Prologue

I, Quentin Noel, am a proud nobody.

As a senior in high school, with no real friends or any particular long-term career plans in mind, some may even be inclined to describe me as a total loser. And they would be right. And I wouldn't even fight it.

Why? Because I'm an optimist at heart. There's perks to being the invisible kid at school. It humbles you, and high school is hard enough as it is— it's a ruthless, metaphorical jungle where you have to learn to fend for yourself, and survive all the drama, rumors, and nasty shit-talking behind people's backs.

In fact, I've never really envied the so-called popular kids for that reason: it's no secret that being the center of everyone's attention comes with its own price, after all. If the choice had to be between constantly stressing about what people think about you, VS simply being someone who no one really pays any attention to… well, I'm just saying the latter does have its own benefits.

I mean… okay, yes; to be fair, it would be a lie if I said I was totally happy about the passive person I've become over the years. I daydream about making real friends too, maybe even finding a significant other someday. But I've already decided that'll all be for when I head off to college. I've actually already been admitted early to my top choice school for the fall— it's a decent program, reasonably priced, and most importantly, it's out of state. Although I didn't know what exactly I wanted to major in, I knew I was excited to leave this town. Once I do so, I can do whatever I wanted. Be whoever I wanted. No more hiding myself, especially inside the closet. I'll finally get to just be… me.

All that was left to do was survive the rest of senior year with my head laid low, and I'll be out, pun intended. If only I knew how my life was about to be turned upside down this fateful Christmas Eve...

~ * ~ * ~

It was the second week of winter break. A quarter past ten, and 65 degrees outside. Perhaps unusually warm and uncharacteristic considering the winter season, but this was normal in the sunshine town of San Nicolas, California, where I live. I get up from my bed and stretch, while glancing out the window. Wow, the weather couldn't be more perfect. Especially for a day like this. December 24th, Christmas Eve.

I contemplate whether I should take a morning walk outside. After all, the second week of no school meant I've practically morphed into a living, breathing couch potato; it'd probably be a good change of pace to get out of the house for once.

After taking a shower, I head downstairs. The weather was nice, and I'm feeling energized. Today will be a good day, I tell myself. That is, until I find a note from a dad saying he's been called in for another late night shift, and will have to miss dinner again.

I frown. But it's okay.

My dad works as a nurse at a nearby hospital, which often means he has irregular shifts, often being called-in last minute. But again, it's all okay. I'm an optimist at heart. And that means I choose to focus on the positive side of things whenever I can. At the end of the day, I genuinely respect my dad's profession and the impact he has on his patients. I'm okay. Even if it means I have to spend Christmas Eve all alone. Even if this is the fourth year in a row I've had to do that.

I glance down, and notice he's left me a small gift, wrapped in a bundle. I open it, and am delighted to find a new video game I've been meaning to buy. I smile to myself. It's these small moments of joy that keeps me going.

See? I'm really okay after all.

It all began with a sudden knock on a door.

I look up, slightly confused. My dad is more of the reclusive type like me, and doesn't have many friends. We rarely have visitors at my house. I put down the pop tart I was about to eat, and slowly make my way to the front door.

"Hello? Is anybody home?"

On the other side of the peephole was a small old lady I've never seen. Maybe she was someone affiliated with my dad's hospital.

"Hi, uh... are you here for my dad?" I ask, while opening the door. My bare feet feel surprisingly cold against the morning concrete.

"Ah, thank goodness somebody was home!" the old lady squeakily proclaims. She was… very old. Ancient old. About 3 feet tall, tiny, her face and stature shriveled up like a century-old prune. Beside her was a leather suitcase, almost the same size as she was. She wore a fuzzy looking coat, her silver-white hair was bundled into a neat bun, and the thin, saggy skin on her face jiggled as her body precariously balanced itself on a tiny cane. "I am in desperate need of help. Do you have a few minutes you can spare, young man?"

I blink. "S-Sure," I say, stepping out the front door, still confused about what was going on.

"Thank you." The old lady's already shriveled face crinkles into a smile. "You see, I'm visiting the town, on my way to deliver a gift to an old friend who lives nearby. But it seems I may have gotten lost. Would you mind helping me with directions?"

I look down at her hands to see a crinkled old paper. A map. An old one, too. Putting two and two together, I smile and pull out my phone, tapping on Google maps. "Of course. Do you have the address?" This old lady's mind was about to be blown by the marvels of modern technology.

She beams. "Ah, yes. It should be 123 Elf Road, San Nicolas, 90888."

Huh. I've lived in this town all my life, but that was an unfamiliar street name, even for me. And Google maps wasn't coming back with any search results, either. I scratch my head, and peer over to the lady and the map she's holding. "May I take a look at that?"

The map she was holding looked like it was printed before World War I. Not literally, but the way the paper browned around its tattered edges implied that it has endured a substantive passage of time. In fact, it looked like it could even belong in a museum as a historical artifact. I try to handle it with care, as I squint my eyes over it.

"... Oh. So it seems there's a special bus that takes you there, huh? And the station is on… Whittier Road." Hmm, strange. I didn't recall there ever being a bus station on that street. "Do you know how to get there?"

"No. Would you mind showing me?"

"Sure. So you'll have to head straight until you hit Camper Drive, then turn left until you hit Madison Avenue, and then…" I glance down at the old lady, her head shaking innocently like a tiny human bobblehead. Her eyes twinkled obliviously, despite the heavy load of information I was dumping onto her. Will she even be able to remember all this? I sigh. "… Do you want me to just walk you there?"

Her face lights up. "That would be extraordinarily helpful, young man."

I smile softly and nod my head, grabbing my sandals and keys to lock the door behind me. I was about to go out for a morning stroll, anyways.

"No worries at all. Right this way, then," I say, stepping off onto the sidewalk, brushing past her. The wobbly old lady turns around in slow-motion. Literal, almost comical, slow-motion. I stifle a laugh, and shake my head while getting on my knee, with my back turned towards her.

"Here, just hop onto me. It'll be easier that way."

Her eyes twinkle as she takes me up on my offer, gently hoisting herself onto my back, as I grab her luggage. "Thank you, young man. What a kind, selfless soul you are. What is your name?" she asks. She was so small and fragile, I felt I had to be extra careful while carrying her on my back.

"I'm Quentin. And no worries. What should I call you?"

"Call me Grandma Mary, and it's a pleasure to meet you, Quentin. A kind boy like you, I'm sure, must be adored by everyone around you."

I hear myself let out an unknowing snort. "No, not at all. I'm practically a nobody at school. But a proud nobody, I guess. An intentional one."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I like to keep to myself and lay low, I guess. I don't really associate myself with any of my classmates. But it's okay. I'm graduating high school this year anyway, so just gotta grit my teeth and make it through this last semester."

And then, hopefully, a rosier new life will await me on the other side of graduation. Maybe even involving a cute new boyfriend, if I'm lucky enough.

Grandma Mary frowns at my words. "But you're so young, and you only get to experience high school once in your life. You should make the most of it, instead of just getting by. Enjoy your youth!"

I laugh, and shake my head. "Nah, I'm okay. I'm happy with the way things are. Being a nobody is just… easier. And that's what I want for myself right now." I mentally sigh to myself as I utter these words. Why am I sharing all this with an old lady I just met?

Grandma Mary looks at me, with a dissatisfied look. "Young man, I know when someone is lying. I don't mind you lying to me, since I'm just an old lady who you'll probably never see again. But just now, you were lying to yourself, which I don't appreciate."

I blink at her sudden, sharp shift in tone. "H-Huh?"

"You're lonely, aren't you? Lonely, and afraid. Afraid of wanting more for yourself. So instead of admitting you feel that way, you just accept what's been given to you. Tolerating your situation, instead of taking control of it. Young man, you're allowed to be more selfish than that."

I stop my tracks. Whoa, okay; this suddenly turned into a therapy session out of nowhere.

"I mean…" I start to say, until I realize I actually don't know how to respond to that. Dare I say it, her words were actually kind of spot-on, and resonated with something deep inside me. Grandma Mary humphs, and asks me to put her down. And then she commands me to squat down, until I was eye level with her. She cups my cheeks with her tiny hands.

"A kind, selfless boy like you deserves nothing but the best from the world. You deserve happiness. You are loved, Quentin. Even if it may not feel like it. You are loved. Never forget that."

I blink my eyes again. "Thanks, Grandma Mary. I, uh… I surprisingly think I needed to hear that."

Her eyes crinkle into another thin smile. "Do you have a boyfriend, Quentin?"

"W-What? No!" I respond, feeling flustered. I pause. "Wait, how did you even know—... " Mary cackles upon seeing me turn red.

"Ohh, Grandma Mary knows everything. It's okay if the world doesn't know your secret yet. It's okay if you're not ready to tell anyone. But Quentin, you don't have to keep your head down. You don't have to live your life in the shadows. An unselfish boy like you deserves to know what it feels to be loved. To be adored, appreciated, and wanted. And for taking me all the way here, I'll be sure to send you a nice little gift to show you just how loved you can be— if only, you give the world a chance to see who you really are."

I look up, and it looks like we have already arrived on Whittier Road, before I even realized. But as I suspected, I didn't see a bus stop anywhere; just a bright, crooked red post box that looked slightly out of place.

I'm confused by Grandma Mary's words, and am about to ask her what she means, when a small, festive looking bus pulls up to the curb out of nowhere. The bus was painted like a reindeer, complete with golden bells and emerald wreaths on the side, and a ruby-colored bouncy ball attached to its 'nose' on the front window. Cute; I didn't realize the city went out of their way to deck out their buses in the holiday spirit these days.

Grandma Mary turns around to me once more. "Quentin, remember. To want things for yourself is not always a bad thing. Be selfish, young man. Chase after the things you want, instead of idly sitting by because you don't think you deserve it. Live in the moment. And be happy. You deserve happiness. We all do."

I'll never forget the way she gently smiled at me. I smile softly back.

"Thanks, Grandma Mary. You're right. I'll try not to forget that."

She cackles one more time, and slowly hoists herself onto the bus. I watch as the charming little vehicle slowly pulls away from the curb, driving off into the distance to the sound of jingling bells. By the time I turn around to head back home, the red post box that I could've sworn was there five seconds ago was gone. Huh, weird. I scratch my head as I walk back to where I came from, puzzled and unable to pinpoint what I should be feeling after the strange encounter I just had that morning on Christmas Eve.

~ * ~ * ~

The rest of my winter break was as mundane and uneventful as the previous years. My dad wasn't called in for Christmas, so we celebrated the night by splurging on a nicer-than-usual dinner, and then did the same for New Years. Just the two of us, as usual. Quiet. Peaceful. My dad knows I don't really have many friends, which is why I never invite anyone over for our holiday dinners. But he never judges me for it. He doesn't, either. Like father, like son.

And then, before I knew it, my holiday break was coming to an end, just like that.

I lie on my bed. Tomorrow will be the first day of my last semester in high school. I'm an optimist at heart. But even then, I couldn't help but sigh, grappling with the lingering sense of melancholy I couldn't quite shake away. I had already responded to my college acceptance, with an enthusiastic yes. Why couldn't I just fast-forward this part of my life, so I could move on to the better parts?

I hear a knock on my door. My dad walks in, a strange box in hand. It was enclosed in fancy looking gift wrap with golden foil treatment, and was tied with a lavish red ribbon, embroidered with gold edges.

"Q, you have a package for you that just arrived. From someone named… Mary Krismus? Do you know her?"

I look up. Mary? Grandma Mary? "Uhh… yeah, sure. I think I know who that is." Big emphasis on the word 'think.' But I take the box nonetheless, and thank my dad, who simply shrugs and heads back downstairs.

The texture of the gift wrap was thick and leathery. It felt pretty expensive. Was Grandma Mary rich? I'm truthfully taken aback, because I honestly wasn't expecting her to actually send me anything.

Childlike curiosity guiding my fingertips, I unravel the gift and the lidded box underneath, to find a… rolled up parchment paper? Accompanied with a large quill pen and small glass of bottled ink. Wow, talk about old school. The parchment paper had yet another small ribbon tied around it. I unravel that too.

- The Naughty List, for Nice Kids

Big, bold words written in a fancy calligraphic lettering jump right at me, sitting at the very top of the paper. Underneath it, in smaller letters, were what seemed like a set of rules. The terms and conditions, if you will. And underneath that were several empty lines.

- The Naughty List can only be marked with the enclosed quill pen and bottled ink.

- Any individual whose name is written on The Naughty List will fall in love with you.

- To initiate this effect, simply wait for the invisible tattoo to appear, and then hold that individual's hand when you're ready.

- Do not abuse The Naughty List. Doing so will result in the immediate termination of its effects, and the associated memories of all affected individuals.

- Lastly, once the effects for all individuals are initiated, they will remain so in perpetuity.

I snort. What was this, a prank from Grandma Mary? I count the number of empty lines, and there were nine. When I look down at the very bottom of the parchment, I find an illustration of nine men to match that number. I recognized this artwork, it was the Nine Worthies, the chivalrous heroes of the European Middle Ages. They were considered the 'nine good heroes' or something like that; I vaguely recall seeing the image in my art history textbook last year. Wow, to think that a class I only took to fulfill an elective requirement would come in handy like this.

I smile, wondering how Grandma Mary was doing, amused at the fact that she actually followed through with sending me such an elaborate gift. The Naughty List, eh? I guess I'm supposed to write down all my high school crushes on here? Perhaps this was her way of encouraging me to be bold, and maybe ask them out. "Live my life," as she would probably put it.

I chuckle at the outlandish thought. Me? I could never. But maybe this was supposed to be a good luck charm of some sort. To up my confidence, perhaps. It's a little ridiculous, but with school starting tomorrow, I could certainly use the distraction.

I snicker, pulling out the quill pen and bottled ink. The weight of both impressed me— they felt like the real deal; not cheap and plastic at all. Humming to myself, I dip the pen in, and start scribbling the names of all the guys I had a secret crush on. Those I was only slightly acquainted with, those who I never really talked to, those who I only admired from a distance. A strange feeling courses through my fingers as the pen glides across the parchment.

1. Zayn Nassif Johnson

2. Aiden Takahiro Parker

3. Ernesto Alvarez-Cruz

4. Ryan Johnson

5. Hunter Emory

6. Terrance Campbell

7. Peter Kim

8. Dean Smith

9. Diego Garcia

I snort at the ridiculous list I've written out. All these guys were wayyy out of my league. And not to mention, definitely not gay. I stretch while yawning, getting ready for bed. It was going to be another long semester starting from tomorrow. The last semester, though. And then I'll finally be free. Be me. Whoever that person is.

A sudden wave of drowsiness overtakes my body. As I rub my eyes, one sentence from the Naughty List keeps ringing in my head:

"Any individual whose name is written on The Naughty List will fall in love with you."

I smile, thinking how nice that'd be. If only it were real, and if only magic like that truly existed in this otherwise indifferent world.

To be continued...