddenly he found himself bounding across the class to catch Merle’s attention before she left for break. In one hand was the rose, and the other reached out after her as if in desperation for interaction. This was his chance to set things right and stop coming off as… What was he coming off as again?

“Merle!” Somehow her name had left his lips, and somehow he had been lucky enough for her to hear it and turn around to face him. She didn’t look too pleased to hear her name coming from his mouth however, and there was a clear effort to try and remove the agitated look from her features.
“Hi, Lennart.”

‘… Okay, fine. Lennart.’

“Hi, Merle,” he breathed, awkwardly raising the flower to fill the space between them. “I, uh, got this for you.” He could already hear the all too familiar words of, “No, Lennart,” rattling between his ears and it made him feel sick. No, no getting sick now. Vomiting on a girl is definitely not a way to get her to like you.

The previously angered expression on her face thinned out to one of confusion, her eyes locked on the plant before her. The look about her face confused him, and he hadn’t been the slightest bit prepared for what was to come next.

“Lennart… That’s just a stem.”

… What?

Instantly his attention was drawn downward to the pitiful excuse for a flower. Where had the petals gone? Where was the entire blossom? It had been there an hour ago, two hours ago! A deep flush rushed to pale cheeks, and the thistle-ridden stem was brought embarrassingly back to his side, snagging on his mustard-brown pants. This looked bad… Very, very bad.

“There—There was a flower earlier. I mean, it must have fallen off in the wind while I was walking here,” Lennart tried to explain, the flush in his cheeks growing what felt like ten shades darker by the second. “I mean… You know I wouldn’t just give you a stem, right?”

She didn’t seem to think so.

A heavily set frown crawled across her face then, and she shook her head. Adjusting her bag, she turned away from him then, saying, “Not today, Lennart. Not today,” before disappearing out the classroom door.

Never before had he felt like such a fool, and his grip about the stem tightened, which only increased the threat of the thistles piercing his skin. How did this happen? He had thought of something so splendid, so sweet, and now this? This wasn’t the ending he had planned, hell, it wasn’t one that anyone could have planned even if they tried.

‘This day can’t get any worse…’

Or so he thought.