The Yearbook

Mark received his freshman yearbook and promptly stuffed it into his backpack. 

He flipped through it when he got home, but left in on his bedroom floor the next day.

"Are you gonna take it to school?" I asked. "So your friends can sign it?"

"Nah," he said, dismissively. "It's too heavy."

He didn't bring it the next day, or the next day after that. 

"I'll bring it on the last day, when we're done with finals," he told me. "All we do on the last day of school is walk around and sign our books."

I noticed the year book a couple days later, and flipped through it myself. Only four people had written messages, including this one:

I cracked up when I read that. Only Mark!

The other three messages told Mark that he was annoying, and really funny. I stopped laughing then, and wanted to smack those kids. I realized why Mark probably didn't bring his yearbook for people to sign after that.

"Did you sign your own yearbook?" I asked him that evening.

He laughed and said he did. 

Then he said, "Apparently, I'm annoying," referring to the other messages.

"And really funny," I reminded him.

"Whatever," he said.

"Did you leave your book at home because of those messages?" I asked. I was worried his feelings were hurt, and maybe he didn't want pages of people telling him he's annoying.

"No," he answered, shrugging. "I really just forgot it. And I was just goofing around when I signed it myself."

"And that's why you're really funny!" I said.

Because honestly, he is. Even if he is a little annoying (aren't we all, in our own ways?), he makes me laugh every day, just by being his goofy, silly self.

And I didn't need a yearbook to tell me that.