THIS IS PART 3 OF MY SHORT STORY

On Sunday, Max decided he had to clean out his work desk. It looked like an unorganized pile of books at a local library. And maybe clean up his room, too. It'll probably take until noon.
His room was what a normal teenagers room would look like. One small bed, small television set with a couple video games on the floor, favorite band posters (for him it was "My Chemical Romance" and "blink 182"), small FM/AM CD player, an annoying alarm clock, and a desk in which he uses to do his homework and poems with.
The desk was made out of wood, oak in more description. It was old and a bit scratched ever since his mother found it in the dump, but then again it is still quite useful. There were a couple of scribbles that were probably from a younger child; now all grown up now. It has four shelves; one was long and short-width.
It was a harsh day when it came to Saturday because he had his best friends over. It was all recorded in Max's head as a list like this:
1. Woke up at 7:00am and saw that Jimmy and Carl playing my Xbox; Black still trying to sleep.
2. Joined his two friends at eight o'clock after eating his breakfast. Later Black woke up a also joined in.
3. At ten they all went out and played some basketball; Carl and me kicking Jimmy and Black's butt, even though they weren't trying.
4. Lunchtime. They all had grilled cheese sandwiches in his room. After they choked down their food, all three of them browsed his desk while leaving a mess (even though it already was) and reading out loud Max's poems he made and some copied by other big time artists. He didn't really bother trying to stop them because they talked a little funny when reading the poem and it helped him if he needed to edit something.
It was all fun and games until Max heard Black's scarce voice say "Hey, what's this poem?" He noticed a small folder and opened it.
"Hey, don't open that folder, Black," snapped Max, "or I'll..."
Too late. The folder was open and out came a heart-shaped paper and written was a poem. Written for a person.
"Don't you dare read that poem!" yelled Max.
Black picked up and started reading it. Max and everyone else stopped talking a listened. The words coming out of Black's mouth were interesting, but the vocabulary was amazing. It gave every person a happy thought, brightening up their hearts. It gave power, emotion, and love.
When Black finished everyone fell silent for timeless moment until they heard Jimmy's voice saying, "Soooo, who wants to play cards?"
5. Everyone returned back to their homes at 3:00pm. No one ever spoken a word about the poem. Max noticed Black's hands were in his pockets, something he never seen him do a long time ago.
Anyway, back into the present, Max started out by organizing his poems all by alphabetical order. He'll probably start editing his poem for the person. It took him one whole week to get it done, and it was really hard to do it without using any help.
But, reader, do you think he actually have the poem there? The answer is simple: no.
He panicked. His heart started to beat faster. "Where is it he," he asked himself, "I know it's here. I remember I put in here somewhere. I can't lose...oh no. Black has it. He must of brought it with him by accident. I got to call him now. Oh I hope he didn't give it to her..."
Reader, he did have a poem, but it was gone.