Dear Kid With Hidden Emotions,

Try as I might, you continue to intrigue me.

Today was one of those times. You were trying, successfully, to evade my grabs for the paper in front of you. You seemed so buried in it, and I'd been dying to read your writing. Despite your mask of apathy and previous essay scores, part of me wanted you to posses a mind full of uncharted genius. It was a childish hope, I know. But eventually I consented and let you settle into your state of quiet brooding whilst the rest of the world continued to bounce around you. You shot in something witty every now and again, as usual. But finally you had a fleeting moment of weakness and left your seat briefly. My mind cleared momentarily, and my arm shot out and snatched the paper, replacing it with a similar one in an instant. I concealed my treasure below the desk and let my eyes take a cursory journey across its surface, careful to monitor your movements from across the room just in case. Immediately, several things jumped out at me. The first was your different style of font. The second was the unknown foreign title that gazed mysteriously back at me. Then everything melted and slowed around me as I was immersed in the third, which was the writing itself.

In an instant, an indescribable excitement soared within me as I realized: it was even better than I'd hoped.

I let my pencil scribble out some things that couldn't be contained, for the betterment of your essay grade. I added a couple more that couldn't be contained for the betterment of your existence. In a flash, I realized my ruse had worked too well, and you'd picked up the decoy. Though you feigned nonchalance as I revealed my trick, your first action was to glance at my comments, and I knew you were inwardly pleased. 

Not nearly as much as I, though. 

I expect you will continue to intrigue.