He was hoping for the best. Expecting it too.
And why not? He’d found her missing keychain – the subject of no less than fifty flyers plastered all along the halls of their middle school.
So now he stood on her doorstep, ready to give it back. Then maybe he’d ask for something small in return. A short walk… a holding of hands… a peck on the cheek. Maybe all three? Anything to stoke the flames of young love.
But it wasn’t to be.
“Thanks,” said the hulking, hairy man in a stained white t-shirt.
“I’ll make sure she gets it.”
The Weekday One Hundred 