"Why? Mum, whyyy?" I whined in despair, for the hundredth time that day.

My mother Diane Dumont, a recently divorced, forty-two-year-old homemaker, sighed and looked up from rummaging through one of our many cartons spread throughout the house. "Really, Gen? Can you stop asking that pointless question and help unpack instead?"

To that, I promptly replied, "sorry, I'm still exhausted. I'll only end up causing trouble than helping."

"Of course," mum said, tucked a stray lock of her brunette hair behind her ear, continuing with her task of taking out decorative knick-knacks, framed pictures, and arranging them around the shelves, hanging them on the walls. Pausing once, she suggested, "why not take rest, then?"

"I think I'll do that..."

Laying upon my bed and staring at the ceiling above, I recalled my old life. I had everything going right for me; head-cheerleader at school, lots of great friends, a soul-sister of a best friend, my book club, and the community dance club where we were the star dancers. Dancing and reading—to lose myself in the rhythm of music, in the world of words—were my life. Not anymore, I guess, because I assumed the chances of finding a dance group here were very little, and the collection of books had gone to dad along with the house that we used to live in.

Idling around would only bring back memories, and with them, a painful nostalgia which I didn't want to feel. I wasn't sleepy or anything, just tired. And helping mum wasn't an option, I was sure this time I'd break out in an argument with her—something I wanted to avoid because I knew she was under a lot of pressure. Every option I came up with seemed like a no-no, except for one, to go out and explore my new domicile. I decided to do as such.

"I'm going out," I called to mum, grabbing my coat and scarf. "Be back in time for dinner."

"Okay." She didn't even look up from where she sat on a chair, preoccupied with the carton she was emptying.

The walk along roads lined with sequoias and Montezuma cypresses was rather relaxing; the air was refreshingly crisp and the sun, in contrast, washed me with its mellow warmth. I inhaled deeply, taking in the delicious aroma that wafted from the bakery I was just passing. The main square of the town drew closer with each step of mine; I just kept going onwards, without a clear goal in mind because I didn't know anyplace here, in which I'd like to spend some time. However, within another fifteen minutes of aimless meandering, I found an area which beckoned to me like a bright lamp does to moths—the town library. Hastening my pace towards it, I momentarily halted at the stairs leading into the brick and stone structure; it wasn't big, rather small, and antique—cozy and somehow welcoming. I strode up the four steps, pushed open the large egress, and tentatively crossed the threshold. The typical woody smell of books with its underlying mustiness washed over me, I closed my eyes reveling in the floaty-lightness the scent made me feel. The receptionist's counter to my right was unmanned, leading me to decide go and look around.

The faded green carpet muffled the sounds of my winter boots as I walked the aisles between wooden bookshelves, occasionally reaching up to run my fingertips along the spines of books. The comforting library quietness settled over my mind like a blanket, filling me with tranquility. I zig-zagged along the passageways until I came to the reading section, lined with vintage-looking tables and reading-lights. The place was empty, save for one person occupying the chair at the far end hugging the wall—a boy, bent over a book with his hoodie covering his head, so deeply engrossed in reading that he failed to notice me. I chose to ask him about the librarian since I wanted to borrow some reads and, if possible, become a card-carrying member or something.

Even after I'd gone close to him, he seemed oblivious to my presence—deaf to his surroundings, blind to everything except for the book that he had in front him; I discerned he was a voracious reader and immediately felt the need to strike up a friendship. Before I could say something to get his attention, someone behind me asked, "may I help you, miss?"

I whirled, startled. A fair-haired woman, probably in her late forties, stood there dressed in clothes so old-fashioned that they made me wonder if I'd time-traveled to the sixties upon walking through the doors of the library. "Yeah," I said. "I wanted to meet the librarian..."

"You're looking at her." She smiled at me amiably, her blue-irised eyes crinkling at the corners. "How may I help you?"

"I just want to become a member," I uttered, "you know, so I can borrow books."

"Of course, come this way please." She motioned for me to follow her.

I took one last glance at the boy, who still hadn't looked up from his reading, then moved to go after the lady. Back at the front desk, the librarian pulled out a gigantic notebook bound in red felt with golden font dictating Members' Registry, and a rectangular piece of yellow construction paper which had to be the membership card. I stood by, telling her whatever details she asked for as she filled out the Registry.

"You're new in town," she stated nonchalantly. The thing about small towns, everybody knew everybody else and thus it was easy to spot the tenderfoots. The woman handed over my card. "So, Geneviève—such a pretty name—how long has it been here?"

"Not even a day," I answered, taking the card from her and pocketing it. "Thank you, umm..." I paused, waiting for her to tell me her name.

"Annmarie Royce," she said, "call me Ann."

"Thanks Ann."

"Anytime, sweetheart."

I was about to return to the intriguing boy in the reading area when my phone rings. It was mum, calling to ask me to get home because she had to run some errands and I'd forgotten my set of keys behind. Sighing, I said my goodbyes to Ann and proceeded homewards.

~*~

The school here didn't start for another week, so I had all the time in the world to myself. The days I'd spend unpacking and arranging the house, connecting with my friends on Skype, scrolling through my Instagram until I got nostalgic from repeatedly going over the pictures. After lunch, I'd spend the remaining hours of daylight in the library. I won't deny that I not only went there for the sake of reading, I also had intentions of becoming acquaintances with the Avid Reader (I figured I should nickname him that until I got his real one). The first day, he didn't come in, nor did he show up the second day. Third time's a charm, they say, and it was; the third day, he turned up, much to my happiness.

Paying me absolutely no mind, he went straight to the place he'd occupied earlier—about eight seats away from where I sat—and dropped his backpack on the chair. His lanky build was clothed in the similar attire as before, a simple tee-shirt with a hoodie over it and jeans. His hood was down this time, revealing a shock of unruly blond hair. Fleetingly, our gazes met, but he turned away before I could send a smile his way. Superseding the claiming of his customary seat, he disappeared between the bookshelves of the Classics. I didn't want to look like a creep, so I restrained myself from staring at him. Occasionally, I'd look up with hopes of catching his eye again, so that we may exchange grins and starting a forthcoming conversation which might further lead to friendship, but like before, not once did his attention get diverted from the book.

Tomorrow, I asserted to myself as my wristwatch showed that I should be returning home. That is, if he comes at all.

We had almost commenced our settling, there wasn't much left to do except to hoard the cardboard boxes in the attic. So, the next day, I went to check out the bakery—The Cake Fairy; our neighbor had suggested that we try out the Danish Cakes. As soon as I stepped indoors, the sweet scents of chocolate, vanilla, the redolence of lavender, mint, and the piquancy of cinnamon, ginger, all came dancing into my sense of smell; my mouth began watering from the delectability of the air itself. The shop had a pleasant ambiance about it; sodium bulbs in tulip-shaped lamps lit the room, round-tables ringed with cane chairs dotted the span between the door and the counter, while the corners had comfortable chaise lounges.

I made my way over to the servicing counter and addressed the girl standing there with a smile. She looked about my age, with a petite frame, red curls that dropped ringlets over a heart-shaped face. Her green eyes sparkled with affability behind large-rimmed glasses as she returned a vivifying beam to me.

"Hi," I said.

"Hey," she answered. "What can I get you?"

"Two of those Danish Cakes you're well-known for."

"We just put a fresh batch in the oven," she informed. "Would you like anything else?"

I was about to deny, but then opted to sample the honey-glazed pretzels that stared invitingly at me from their tray in the display. "One pretzel, please."

She nodded in affirmation, typing my order in the computer and printing out the bill. I made my payment, took the plate of pretzel the server had warmed for me, and moved aside to make way for the people waiting in line.

"Haven't seen you here before..." The redhead mused, free from customers for the moment.

I looked up from counting my change and replied, "yeah. New in town."

"I thought as much." Extending her right arm, palm facing inwards for the formal greeting, she said, "I'm Abby Parker, by the way."

"Geneviève Dumont." I reached over and shook her hand.

Her expression turned inquisitive as she asked, "you still in school?"

"Uh-huh."

"Jeffery High, right?"

"I think that's the only high school around here," I imparted, "so yep. I'll be going there, no other choice."

"Of course, yeah!" Abby laughed. "Sorry, I'm kind of a dork when it comes to making small talk. I go there too."

Something about the way she said those words made me think that she didn't have many friends. To change the subject and to not make Abby feel any more uncomfortable than she already was, I asked, "you saving up for college or something?"

"Huh?" She looked confused.

"This job," I said, giving about a general indication toward the store.

"Oh, this," she went, comprehending. "Family business."

"Ah, nice." I smiled appreciatively.

At that moment, a voice from somewhere at the back of the kitchen hollered, "Danish Cakes!"

"That's you. I'll go get them." Abby looked as relieved as I felt. I think neither of us were any good at socializing.

I went to the town library again this afternoon. Avid Reader was already there, in the very same place he always picked; either I was late or he'd come early. The reading on my watch cleared that I was the one not on time. Typical.

Today, providence appeared to be favoring me, because he glimpsed up when I pulled back a chair to sit on. To avoid delay like last time, I immediately grinned at him. His mouth canted, not fully, but to some extent in a faint smile. Suddenly, he struck me as a rather good-looking boy; maybe it was just his smile, changing the map of his visage to give the impression that he was attractive, but he most definitely was appealing now. We both reverted to our reading; he was bent over a copy of Hard Times and I opened the first chapter of Eragon that I'd plucked out of the Epic Fantasy section. Though whatever passed between us today was mere acknowledgements of each other, I considered it substantial progress. Baby steps...

~*~

School was due to start in two days. Two days before I'd get ensnared in academics and the colossal load of catching up that awaited me. I wanted to spend them well; do some more reading and hopefully record some advancement in my relationship—if one could even call whatever was between us a 'relationship'—with (the handsome) Avid Reader.

I had some school paperwork to deal with, hence by the time I'd reached the library, it was early evening. As I made my way towards the reading area, I had my scrutiny adeptly scan title after title in the search for something that would rouse my curiosity, my hands picking up the ones that interested me. I turned around the corner, ready to peruse another bookshelf, when I ran smack into someone. Consequence of the bodily collision, I dropped the three paperbacks that I'd been hugging to my chest.

"Hey..." I started indignantly, about to tell off the person for not watching and walking, but trailed off upon seeing who it was. You guessed it. Mister Avid Reader.

He kneeled to gather the books then stood back up and held them out to me. Up close, I noticed that he was easily two heads taller than me. His irises were a beautiful shade of blue, like the freshwater lakes of Ontario. The mop of pale gold that topped his head was messier than usual, vaguely giving him the impression of a dandelion. I took the books from him, offering him a grateful smile. "Thanks."

A man of few—or rather, no words, he said nothing, simply raised his right hand to his forehead and dropped it, the sequence made a salute... Yes, he saluted me. I stared at him, faltering in my etiquettes department when my observation caught up with how skinny and remarkably pale he was—I could trace a roadmap of veins underneath the skin of his temples, his neck, and his arms. I would've continued to gape at him like that had I not heard someone calling my name.

"Huh?" I whirled to face the source of the vocation. Ann stood at the end of the aisle, looking at us like she'd caught us doing something... Forbidden. The expression on her face made me take a few steps away from Avid Reader.

"I thought I heard books falling," said Ann.

"Yeah." I held up the three volumes in my arms. "It was me. He was only helping me pick them up." I don't know why gave away the last statement, perhaps because Ann still looked a little on the edge, like she wasn't sure what Avid Reader and I were up to, yet she still didn't approve of it. For some absurd reason, my brain conjured up images of the boy and me getting caught doing something 'nasty' in a secluded cranny of the library. I felt prickles going up my neck and flood my cheeks, my ears became a little warm. I hugged the books closer to my chest and said, "well, I'll go find myself a good nook and start reading these."

"Sure, sweetheart," said Ann, smiling. "Happy reading."

"Thanks." I hurried out of the uncomfortable situation as fast as I could, but it wasn't before I overheard Ann saying something along the lines of, "was she bothering you?"

I slowed in my tracks, straining to pick up more. I didn't hear Avid Reader's response, or maybe he just shook his head. Ann's voice drifted over again, "yes, she does seem nice."

I am nice.

"Just... Just be careful, Sebastian."

Careful? Of what? Oooh, Sebastian... Avid Reader's name was Sebastian. I liked it.

Footsteps approached. I hastened to the tables, pulled out the nearest chair, and sat on it, picking one of the books without even looking at the title, and opening a random page—I hoped I didn't look uneasy as I felt. When Sebastian walked past me to his place without a word, I was somewhat relieved because that implied that no suspicions were raised, but also a tad bit disappointed—why wasn't he trying to talk to me? We had like, a moment or something there, didn't we?

I think I would have to take matters into my own hands now. While my external pretense was of being acutely immersed in the book I held open in my hands, my mind was busy coming up with ways of breaking the ice with Sebastian whilst at the same time creating a good impression instead of creeping him out. No good luck entailed my fate for the evening, because I ended plotting until it was too late and he had packed and left. He made an early departure; was it because I'd already had him freaked? Could it be possible that what I liked to think of as us having a 'moment', was actually just me staring at him a bit too much and thus coming off as an obsessive stalker? Oh, my gods, why was I such a nut?

~*~

My new place of academia, Jeffery High School, was predictably typical—a clone of every other American school. I must admit that the sea of new faces intimidated me to no end, so it was quite a relief when right after the orientation with the principal, I ran into Abby Parker from The Cake Fairy. She recognized me instantly, exclaiming, "hey! It's you... Umm..." She frowned uncertainly. "I'm sorry I forgot your name."

I couldn't help but laugh at that. "Geneviève," I said, "or Gen, for short."

"Sorry," she said again. "I'm not very good with names."

"It's fine." I brushed it off.

We set off in a slow stroll down the locker lined hallway, bustling with students hurrying for their classes. Their rushing about reminded me of my own class. I turned to Abby, holding out my time-table. "Please tell me you also have first period English Literature..."

This time, Abby was the one laughing. "Nope, sorry. But I'll show you to your classroom..."

"Are you sure?" I asked. "You must have—"

"I do," she cut me off, "but my lecturer is kinda always late. So, I've got some time before my class actually starts."

"Right."

When we reached, I bade Abby goodbye and thanked her for helping. I entered the classroom apprehensively, although it was unwarranted because nobody paid any attention to me. I wasn't being judgmentally stared at like I'd expected, nor was I being hailed heartily. Nevertheless, I preferred being left to my own devices. I took the desk at the far corner situated near a window, so that I could enjoy the view of the football field in case I got bored—it is one of the downsides of being as great of a bibliophile as I was; you had read and re-read all the bravura books, hence your English Lit. classes seemed just about as useful as an inkless pen.

Whilst waiting for the class to begin, all I did was study the indigenous populace of this alien environment. I found nothing interesting; same old, same old—high school sweethearts making suggestive jokes and cooing at each other, the few 'I want a four-point-oh for Ivy League' buried their noses in hard work, the one kid who dressed in all black had his earphones in and was headbanging slowly, the goofballs threw paper planes and shot spitballs at random targets—gosh, I hoped I didn't get hit by one of those disgusting things—and... Oh, and in walked Sebastian himself; I recognized him from his lanky physique and the hood drawn over his head. I couldn't believe it; how could I have possibly not considered the fact that he'd also be going to the only high school in town?! This was a good turn of events nonetheless.

He made his way towards the back of the classroom; a backbencher, like me. His downturned gaze was lifted to land on me, I smiled at him. A flicker of recognition passed his elfish mien—yes, he did bear a striking resemblance to J.R.R. Tolkien's elves with his angular features, his pallor, his height, and his gangly figure... Anyways, he returned the acknowledgement with a slight smile and a nod, before sliding into the desk right next to mine. Sooner than I could talk to him, he pulled out a book from his backpack and flipped it open to a bookmarked page. I chose not to bother him after that; I knew what it was like to be disrupted while in the middle of a good volume.

English class came and went by with me either doodling in my notebook, or mentally sniggering at the various (and stupid) interpretations of excerpts from The Odyssey the students came up with, or mostly sneaking glances at Sebastian. He was being the ideal student, sincerely taking notes, penciling sections in his book, so devotedly absorbed in the lecture that he barely knew I was losing myself in his elven beauty. The sunlight streaming in from my window bathed him in a recherché light, giving his eyes a chatoyant luminosity, his hair seemed to be spun from sunbeams of the noon. I sighed, inwardly swooning at Sebastian.

As soon as the bell rang, the entire student population looked like a mass demonic possession. In the pandemic crowd, I lost Sebastian. Curses! It was as though the whole universe was working against my plans of befriending him...

Outside the classroom, casually leaning against the far wall and apparently waiting for me was Abby. "Hey," she said as I made my way over to her, "figured you'd need help finding the other locations too..."

"Yeah, I do!" I said. "Thanks. Very thoughtful of you."

"No problem," she replied. "That's what friends are for."

Well, it was good to finally have that established. Abby would make a great friend, I could tell. There was something I needed to ask her though. "So, Abby..." I tried to sound as offhand as I could. "Do you know Sebastian?"

"I know three Sebastians," she answered. "Which one do you wanna know about?"

"Umm," I said, "tall, anemic, blond?"

"Ah! Sebastian Royce, you mean?"

"I guess. Wait," I wondered aloud, "Royce as in Annmarie Royce from the town library?"

"Yep." She nodded. "He's her son."

The similarities hit me then; the blue eyes, fair hair... Of course! "What can you tell me about him?"

"Pretty much everything."

That statement disturbed me ambiguously. So I asked, "and how do you know 'pretty much everything' about him?"

"I'm in the admins panel for the school's social networking groups, Facebook, Myspace, Tumblr—you name it."

Well, that explained things. And rescinded my perturbation. Sighing dejectedly, I said, "he doesn't talk much, does he? I've been trying to—"

Abby stopped dead in her tracks, letting me walk two spaces before I could pause and turn back. Her eyes conveyed something like, 'really?' and her eyebrows were raised till they almost met her hairline. I shrugged at her, clueless. Finally, she said, "he doesn't talk because he can't. It's his anarthria."

"What do you mean?"

"He's mute."

"Oh..."

"It's sad, really," Abby continued, "the accident in which he lost his voice, it costed him his father too. It'd been two years since that happened, he's only getting worse..."

"What do you mean, 'worse'?"

"You see how he seems perpetually ill and so wan, right? Well, he wasn't like that before. He was the star player of our school basketball team. He was popular with everyone, worshipped by the boys, loved by the girls..." Abby stuffed her hands in the pockets of her denim dungarees, eyes downcast.

"It's like," I supplied, "like, he's withdrawn in a shell and never wants to come out..."

"Yeah."

Abby and I parted ways at what was my Chemistry laboratory. Chemistry never really interested me much. I got paired with a boy called Jared Pelosi, who the teacher thought was the only person that could help me catch up with the syllabus. Jared performed all the experiments, leaving me to take down the readings and observations and in the meantime, feel the intense need to take Sebastian under my wing. Call me crazy, but even though I barely knew him, I still wanted to be there for him. I didn't want him to get any worse than he'd already gone...

~*~

It was my second week in Jefferey High School. So, four days of being friends with Abby Parker and coming to know that she was a very sweet, funny girl who was also a devout environmentalist and animal-lover. Four days of hanging out with her and her little group comprising of very nice people—Cameron the computer geek, Damian the heartbreaker who's actually gay, Chandler the sports-obsessed boyfriend of Cameron, Skylar the lisztomaniac, Leigh the daydreamer, and Nico the silent goth guy who only opens his mouth to diss people (and boy, his diss-game was always strong). Four days of spending free periods lurking around Sebastian Royce and trying to learn as much about him as I could. And seven full days in which I bought a diary with a specific purpose in mind.

Today, the purpose will finally be fulfilled.

During lunch, I got my tray with my new group of friends, but instead of sitting with them under the shade of the hickories in the compound, I told them to go on ahead without me. I, myself, had decided to eat with Sebastian in the football field's bleachers. I saw him sitting in the far corner of the grounds, and walked over to him as fast as I could without dropping my lunch. On reaching his side, I only said, "hi."

I knew he could hear me, he just couldn't speak, that's what his anarthria was about. He looked up and stared blankly at me. Feeling awkward under his scrutiny, I set my tray beside him and lifted my (now free) hand up in a wave. "Hi," I said again. "I'm Geneviève. We have English Literature together."

He smiled, as though recognition had just dawned upon him. Taking that as indicative of no objection to my presence, I sat down beside him and took my tray upon my lap. He shifted a little in his place, making me wonder if he was uncomfortable due my sudden closeness. Nevertheless, I wasn't going to let that stop me from encroaching into his shell and trying to pull him out.

"I see you at the library all the time..." I tried to start some light conversation. "Your affinity to reading really impresses me. Who's your favorite writer?"

I turned my head to look at Sebastian; his expression was constipated, so troubled, his left cheek stuffed with the bite of sandwich he'd been chewing. I really felt bad at that particular moment. He must be trying to find a way to tell me that he can't speak. The painful irony of this, ugh! Before he could lapse into a panic attack or something, I laid my hand on his forearm, and said, "hey, it's okay. I know." His blue depths stared right into my soul and made me feel like I was gazing into the expressive eyes of a husky pup. I pulled both, my eyes and my hand, away from him and apologized, "sorry. It was stupid of me to like, interrogate you and stuff, even after knowing." That's when I pulled the small notebook from my coat pocket and left it in the space between us with a purple Sharpie that I'd pocketed during my art period. "But I really wanna talk to you, get to know you and all, so..."

For an instant, everything had gone very still; to the point where the breeze susurrating through the blades of grass on the field was surprisingly profound. I started on my lunch, unwrapping my fruit salad and forking a cube of watermelon. Then, from the corner of my sight, I saw one slender, pale hand reach out and take the diary and the pen. After another two minutes or so, the items were replaced, with the Sharpie tucked in the first page of the notebook. I looked at him once more, he had reverted to nibbling on his sandwich.

At the top of the page, written in scribbly but readable hand, were words: Currently, it's Edgar Allen Poe.

"Oh, cool," I said around the strawberry in my mouth. "You definitely must've read The Raven, then?"

He nodded 'yes'.

"I like that poem. Got a favorite quote by him?"

He thought for a minute then retook the diary and wrote: I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.

"Woah," I said, "that's rather multi-faceted... Do you relate to it...? Or something?" I felt so stupid, I wished I had a filter in my throat!

Do I need to?

"Ah...!" Gracefully handled. I shrugged. "Nah, you don't. I was just asking." Realizing that our 'conversation' was preventing him from eating, I said, "you know what, let's talk after we're done lunching."

Sebastian nodded in agreement and we both settled to silently eating. Sporadically, I'd look at him, and I caught him looking at me at least thrice, which meant that I was not the only one surveilling. Well, that was good; at least I interested him enough for him to observe me. When done with our lunches, we spent the whole of recess talking (and writing) about Poe. He filled two pages of the journal in purple answers to my questions and queries of his own. I'd say we'd become friends that day.

When the bell rang to signal the end of break, I was almost sad to leave our hearty discussion hanging, but I had algebra. Sebastian said he wanted to keep the diary so I let him have it. I waved him goodbye and hurried for my lecture with a very bubbly heart and a butterfly-filled tummy.

~*~

"This is Abby Parker, or as I like to call her, 'Fruitcake Ninja'!"

"Hey!" Abby protested. "Drop that nickname already. And, uhm... Nice to meet you, Seb."

Sebastian smiled his faint uplifting of lips at Abby. I giggled, moving on with my introductions. I pointed at my burliest friend and said, "that's Chandler Dawes, Captain of our soccer team and baseball team."

"How's it hangin'?" Drawled Chandler, to which Sebastian responded with a slight nod.

"The girl Chandler's so protectively holding is Cameron West."

Cameron extricated herself from Chandler's grasp and stepped forward to exchange a handshake with Sebastian. "Nice to finally meet you, mysterious boy."

I playfully ruffled Nico's black-dyed mane. "This is Nico Renaldi, Mister-Burning-Churches-Is-My-Favorite-Hobby."

"Geroff," the goth grunted, pushing away my hand. Sebastian eyed him apprehensively.

I patted his shoulder in assurance. "Don't go by the looks, he's as soft and sweet as cotton candy on the inside." Nico glared at me, I stuck my tongue out at him, going on to my other friends. I was really enjoying watching my friends meet Sebastian and vice-versa; I finally won't have to alternate between spending lunch break with my group and Sebastian because we could all just get together. I pointed to the dark-skinned girl with her trademark headphones one and explained, "that, over there, more interested in her iPod than reality, is Skylar James. The one beside her is Leigh Gordon."

At the mention of her name, the tutu-skirt and Kombats obsessed Leigh walked over to Sebastian. She pulled out a plastic flower wreath from her satchel, stood on her tip-toes to reach his head, and crowned him. "Welcome," she said, smiling widely, "to the group of the best people in Jeffery High."

Sebastian's smile widened too and he looked as adorable as a little kid who'd just met Micky Mouse in Disneyland. I felt a little jealous though, seeing him beam that brightly in a flower crown from Leigh, but I managed to bury it in because I saw no reason to be envious of their friendship—it's not like Sebastian and I were dating or whatever.

"The guy checkin' you out," I continued mischievously, "is Damian Raymond."

"Don't play with my image like that," Damian chided me. Then, to Seb, he asked, "how're you doing?" Sebastian replied with a both his thumbs up. To that, Damian responded, "me too, bruh. It's a good life."

It was a Saturday evening and we had gathered in Rizzoli's for lunch—an Italian restaurant. The time waiting for our orders to come up had now been fruitfully utilized in the formal exchanges and Sebastian, though still reserved and quiet, was liked by everyone. Everybody got along so well with him and he with them; it made me really happy to see him finally poke his head out of the shell of his. I clapped my hands together, "it is amazeballs to see you guys gel together so nicely..."

"Yeah," agreed Abby. "Great to have you onboard our entourage, Sebastian."

A couple of waitresses came over with our food and laid them down neatly in front of us. "Finally!" Exclaimed Damian. "Oh, this smells like heaven."

One of the waitresses smiled at him, and the seductive wink didn't go unnoticed by us. "Damian," said Leigh, "she digs you."

"Everybody digs me..." Damian snorted, shoveling a great forkful of penne into his mouth. "But I'm diggin' this pasta—" he broke off with a moan of delight. "This is sooo good..."

I laughed, shaking my head at him. The food was indeed great, and great food with the best of company is the most satisfying thing in the world. Amid that frame of time, I came to the realization that I did not regret my shifting to this town. Life here was not like my old one—I still miss it sometimes—but to be open to new things and new people certainly improved my quality of living, especially when the people involved are as good as the ones in my coterie.

~*~

I was gonna ask Sebastian to be my valentine. I needed to...

......................................

I am so sorry guys, but making this a single-chapter story in my shorts collection didn't seem to justify the plans I'd begun to have for it. There's like so much plot for this piece in my mind like you would never understand. So many complications, so many relationships, so much love between the MCs and the things that try to tear them apart. The troubles that life puts Geneviève and Sebastian through, how they overcome those hardships, how they sometimes feel like the entire universe is against their union. So, basically, this story was going to some sappy and heartbreaking Nicholas Sparks kinda thing. But, I just couldn't do it... Thus, I have decided to share my idea with you all out there. A lot of you guys are insanely talented, so much better than I could ever expect to be, and I am sure one of you might have the great caliber to finish this incomplete project of mine.

Yes, I am going to let you use this as a prompt or something. The only thing I ask in return is credit for the brainchild idea. The rest of it—plot & character development, environment & setting, style & mechanics, ending & further fillers—credit for all that, you can most certainly have. PM me if you need the draft of this for your continuation.