The blonde, blue-eyed girl seemed to bounce rather than walk into his sixth-grade class.

Emma’s wonderful, Elliot thought. Trouble was, other boys liked her too.

"How can I make Emma notice me?" Elliot asked his grandpa.

"You want to court this new girl?" Grandpa asked.

"What’s ‘courting’ mean?"

Grandpa laughed. "Means show her you like her," he said. "Get her to like you."

"That’s what I want to do," Elliot said. "How’s courting done?"

"Lots of different approaches," Grandpa said.

"Should I buy her something nice?"

Grandpa shook his head. "Never at the start of courting," he said. "Might be seen as desperate."

Grandpa rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Does take action, though. Lots of action."

"Don’t listen to him," Grandma said. "Go slow. Be her friend. Get to know her first. Pretty is as pretty does." Grandma left.

Grandpa rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Elliot didn’t want to go slow. Too many other guys around.

"I got womenfolk all figured out," Grandpa said. "Do something romantic."

"What would be romantic?" Elliot asked.

"Write her a poem," Grandpa said.. "Ask your friend Buddy to help. He writes funny limericks."

Elliot went to Buddy. Buddy had never written anything romantic. But he gave it a shot.

The boys worked hard. They came up with:

There once was a girl named Emma.

Who has put me in quite a dilemma.

She’s pretty, nice and kind.

But she’s driving me out of my mind. 

Don’t want to be a super hero and fly.

Just want to be her special guy.

Elliot knew the poem was perfect. He spent an hour printing the words on pink paper. The next day he placed the poem on Emma’s desk.

To his horror, the class clown, Hardwick, picked it up. Emma walked in.

"Hey everybody," Hardwick said, waving the pink paper in the air. He read the poem aloud, making kissing noises.

Emma turned red. All the kids laughed. Emma grabbed the paper, crumpled it and tossed it in the trash.

Elliot cringed, glad he hadn’t signed his name to that poem. Grandpa didn’t have girls figured out at all.

Not one to quit, Elliot pondered his next action, especially when he saw Billy eating lunch with Emma. He decided to get Emma a present. He was plenty desperate now.

A plan formed in his mind. His mom loved wildflowers. He would pick some for Emma.

He daydreamed of how pleased she would be. She would get a dreamy look. Then he would step out and give her more flowers. She would smile. She would . . .

The front door opened. A man came out. He leaned over, picked up the flowers. Then he started sneezing loudly. He couldn’t seem to stop. The man threw the flowers in the trash, then went into the garage.

Elliot sighed. This time he added a note:

From a secret admirer.

Again he placed the flowers, knocked, then hid.

A girl answered the door. She picked up the flowers, read the note. Then yelled happily,"Emma! I’ve got a secret admirer!" She ran inside.

Disgusted, Elliot wrote another note that read: From Emma’s secret admirer. Not some other girl’s. He knocked but didn’t get away fast enough. Emma and the girl opened the door immediately.

"They were sitting right here," the girl said. She picked up the third bunch. Read the note. Dropped the flowers.

"They’re for you, not me!" She started crying and ran inside. Emma spotted Elliot.

"Did you bring these flowers?" Emma demanded.

Elliot stood there and nodded dumbly. 

Emma shook a finger in his face. "You made my Dad’s allergies flair up."

Emma’s voice sounded so harsh. Not the soft voice he dreamt of.

"You made my sister cry!"

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . " Elliot said. She wouldn’t listen. 

"You’re the one who wrote that awful poem, aren’t you?"

"I was trying to do something nice for you." He hung his head.

"Nice?" Emma shouted. "You embarrassed me in front of everybody."

Her face had turned an ugly, splotchy red. Emma didn’t seem so pretty anymore.

She shoved the flowers in his face.

"Get lost. Don’t come back!" She slammed the door. Miserable, Elliot left.

Buddy saw Elliot walking home.

"Did Emma like the flowers?" Buddy asked.

Elliot thought of how Emma had acted. He didn’t get her to like him. And now he didn’t like her.

"Nope," Elliot said, then smiled. "But I think I got off lucky."

~The End~

Illustration Copyright © 2008 Stephen Macquignon

Text Copyright © 2008 Gilda A. Herrera