Even before opening my eyes I can sense something's off. I feel lower somehow. Opening my eyes, I glance up, noticing the ceiling is farther away than it should be. My bed is unoccupied and doesn't even looked slept in.

   "Did I fall out of bed?" That would embarrassing if I did seeing how I haven't since I was nine.

   But looking in front of me at Xalale still asleep, I realize I fell asleep down here and never bothered climbing up into my bed again.

   At first, I scold myself then I feel embarrassed and blush at how intimately close we were. We're facing each other, so close our faces nearly touch. Out of nature, I pull back but this causes him to rouse a bit.

   "What's wrong?"

   "Um," I try to sound natural. "No, no, sorry."

   He never opened his eyes so he easily falls back to sleep.

   Glancing over at the clock, it's only 9 o'clock. I really want to get up, but that might disturb him again so I ease back down, creating some space between us.

    I mean to turn my back to him, but my damn mind goes ADD on me (must have contracted it from him) and I can't help but always notice how at peace he seems when he's asleep.

   I end up watching him for a minute or two before unknowingly- like my hand has a mind of its own now- reaching out to brush away the hair that has fallen into his face. My hand's only a stretch away-

   "Mallory."

   Pulling my hand back so quick I can feel the rush of blood move about, I rub my hand, my heart nearly stopped dead in its track after that scare.

   He isn't even looking at me, his eyes are closed still, but he speaks to me.

   "Uh, yeah?" Act casual.

   I'm praying he hadn't sensed what I was about to do (I wanna chop off my hand for such a stupid mistake).

   "Stop breathing so hard." He replies absentmindedly, making me think he hadn't sensed what I was about to do.

   "Wha? No, I'm not."

   "Your breath is wretched."

   I roll my eyes in annoyance.

   "Your breath doesn't smell too pleasant yourself, your Highness." I shoot back.

   It must be one of those good days- thank the Lord- because I see the faint curve of a smile at that, though he still acts asleep.

   "Fair enough. Though it would your Majesty instead."

   I can't help the small smile on my face- it's weird how contagious he can be.

   "Alright, your Majesty," I say putting emphasis on the proper title. "But you still have awful morning breath, just FYI."

   He's amused, I can always tell. I enjoy it when we can wake up like this. I actually remember the first time we woke up from sleeping with each other, it was the complete, polar opposite of this pleasant scene. We were at each others' throats over I can't even remember, but it was stupid. This is so much more relaxed and less warlike.

   We lie there in the quietness of morning once more as I readjust my position, lying on my side, my back facing him. Both of us soon drift off into sleep again, but not as deep, which is why I'm able to hear the phone ring, jolting me from my sleep.

   "I'll get it." Of course, I would be the one to get it, why did I even announce that?

   Regardless, I stumble still half asleep with crust in my eyes toward the door. Clumsiness must prevail resulting in my tripping over Xalale's foot. I fall to the ground with a crash, the phone still trilling in the background.

   "Are you hurt?"

   I get to my feet, now awake at least.

   "No, I'm cool, just a klutz."

   Hurrying to catch the phone, I pick it up with an out-of-breath hello.

   "Good morning, Mallory," It's Mrs. Mershire. "I hope I didn't disturb anyone at home by calling so early."

    I fiddle with the phone cord then rub my face and the loose strands of hair stuck to my cheek.

   "Oh, no, you're fine."

   "Alrighty," She beams (she must be an early bird). "I only called so early to let you know that Clifford won't need babysitting today."

   "Oh, really?" My interest and worries are peaked. "How's his knee?"

   "His knee is fine. Went to the doctor's yesterday and not a single thing fractured or broke. It's still sore and has some unwanted discoloration, but other than that he's feeling wonderful."

   I visibly breathe a sigh of relief, resting a hand on my chest. Xalale should be relieved to hear that as well.

   "That's wonderful news."

   "Yes, yes, but that's not the reason he won't be over. You see- and I believe he might have told you this- but a good friend of mine is coming over and spending the day with us. A nice bonding, fun day."

   "Is this man named Dean by any chance?"

   "He has told you, hasn't he?"

   I smile, "Yes, he has."

    She lets out a soft sigh of happiness as if her secret is out, especially knowing how much more of a good friend that Dean guy really is.

   "Well, thank you for letting me know," I say. "I hope you all have a good time today."

   "Thank you, Mallory. Enjoy your day off as well."

   "Alright, bye."

    Hanging up, I stifle a yawn with a smile on my face, heading back to my room to sleep in for once.

   Almost without thought, I choose to lie back down on the mattress rather than my bed. Before I drift off again, I make sure to tell Xalale the news.

   "Clifford's not coming over today."

   "I'm sorry?"

   I face him this time so my voice can be better heard. I can already see how this one comment has him perplexed.

   "Clifford's not coming over today because he and his mom are going to have bonding time with the guy named Dean that he was telling us about."

   The lines of worry don't completely melt away, but he won't ask what I clearly know is on his mind. I wait for him to ask, but he's stubborn. I don't understand why he can't show concern for others without acting difficult about it.

   "His knee isn't broke or fractured or anything," I say stifling another yawn and beginning to close my eyes. "He's feeling much better."

   "That's good news."

   My eyes are closed by now so I can't see his facial expression, but I hear it in his voice that his mind is put to ease over this. He changes position and we lie there, not really asleep yet but willing it to come.

   A few minutes tick by then I lose count, but even though my eyes are closed, I can't fall asleep. My body is unusually antsy for this early in the morning and every so often I let out a sigh through my nose as if to signal to my body that I'm ready to fall back to sleep again. But it's no use, my body is just too antsy and awake for me to fall back asleep. I let out a verbal sigh, now, in frustration.

   "Can't sleep?" He asks me.

   I open my eyes and look over at him. He's looking at me as though put in the same situation.

   "We should get ready then."

    Sighing again, I look up at the ceiling.

   "Yeah, alright."

   "You ought to brush your teeth first."

    I elbow him in jest.

   "You'll be right after me."

    I gather my clothes for the day then slip out to change in the bathroom where I do brush my teeth- even using mouthwash for the hell of it- and finish freshening up for the day. We switch, and I hang out in my room, though not for long as I wander into the kitchen to fix up some breakfast.

    Since I'm feeling daring today, I decide to whip out the waffle iron and make some delicious, golden waffles. I'm pulling the first batch when Xalale joins me in the kitchen.

   "You always have to out do me, huh?" I tease. "Taking a shower as well."

   He seems more interested in the waffle iron that I'm using. The curiosity that he often fights to mask is always evident by the intrigued gleam in his eyes.

    "It's a waffle iron," I explain, taking out the first batch.

    There are no questions on his part, but I can sense he has them.

    "It works like this"- I pour in some more batter- "You pour the stuff in then simply close the lid and it tells me when it's ready to come out."

    "The people here must have ample leisure time to create such things."

    I shrug, taking a seat with my waffles.

    "You should try one." I offer.

     He gives me an uncertain look but accepts my offer anyway. I mean, there's literally only a handful of foods he likes here and if he doesn't like pizza nor cereal, I'm not sure how he'll fare with this.

   Fortunately, he seems to be fine with it, but, of course, must be difficult and detest having syrup on it.

   "Wait," I say in disbelief. "You like waffles, but not pancakes? They're the same thing."

   "I'm unsure of how you want me to answer that."

   I look away, rolling my eyes and mutter under my breath, "And they call me the weird one."

   Since we don't have to watch Clifford, we have the morning to do anything we want, so after cleaning up after breakfast, I prose the question.

    "Don't mean to sound like Clifford, but, what do you want to do?"

    He sits at the table, watching me.

    "Whatever you want."

    Leaning against the kitchen sink, I think, trying to come up with something enjoyable that would pass the time. About to shrug with no response, an idea hits me and the longer I think on it, the more I get excited at the thought.

   "We should watch all the Disney Princess movies from oldest to newest; I have them all."

   He's confused on what I'm talking about, but that helps my cause since he won't know what he's protesting.

   "I promise you it'll be fun."

   He sighs then gives me a doubtful look before sighing once more and reluctantly agreeing.

   "Whatever you want."

   "Awesome," I'm already heading for the family room to put in the first movie, which, of course, will be none other than Snow White.

    Though not my favorite Disney Princess movie, it still entertains me and I enjoy the animation of it all. However simple the plot, it works for me and is a classic.

    I know how cynical Xalale is when it comes to film (or anything I like for the most part), but hopefully he'll enjoy, or at least tolerant this without protest or judgment. I believe he does, for the most part, until the ending where he finally voices his opinion- because it was clearly asked for (At least he had the decency to wait until the end).

   "Why would one kiss a stranger in the woods that they presume is dead?"

   "Every Disney critic's first and main argument."

    I get up to take the disk out and go in search for Cinderella.

    "Because he loved her and they did meet before."

    He gives me that look like I've just said the stupidest reason imaginable.

    "Yes, but they never talked."

    Xalale has a way of making people defensive about something they find pleasure in.

   "Actually," I correct. "They did talk."

   "No, she never talks to him and he only sings a song, they were barely acquaintances."

   I roll my eyes, putting in Cinderella and sitting back on the couch where I mutter under my breath.

   "We were barely acquainted before we..." I let the rest falter, shaking my head as I push play.

    Cinderella is probably my second favorite after Aurora. She was the epitome of everything physically and personality-wise that I wanted to be growing up. You see how well that turned out.

    I love the plot in this movie as well and everything about it- it's actually been some time since I've rewatched it. Of course, Xalale must always have something to add.

   "I'm beginning to notice a pattern."

   "Good or bad?" I ask, getting up to switch disks.

   "These movies, as you call them, are very absurd things."

   "Whatever. Who made you the official movie critic?" I put away Cinderella and pull out my most sacred of sacred disks of all time. "This next one is my personal favorite, therefore the best Disney Princess film out of all of them."

    He gives me that cynical expression again but says nothing, hopefully believing that my judgment is good- which, of course, it is.

     Sleeping Beauty is the film where my ideal happily ever after dream came from. I loved this movie and can recite every piece of dialog and song word for word. I would sing the songs, but I hate singing in front of people and of all people I don't want to perform in front of Xalale.

   I'm in a dreamy state after watching that movie. It gives me such nostalgic, sweet memories and a positive outlook on my happy ending. This time, I do ask for Xalale's input, my heart still soaring.

   "The best so far, right?" I ask.

   That same unimpressed, cynical look is still on his face and dripping off his voice.

   "They are aware that people usually do not introduce themselves in song. If they aren't, they should be made aware that not everyone sings to express meeting someone."

   "Ah, he's going to love Flynn Rider- perfect match."

   "But it's beautiful," I argue passively.

   "The only lines the princes seem to have come from singing," He replies flatly. "Is that their impression of princes?"

   "They have lines."

   "You can count them on your hand."

   I open my mouth to counter that but close it when I let that thought sit for a moment and I look back. He actually has a point there with the lack of lines the princes have. Nonetheless, it will get better as time goes on.

   "This is probably the last one we can watch before I have to head over to Ruthford's," I say, switching out the disks.

    I was never a huge fan of The Little Mermaid but I did appreciate Disney creating a sixteen year old female heroine with red hair (grant it I don't have red hair, but it's the closest it's going to get to my strawberry blond).

   I must have zoned a little because next thing I know the credits are rolling. Glancing down at the time under the TV, I push off the blanket and stretch off the couch. I see Xalale has dozed off as well and barely stirs as I head back to my room to grab a hair tie. Just as my hand touches the doorknob do I remember the stone hidden under my pillow and the real, intimate threat of Aelita being here. Looking at my bed, I'm torn between going to pocket it and leaving it here. Any other time I would have, without thought gone to take it with me, but now I just stand there, staring like an idiot.

   Finally, shaking my head, I turn to go and head into the family room.

   "Why should I bring it with me?" I think to myself. "Xalale's here."

   I wake him from his light sleep to tell him that I'm about to take off.

   "Hopefully I won't be long, it's Ruthford, so."

   "Hm."

   "Oh," I lower my voice as though she might have the ability of super hearing rather than ice. "I'm leaving the stone here. It's under my pillow, just so you know."

   It seems as though this reminded him of the true situation we were in and he runs his hand through his hair, seemingly irritated. He doesn't respond, so I take my leave, heading toward the entryway.

   In the back of my mind, as hard as I try to suppress it, it's like that negative voice of mine can't stay quiet.

  "Take it with you. Why are you trusting him? She wants him to give it to her and you're giving them the perfect opportunity to do so. He's not trustworthy. He's going to betray-"

  I shake my head as if to make the thoughts come tumbling out of my head. As I stand outside on my porch, my stomach clenches for a second as I wearily scan the area for any possible sign of Aelita. It's eerie to think that she's hiding out around here somewhere. As much as she seems hell-bent on getting this stone to do unspeakable, irreversible damage, I fear her, but not in a villainous sense- yet.

   Taking those first steps off my porch onto the driveway, I can't help but feel sheepish at being so cautious and uneasy on my own property. We have the advantage, right?

    "You might not, leaving Xalale here with the stone."

    That's it. Mentally, I push those negative thoughts from my head and force positive, reassuring ones in place.

    "No, I'm not leaving a risk. I trust him to protect that stone."

   For a moment, I pause in place, thinking back on that and glancing back at the house, thoughtfully. Those words swirling around in my head, in particular, three weighty words.

   "I trust him."

   The words feel foreign to my lips. Breaking my gaze away from the trailer, I instead focus on getting to Ruthford's on time. I merely brush off my momentary minute of thoughtfulness and head into town.

There's really no way to prepare myself for this meeting with Ruthford. I mean, I would if I could- seeing how there must be a schedule with him- but he called this on and I haven't a clue what it could be about.

   Walking down the dirt-paved road toward the seen-better-days farmhouse, I try wracking my brain with conversation starters (most of them pertain to yogurt). I arrive at his peeling front door where I give a hearty knock and wait.

   "This time, Mal, don't bring up mothers or awkward, past goodbyes or anything not relating to yogurt. Yeah, let's just stay on the topic of-"

   The door groans loudly as it's being slowly opened. Ruthford is revealed in his stiff, awkward glory, his deer in headlights expression gradually fading as I smile brightly and put on a cheerful demeanor.

   "Hey."

   "Hey. You're early."

   "Yeah," I rub the nape of my neck sheepishly. "Sorry about that, I just didn't want to be late."

   "No, no, you're perfect- you're fine- right on time..." His eyes dart away as he scratches his knotty head.

   Rocking on my heels a bit, we stand there, me on the porch looking around, listening to the birds chirping merrily in their trees, unseen, and him, standing in the doorway, blocking my entry and not even look at me.

   "So..." I guess I gotta play leader again. "Can I come in?"

   Jerking slightly as if suddenly remember my presence, he stutters a bit before pulling himself together and giving me a timid smile, moving out of the way for me to enter.

   We head to the kitchen where I sit at the same stool I sat at the last time. He politely asks if I want anything to drink.

   "We got milk, water, and tea...so like last time...yeah."

   "No thanks, I'm good today."

   He rocks on his heels with his bony, big knuckle hands shoved into his deep jean pockets while he averts his eyes from my direction.

   What I really want to know is why he called me here; he must have wanted to talk about some urgent if it couldn't wait till the weekend. But I don't press him, I'm letting him come out with it on his own time.

   He does eventually look up at me again.

   "So, the town festival's tomorrow. You're still going, right?"

   "Yeah, of course- most eventful thing to happen in this town."

   "Yeah, me too." His eyes dropped in disappointment, oddly enough. "Excited?"

   "As much as I can be."

   To this, his gaze lifts a little, maybe in question- I'm not certain- but he shifts on his feet before croaking out,

   "Oh?"

   Shifting in my seat, I toy with a flyaway strand of hair, looking out, for a moment, at the backyard. There were numerous tree stumps, old and rotting, littered in the somewhat unkempt yard. A bug zapper hung right in view of the kitchen window over the sink, humming lowly. I think I can spot the freezer house Ruthford mentioned his dad and uncle built, but it might be the shed.

   I don't expand or comment further on his "oh" so silence settles over us, though, not for long.

   "I remember going to the festival for the first time." He begins, coming, seemingly, out of nowhere and quite jarringly. Unlike Xalale, Ruthford's nostalgic tone is not as pleasant and easy on the ears due to his bumping, jagged start. "The weather was nice- the weather's always nice because it's summer. Though I do remember there being a thunderstorm one time and everybody ran inside-"

   "I remember that year," I've broken my gaze from the window, coming back into the moment. "The thunder was the loudest I'd ever heard and the lightning- it was like nothing I'd ever seen."

   "Yeah, but it didn't last long- not too long..."

   "Yeah."

   Looking back on that day, I can't remember ever noticing Ruthford. To be fair, though, I never took notice of anyone at that age.

   After a clip of silence, Ruthford picks back up.

   "But the- the first time I went to the festival, I loved it. The games, the food, the community feel of it all. I loved the dance most of all. I remember the kids- the kids, we had our own dancefloor inside the Manor Hall and everyone else danced outside on the patio area. Do they still do that? The kids', older people area...?"

   "Yeah," I nod. "They still do."

   "That's good."

   The question bouncing around in my head takes no time at all to pester me until I'm forced to ask.

   "You don't go anymore?"

   "Uh, I- I haven't for the past few years. My uncle goes most of the time and my dad went the year before, but...I haven't since I was seven, until this year."

   Another obnoxious question begging to be asked.

   "Why? Why this year?"

   He shifts on his feet again, looking uncomfortable and stiff. I fear I'm making him nervous with all these questions so I back down a bit.

   "I mean, it's great that you're coming back again after so long."

   He merely nods, pushing his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose. I can tell a white-head or pimple must have popped recently since there's a bright, reddish mark on his forehead.

   "I'm excited, but nervous." He says admittedly. "My dad's going and my uncle. So, so it should be good- and you're coming."

   I nod, "Yeah. I saw them hanging up decorations around town already."

   "I just want this night to be fun, enjoyable like it used to be."

   He gives me a pained, weak smile, looking down at his jittery hands which fidget like they need something to do. So he pulls off his glasses and uses his shirt to clean them thoroughly.

   "What's your favorite part of the day?"

   I think for a moment.

   "Probably the dance and food."

   Another painful and weak smile while he excessively cleans his lens.

   "Cool, yeah." A pause on his part. "I just- I just don't want to be out too late, you know, right?"

   "Probably one of the best nights to be out late." I grin.

   He finally quits cleaning, but then checks the efficiency of his work for a long stretch of time.

   "Hopefully I'll get to meet your father and uncle." I say, remaining positive. "Maybe I can introduce you to my parents."

   "That would be nice."

   To avoid another period of nothingness in the air, I go on.

   "Most everyone stays out late that night. The town's so alive and lovely. It's a bummer to go home so early. I mean, who would be home?"

   My easy going smile fades when I notice him frowning, lower his glasses to simply hold in both hands idly. His usual stiff, awkward air about him shifts into something I'm having a hard time grasping, but from the blank look on his face, it's not a pleasant one.

   "Yeah. Who would be home?" He mutters, sounding detached from reality.

   Concerned, I frown.

   "You alright?"

   He stops staring off into space but simply stares down at his hands, his voice nearly inaudible.

   "I came back when I was seven, and she wasn't here."

   My frown deepens and I'm slightly confused, about ready to ask for clarification when he already begins delivering it.

   "I came back early, we came back early- me and my dad- and she wasn't here. We searched everywhere in the house, but her clothes and her possessions were all gone and the luggage that my dad brought her for her birthday; that's all she asked for for her birthday: a luggage set. For a trip, maybe to Mexico, one day- I thought with us."

   As his octave drops lower and lower, his voice wavering between composer and lose of it, I'm just now realizing what he's talking about, who's he talking about.

   "Then we found the note- my dad found the note on the table near the front door..." He takes in a deep breath as if it was the only way to stop the build up inside him from coming out. "Then we knew- or at least my dad did. I still sat out on the porch every day, waiting for her to come home. I sat out there for hours sometimes, I did. Then when school started and she didn't come, I grew- grew worried...then Halloween and Thanksgiving...and- and Christmas...then my birthday...I told my dad we should put out a missing person's, but by summer break I didn't say that anymore..."

   My heart breaks for him, it truly does. At that very moment, pain never felt as real as it did there. Sympathy was all I could muster, for it was all I had experience to do.

   "So, I just stopped going...I guess I miss it- the festival- I miss everything and everyone."

   He finally slides his glasses back on his face, not meeting my eyes for a minute or so, shifting there.

   My mind can't even wrap itself around the idea of coming from a happy occasion to find one of my parents gone, their stuff missing from the house and a mere note left in their place. I don't even want to think about the pain brought on by that.

   I sit there, just like I did with Xalale, unsure of what to say. I feel so frustratingly useless at situations like these. The words rattle around in my mind, but whenever I'm on the verge to speak, they disintegrate leaving me with nothing to say.

   "Ruthford, I'm so sorry," I begin sympathetically. "That's the worst thing-"

   "It's in the past." He brushes it off quietly.

   I can tell that if this conversation goes on further, I might witness him break down and he's trying desperately to hold it together, so I let it drop with a solemn nod.

   "Do you have your dress picked out? For the dance, I mean."

   Glancing up, I look at him again.

   "Not really...no."

   "Oh."

   Silence skips by.

   "Is it going to be a long or short dress?"

   I shrug. "Long maybe. I dunno."

   "You prefer longer dresses, right? I remember you said you like pink dresses especially because Aurora wears a pink dress."

   To this, I stare over at him with confusion and a bit of surprise. He's staring at the floor, at his feet, his hands again shoved in his pockets.

   "What?"

   He scratches at his scalp again, glancing up for a moment then back at the floor.

   My memory's not the best (we all know that), but I do remember mentioning at one point in my life that my favorite dress to wear is a pink one, specifically because Aurora wore one. I said that aloud, but I wasn't aware anyone was listening.

   "I-" His voice cracks, but recovers though his volume is low. "I remember you said that one time in class. You said it in 3rd grade and you want to wear a pink dress at your wedding, too."

   I did say that! I'm momentarily stunned for a minute. How could he remember me saying those things? When I find my voice, there's still a trace of surprise in it.

   "Yeah, I did say that."

   "I always wanted to invite you to the festival, but, but I never did..."

   "Really? Why?"

   Finally, his eyes meet mine.

   "Because. Because I wanted to. But I never could talk to you, I mean, I- I could, but I didn't," His voice begins to pick up pace, like it did over the phone, like he'll forget if he doesn't quickly spit everything out at once. "I wanted to talk to you since 2nd grade, but I was afraid so I never did. We shared most of the same teachers in elementary school and even in middle school. I remember you always sat at the table closest near the windows in the cafeteria and you used to stare out there even on rainy days, not even touching your lunch sometimes. I lent you a pen in 7th grade because you forget yours at home. You never did return it, but - but I didn't care. I remember for show and tell in 4th grade that you bought in your favorite book: Grimm Brother's Fairytale. I remember you told the story of Little Snow White- that was your favorite at the time. I- I could have talked to you at any time since you never really talked to anyone else, but you never noticed me and I was too shy to say anything. I waited and waited and then you bumped into me and- and I still haven't said what I wanted to since we were in second grade. Th- that's why I called you here today."

   Now I'm really blown away. All these years, all the classes we'd shared, I even borrowed his pen before and I never once took notice of Ruthford Weiber- no one did. He was watching me, though, he noticed me.

   "I guess it sounds stupid, but I always wanted to- to, I guess, be friends with you. You never looked like you hung with anyone and neither did I, so I thought, well I thought we could start now." He blushes fervently now. "I- I used to have the biggest crush on you. I even wrote you a love poem, but I threw it away because it was stupid. I still like you, but I always wanted to be friends with you, I just wanted a friend in this town."

   He now looks away, his red face looking toward the crooked calendar hanging on the wall, him scratching his scalp violently.

   Just like with Xalale, I know the next words I say in response to this determines everything, so I begin cautiously. Every time I begin to respond, I cut myself off, not sure what to say. I'm thrown into a whirlwind with this.

   All my life in Cauldron I knew most here to be a bit pretentious and not the kind I thought would get me (that still might hold some truth). But my eyes are slowly beginning to open. Since 2nd grade, Ruthford's been trying to get my attention. 2nd grade! I never knew this kid's name until a few days ago, yet he seems to know things about me that even I can't recall I've said. I've lumped everyone in this town together without considering anything.

   I think about how most have responded to Xalale being here. I jumped to the conclusion that everyone here is just so entranced by him- which I'm not saying they aren't- but I never really taken the time to get out much. I've wanted a friend, but I've never truly acted like a friend to anyone.

   "Ruthford-" I get off of the stool and approach him. He towers over me like an unsturdy skyscraper.

   Slowly, his eyes meet mine with a sheepish, embarrassed gleam in them.

   "I couldn't think of having a better friend than you." I smile warmly.

   He gives me that lopsided smile that looks so natural and complimentary to his overall appearance.

   "But really," I say meekly. "I should be asking you for your friendship. I never noticed you for all these years even though you always took note of me."

   "So, I guess we're friends now?" He says cautiously.

   I nod assuringly, "Of course."

   To this, he brightens, even more than when I mention yogurt, and in his over-excited state starts to go for a hug, but catches himself mid-way, unable to recover and hangs there his face reddening. To lessen the awkwardness, I meet him halfway, giving him the friendly embrace he was searching for.

   "You know," I say into his ear. "I probably still have that pen somewhere at home. I could find it for you, but it's probably buried somewhere. Sorry about that."

   We pull back and he stares down at me with a smile.

   "It's fine, cool."

   I smile back, "Thanks."

   Just then, the front door groans loudly then slams shut.  andRuthford jump apart, putting distance between each other, playing it off. Not a second too soon, either, as a stocky man, looking somewhat rough around the edges walks into the kitchen. He looks up and is startled for as moment. His deep, husky voice matches his overall, rough appearance.

   "I didn't know you were havin' a guest over," He says to Ruthford. "I would have stayed out a little longer for you."

   He gives a suggestive, yet lighthearted grin to Ruthford, whose face brightens once again as he scratches at his scalp, looking away from me but addressing me as the lumberjack of a man bellows loudly.

   "This is my uncle."

   I nod, "Hi."

   He steps into the kitchen fully, going to rummage around in the fridge. He seems like the type to leave a mess, unknowingly, wherever he goes. It's actually hard to imagine that thin as a stick Ruthford is related to this man (ironic I suppose).

   Ruthford has lost some of his color and his sheepish, embarrassed tone is gone.

   "This is my- my friend,"-I notice how he gives a slight smile at the word- "Mallory."

   "Nice to meet you," He says, grinning at me. "Ruth never brings any females home, so it's nice to see he has befriended a very beautiful one."

   Ruthford goes back to blushing profusely and I merely smile at the compliment and Ruthford's blush. I just so happen to glance at the clock and figure I've been away from the trailer too long for my liking.

   "I have to get going, but I'll see you at the festival tomorrow, right?"

   "Yeah, yes."

   I give one last smile, already slipping out of the room.

   "Good. I'll let myself out. Nice meeting you Mr. Weiber."

   As I head away from probably the best goodbye I've had with him, I can't help feeling as though this was the booster I need to continue on.