This is a story of a girl who refused to accept destiny. Fuck destiny. If people want a happy ending, that shit is hard. You've gotta work for it.

And that girl I spoke of is me. Magnolia Brown. Sounds like a fucking street name, doesn't it? He always said it was a beautiful name. He said it reminded him of summer. He didn't know that magnolias bloom in spring. But I was young and dumb, a dangerous and reckless combination. At the ripe old age of sixteen, I fell in "love".

It doesn't get much better than high school sweet hearts, does it? I'll never forget the feeling of holding his hand as we walked through the halls, leaning my head on his shoulder and staring up at the sky during breaks, those cheesy forbidden kisses snuck behind the bleachers. It was all oh-so-cliché. But that's what high school is. It's hell wrapped in a cliché, and everyone is just trying to survive it without rolling their eyes right out of their heads. He never thought of it that way. I guess that's why some people peak in high school. They never look ahead to the future. They never long to be out.

But I longed to be out. As a high schooler, all I wanted was my independence. How original. He always looked at me curiously when I brought up wanting to get away, to be free. Curiously isn't the right word for it. Curiosity is driven by an intelligent and inquisitive nature. He was simply confused, befuddled. He refused to think about how anything could be better than right now. He loved the easy life. He loved his decisions being made for him. He loved his mom doing his laundry, his getting favoritism from teachers because he was leading our school football team to victory for once, his never having to look for a date to any formal because he had his loyal girlfriend by his side.

We never made sense as a match. He was the kind yet stupid jock, and I was the wickedly smart 'I don't give a fuck about anything' girl. We were both clichés, yet we were clichés that didn't match. Where was his head cheerleader? She was nowhere to be found. But I was. I was there in our small school. Being in the same school as him, growing up in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere. Somehow we drifted together. It was an odd arrangement. We didn't fit with each other, yet we didn't fit anyone else either. We were like two left shoes, yet we couldn't find our missing right. So when everyone paired up, when everyone found their match, we were there. Together. As odd a couple as they come, but we wanted it to work. Desperately. When you're that young and have nowhere else to turn, you make do.

We worked. We truly did. Those three last years of high school, we scraped by. Neither of us knew what we were doing. But we became each other's security blankets, him more than me. I had dreams, hopes and plans bigger than just going through the motions. He didn't. He never did. Going through the motions was it for him. I almost became him. I almost stayed. It was so comfortable, having a person. It was safe and sure. But that's it. It wasn't exciting, it wasn't beautiful, it wasn't life changing. It was us. And we were average together.

Graduation struck. All hell broke loose. I broke him. I broke that boy. I said goodbye. Something he could have never done, even when we both so desperately needed to be apart. I left our small safe haven in Alabama and headed to California. I still remember the look on his face when I told him the day after graduation. I told him I wouldn't go to the local college. I wouldn't stay. I wouldn't have a future with him. I would not, nor will I ever again, settle. He told me I was stupid. Irresponsible. Like he could talk to me about irresponsibility. We screamed. We cried. Explaining that to him was the hardest thing I had ever done in my life. Explaining that I so desperately wanted more. That I would never be able to live with myself if I stayed with him, settled down, rose a family. I was never truly a high school sweet heart and I could certainly never be his house wife. I couldn't get him to understand. I just couldn't. He wouldn't see reason. I knew he wouldn't. It wasn't in his character. Some people need to actually experience life to mature, I guess. But understood or not, I left.

California was a shock, a splash of vibrant color. I moved midsummer so I could get the complete experience. I wonder if he thought about me that summer. If he thought about magnolias blooming in summer and how wrong that is. I got a dog, an apartment, and a job. For the first time, I had a life. I was living. I learned I like the beach. I learned I like a lot of things. I learned I didn't like a lot of things as well. As cliché as it sounds, I found myself. I learned who I am.

School started that fall. College is majorly different than high school. No one knows me if I don't want them to. Or, anyone can know me if I make the effort. The freedom is beautiful. Balancing a job and school... wasn't so beautiful. I made it by well enough. Fall was bliss. Winter was tough. And spring was... well, I'll get to that. I still went to the beach as often as I could. I still remember the date. March 20th. I only remember that because she always says she met me during her favorite time of year. March Madness. You thought I was going to say something sappy like spring, didn't you? She didn't care that it was spring. She didn't care about much. She certainly didn't care that in that crowded beach, the only good spot to get good sun was unfortunately located right next to some random girl stressing over homework while sitting cross legged on a beach towel. She laid her beach towel right next to mine, not giving a single fuck about the normal personal space most strangers like to keep around them.

I couldn't help but look up at the girl. She hadn't even bothered to wear a cover up. She was here for the beach, so she was in her gorgeous black one piece. At least that's the adjective she likes to use to describe it. I raised an eyebrow at "the scantily clad vision" in front of me. Again, her words.

"Got a problem, dear? Because I can't help but not care at all." Were her first words to me. They make me swoon. Note the sarcasm. I responded to her with some sarcastic reply. Sarcasm wasn't a second language, it was practically a first to me. It still is. And she laughed. She actually laughed in my face. She told me all about how I was taking everything too seriously. Where was the fun in being at the beach and doing homework? What was the point. She encouraged me to get off my ass and join her. Live a little. I can't help but listen when she gets fired up. The passion was practically radiating off of her. There isn't anyone like Annie back at home.

I joined her. That was our first adventure of many. She reminded me how to relax. It had only taken a few short months for me to return to the same old stressed out girl who would look for something easy and comfortable. But she saved me from that. We met up at the beach every week from then on. And then for coffee after my work every Friday.

Our first kiss wasn't magical. It wasn't something from the story books. Apparently at dumb college parties that you take your friends to, they still play truth or dare. Some pervy dude dared Annie to kiss me. Why would I want to kiss my friend? But Annie never backed down from a challenge. She leaned right over and kissed me. Nothing happened. We both brushed it off. At least outwardly. Inwardly, I was shocked. But I wouldn't say anything.

More weeks passed. Then, three weeks after the fateful kiss, something happened. "Ok, what on earth is wrong with you, Maggie? You always look distracted or messed up whenever we hang out." She's always been someone to speak her mind. No problem is left unaddressed with Miss Annabelle Gillespie. When she looks me in the eye so intensely, I can't lie to her. But I also can't admit everything. So I did the first thing my lovely hormone filled self thought of. And that was to kiss my fiery best friend who would never return my feelings.

She wasn't shocked. Her first words after the kiss were, "about fucking time". I was lost. I'm smart, but this, I didn't understand one bit. If she knew I had developed feelings for her but was too afraid to say anything, why wouldn't she tell me that she knew and felt the same? This she explained for me without asking. I needed to find my own way. This was something that couldn't be forced. I needed to figure things out.

That was our magical moment. The moment of understanding. From that moment on we were Annie and Maggie. Annabelle and her Magnolia. Our adventures never stopped. Our annual beach trips never stopped. Our going to stupid parties and making out? Well, that continued for a while, but eventually stopped. Not the making out part.

We got married in spring. He was there. But he was just a supporting character in my life. He was just the boy who lead me to the girl. He was just the boy who thought magnolias bloomed in summer.

Oh, how wrong he was.