I slept heavily on my first night but woke the following morning tossing and turning, feeling as though I were living through a bad dream. I wanted so badly to open my eyes and find myself staring at the walls of my room in California, but was aware I was far away from such an image.

      I thought about staying in bed for the afternoon, never leaving my room, ignoring reality, but found it difficult to overlook the hollow feeling inside my body. I wasn’t sure if it was grief or hunger but knew I wouldn’t fall back asleep feeling so empty. I hadn’t eaten dinner the night before and forced myself to rise out of bed to find something to eat.
      

     As I turned the brass doorknob and pushed open my door, a powerful aroma filled the upstairs floor of the farm home. It smelled like homemade food. It opened my eyes and awakened my senses as it lured me downstairs to find out what powerfully filled the halls of the second story in my new home.
   

     I walked down the wooden staircase as creaks and cracks followed me with every step I took. With my hand gliding along the dark stained wooden handrail, I walked softly, trying to avoid the aggravating sounds that came with me. But the creaks continued even as I walked lightly.
 

      My stomach let out a long and loud rumble suggesting my need for breakfast. Turning the corner at the bottom of the stairs, I noticed the sun found its way into our kitchen and brightened the first floor of the house. There was a plate of waffles sitting on the kitchen table. They were stacked about four inches high with fresh strawberries on the side.

      I heard an unfamiliar elderly man’s voice coming from our kitchen and soon noticed my mother talking to a man who appeared to be in his late sixties. “Good morning Avery” my mother said, “this is our neighbor, Mr. Weldon.”
 

       I wondered which neighbor Mr. Weldon was. There were only about four houses within a mile in each direction from our home. “Well, it’s nice to meet you Avery and how do you like it here?” the man asked.

       I felt mild annoyance and was reluctant to answer. I knew that question would be asked. “It’s alright,” I said, as I shrugged my shoulders in an uncaring fashion and turned my back.

       Mr. Weldon didn’t allow my attitude change his desire to speak with me. He continued smiling and said, “I brought over some strawberries from my wife’s garden. Do you like strawberries?”   

      Though strawberries were my favorite summer fruit, I shrugged my shoulders again and replied, “Yeah, they’re alright,” and sat down to eat breakfast, feeling bothered by the heat of the sun that shone brightly through the kitchen windows.
      

       My negative thoughts continued as I started another day, the second day at my farm house and only the second day of my long and boring summer vacation. Since I had finished most of my unpacking the night before, I decided to go outside after breakfast.

       The waffles had eased a small portion of pain but I needed to find a place to let my thoughts out, and onto the pages in my diary. I went upstairs after eating, grabbed a light purple blanket, my blue diary and headed outside to look for a place to write.

       As I was walking to the back fields, I heard a distant noise coming from the woods. It sounded like a chainsaw. At first the noise was soft but as it continued, it grew louder and became slightly irritating. I didn’t know what it was but hoped it would diminish as I sat down to write. With discontent on my expressive young face, I looked into the woods and out of the corner of my eye, saw two moving objects.
 

       With my light purple blanket in one hand and my blue diary in the other, curiosity kept my eyes focused on the objects moving between thick tree trunks. I soon realized there were two boys, both close to my age, riding on four-wheelers. They wore helmets covered with wet mud and dried dirt making it difficult to see what they looked like. I did, however, catch a quick glance of one of the boys’ eyes. His dirt-covered body and helmet concealed every portion of his image, yet revealed stunningly large blue eyes peering in my direction.

       He quickly looked at me, nodded his head and drove back into the forest. A second boy covered head to toe in dirt followed closely behind. I wondered who the boys were but decided not to pay attention to them and continued to look for a place to write.
 

       I found a quiet sunny place to sit under a weeping willow tree. Bright green grass and turquoise colored sky bordered the hills spread throughout the open land. I was far away from my house and was out of view from my mother. Opening the white pages of my diary, I only hoped I wouldn’t be seen…or bothered.
 

       The sleeves and back of my shirt absorbed the rays of sun and aggravatingly heated my body. I longed for my old neighborhood and familiarity of Mileoaks. I began to write about the differences in Hillden. I wrote about leaving behind classmates and the mall, the movie theaters, my social-life and even favorite outfits I forgot to take back from friends before moving.

       I wrote about leaving behind my old school and missing the noises often heard from families across the street. I wrote about Hillden’s unfashionable way of life and lack of bright town plaza lights, street signs and stores. I wrote how I missed seeing the sights that occupied the modern world I once lived in, in California.
 

       I wrote how I missed nearly every aspect associated with the suburban and contemporary lifestyle I left behind. After expressing continuous feelings of hatred and hostility towards Hillden, I put my pen down and closed my book of thoughts. The sun was so bright it reflected off the white pages in my diary and into my eyes, making it difficult to see.

        I picked up my purple blanket and headed to the house. I walked through the fields, up and down rolling hills, approaching the pond filled with big bullfrogs, slimy fish and leeches.

        As I neared the water, I saw a little boy with bleach blonde hair skipping through the fields with a torn fish net. It was Randy Reimers’ little brother, Raurey. I hadn’t met Raurey yet, but happened to catch a glimpse of his youthful energy sprinting around the pond the night before.

       “Hi!” the little boy shouted with a smile, “I’m Raurey,” he said, as he seemed to jump with delight because I had approached him.

       “Hi Raurey. I’m Avery,” I answered.

        With hazel eyes wide with excitement, Raurey asked, “Do you like dragonflies? How about fishing and frog catching? I love fishing and frog catching! Do ya wanna see me catch a big bullfrog?” he asked with enthusiasm as his eyes reflected rays of sunshine, showing colors of light green specs deep within the hazel glow.
 

       No way I thought, I don’t want to come near a bullfrog. But Raurey was so cute and excited at that moment, that I decided to let him show me how he catches those ugly creatures he was describing so eagerly. Raurey ran to my pond as I followed behind, not running, but walking.

        “C’mon,” he said, and grabbed my hand to pull me to the water. I realized I wasn’t walking fast enough to keep up with his childish-spirit and decided for at least that moment in life, I could put aside negative thoughts and let that child, so innocent and curious, show me how to catch dragonflies and bullfrogs.
 

       “Look, there’s a bullfrog now,” he said, as he crouched down trying to act discreet. “Shh, be quiet and stay here,” he told me. I watched him creep to the pond. Raurey approached a large hideous bullfrog sitting on a rock near the water’s edge. It was a greasy looking thing, greenish-black in color.

       Raurey snuck behind the frog as it sat unmoving on the rock. He quickly reached out both hands to grab the ugly creature but it hopped into the water and swam away. I was glad he didn’t catch it. The last thing I wanted to see was a bowling ball sized bullfrog in the dirty hands of a five year old child. But Raurey didn’t let his failure keep him from continuing his task of creature catching.
 

       “Watch this Avery, I can catch TWO dragonflies at once!” he shouted. Raurey ran to the spot where he kept his fishing pole made out of a stick and string, some old binoculars, fish bait and fish net with large holes in it. Raurey grabbed the fish net and swung it in the air as he jumped to catch dragonflies.
 

       “Look!” he shouted. “I told you, I told you, LOOK! I caught TWO of ‘em!” Raurey screamed with elation as he jumped up and down.

       “That’s great,” I told him, and walked over to the five year old and his torn net. At that point I realized Raurey, so innocently unaware, had caught two dragonflies in the middle of mating.
 

       That child, with his bleach blonde hair and big hazel eyes was so cute that I politely tried to tell him what he had done. “Raurey,” I explained, “I think they wanna be left alone.”

       “Oh no,” he said proudly, “I catch ‘em all the time. These two are always stuck together so they must be really friendly!”

       I attempted to hold back my laughter but knew I couldn’t. The five year old was so entertaining he was the only one capable of putting a smile on my face since the move.
 

       Only seconds after being caught one of the dragonflies began making a loud buzzing noise. It flapped its wings boldly, portraying fury while being held captive inside a net. I began to feel intimidated by the dragonfly’s boisterous behavior. I covered my head with my hands and ran away. I didn’t want to be stung, if that’s even what dragonflies do.

     “See-ya later,” Raurey shouted, with a beaming grin. “Bye,” I shouted back and continued heading away from the water with a smile still on my face.
     

     I soon noticed a stray cat sitting in the woods. She hid amongst maple and pine trees located within the short distance between the house and pond. She was very tiny and had a calico patterned coat with colors of gray and tan and front feet pure white, without a trace of dirt on them. They looked as bright and clean as the blank pages in my diary. She noticed me and poked her head around a tree to watch me walk by.

      Although her furry body was no longer visible, I could see large blue-green eyes focused in my direction. They were beautiful, bright and sparkling and they stared at me in fear. I could sense her anxiety but was pleased to see a familiar animal such as a cat, not a pig, cow or chicken. I knelt down and called, “Here kitty kitty, come here little cat,” hoping she'd walk out of the woods to meet me. But the frightened animal stayed immobile for just a few seconds before darting further into the forest.
      

     It was discouraging, having so many cats that ran in and out of the barn on the property, but not one that was friendly enough to be pet. They ate the scraps that were found scattered throughout the hills and slept on the hay inside the barn, but wouldn’t let anyone go near them. Although on my second day at the farm I became determined to change that.

       After trying unsuccessfully to make friends with the stray, I went inside to have an early lunch and afterward took a nap. There wasn’t much to do that afternoon and so, I lay down in bed. I didn’t intend to rest for very long but went into a deep sleep and didn’t wake until I heard the phone ringing a few hours later. “Avery, it’s for you…,” I heard my mother shout from downstairs. When I picked up the phone in my bedroom Randy was on the other end reminding me to meet him at the end of Wells Road at four o’clock.
 

       I had only ten minutes to get ready. Normally that wouldn’t be enough time. But my thoughts continued to revolve around my speculations - the speculations I had about meeting a bunch of tractor riding hillbillies. I quickly threw on a jean skirt and a red t-shirt. I didn’t fuss over my appearance, my hair or my clothes and put on some sneakers and ran downstairs to leave.
 

       “Bye Mom,” I shouted, as I proceeded to walk passed her and out the back door.

       “Wait, where are you going?” she asked, insisting I slow down and speak with her before rushing out. “To that swimming thing remember?” I said, without a change of tone in my voice indicating any level of excitement.
 

       “Okay, but be back before dark. And have that nice boy Randy walk you home, as well.”

       “Sure Mom,” I said, rolling my eyes, feeling as though I didn’t need someone walking me home. I briefly looked in the kitchen mirror and ran my fingers through my long hair as my mother teasingly remarked, “Don’t worry, you look beautiful…”      

       Waiting a few seconds she added, “It must be the country air.”

       “Yeah right,” I replied sarcastically and let the kitchen door swing shut behind me.
 

       I stopped at the corner of the barn driveway and saw Randy walking down the old dirt street named after my great-grandfather. For a moment, I wished he was more like me and a little less like the boys I knew I was about to meet. I wished he was a little less country and a little more like the boys from my old neighborhood.
 

       “Hey,” Randy said.

       “Hey,” I said back.

       “Ya ready?” he asked.

       “I guess,” I replied casually. “So what exactly is the swimming hole?” I questioned, trying to learn more about where we were going though I still felt unenthused.

      “Oh, well it’s a big deep pond in the middle of the woods off Cedar Swamp Road.”
 

       Cedar Swamp Road intersected with Wells Road and also had very few houses on it. Although there were several cornfields dispersed in between the barren fields and unkempt and rugged farms. And that too, didn’t surprise me. Randy continued to say, “There’s a rope swing we tied to a tree.”

      “Is the water dirty?” I asked. 

      “No.  Actually it’s pretty clean, but you’ll see when you get there, ya might be surprised.”
 

       With my opinionated attitude I should have thought to myself, oh great another boring activity in the little town of Hillden, Vermont. But to be honest, I began to look forward to seeing the swimming hole for the first time. At least I'd be meeting new people even if they were the “country type.” The swimming hole sounded interesting; however, I still had a clear image of what the boys would be like. And I persistently assumed I would find nothing in common with them.
 

       After Randy and I traveled for about three quarters of a mile we reached the end of Wells. Facing the intersection, we turned left onto Cedar Swamp Road. The road was wide, covered with tall thick trees. Little sunlight came through the ceiling of forest making the air dark and cool. I could feel the sudden change in temperature as soon as we turned onto that road and wished I had brought a light jacket. I felt goose bumps appearing on my arms and wondered how long we would be walking along that seemingly long and cold tree covered road.
 

       We walked close to ten minutes, passed a pale brown home and turned onto a secluded path in the woods. “That’s Chris and Eric’s house,” Randy told me after passing the brown house. “You’ll meet them here today. You’ll probably meet all the guys here today.”
 

       As we traveled through the woods I was whipped in the face with overgrown branches. My legs were scratched by pricker bushes and small shrubs. Though Randy tried to hold back heavy branches, there were too many and it became difficult to avoid them. “Sorry ‘bout the path,” Randy exclaimed. “Chris and Eric should be cutting back the trail but I don’t know when. We’re walking on their land now. The swimming hole’s also part of their property,” he added.
 

       I learned Chris and Eric were the two boys I had seen earlier that day riding through the woods on four-wheelers, or quads as some of the kids around there called them. Eric, the older brother was sixteen. And Chris, the younger one, was the same age that I was - fifteen. Though I didn’t ask Randy many questions about the boys, I was curious which one had the blue eyes that caught my attention earlier in the day.
 

       After walking through the overgrown path for a short distance, I began to hear laughter. I then heard a young voice call out, “Geronimo!” which was followed by a loud splash and kids shouting, “I can’t believe he did it! He finally jumped in!”
 

       Randy and I had approached the swimming hole. I saw a dark pond with a large oak tree on a nearby hill. A rope swing was hanging off the largest limb just as Randy had described. The area around the swimming hole was bright and open, allowing sunlight to shine upon the surface of deep water and warm the top layer of dark liquid.

       The water didn’t look dirty as I expected it to. In fact, it looked rather clean and refreshing. After seeing the swimming hole for the first time, I realized where the name came from…a deep hole filled with water in the middle of the woods. Gee…how imaginative.
 

       Randy and I walked closer to the water as I noticed each of the five boys looking at me. They were interested in meeting me and I assumed that was because moving to Hillden allowed me to become “the new girl,” and the only girl in the area. “Hey,” Randy said to the guys. “This is Avery. Avery, this is everybody.”

       “Hey, how’s it goin’?” called the first voice. “Hey, what’s up…how ya doin?” voiced another. “We saw you today when we were near your woods,” one boy shouted to me. “Yeah, did you see us on our quads?” asked a fourth boy.

      It was overwhelming to hear so many different voices speaking to me at once. I simply stared back, hoping they’d learn to take turns talking so I could hear what each one was saying.
 

       A boy with dark hair and green eyes continued to speak, “Yeah, I saw you on my four-wheeler this morning. I was near your house. I’m Eric. Me and Chris drove around your woods today.”

      “Oh,” I said, “I think I saw you two.”

       “That’s my brother Chris over there,” Eric said, as he pointed to the direction of a boy who was taking a drink from a bottle of soda.

        I heard a younger boy excitedly shout from the water, “I was there too! I was there too on my dirt-bike! Did you see me?”
 

       I hadn’t noticed the younger boy and replied, “No, I didn’t see you.” I had only watched the two older boys on quads and looked around for the one I remembered earlier with the bright blue eyes.

       That’s when I saw Chris.
 

       Chris looked up and waved to me. For the split second his eyes were faced in my direction, my legs unexpectedly began to shake and feel weak. He had dark blonde hair and the biggest, bluest eyes I had ever seen. They were mystical and bright against the dark background of deep forest and heavy water. They looked like they could tell a story without words…without gestures. When I looked at Chris without his dirt-covered helmet on, I felt somewhat surprised and taken off-guard by his appearance. I, of course, did not act that way. I causally said, “Hi,” and looked away, as if showing less than mild interest in him.

       The other boys continued to talk as Chris sat in the distance drinking his soda. I met Tom Patterman who was fourteen and had red hair and freckles. His cut-off black jeans and white t-shirt showed his pale thin freckled legs and arms. He had tube socks on, both a different color. One sock was white and green striped, the other was red, white and blue striped. I could tell Tom had been swimming in his clothes, including his tube socks and shoes, because his entire body was soaked and dripping wet as he stood near the water. Tom shook my hand and left me with a soggy pond soaked palm that I then wiped on my jean skirt with disgust.
 

       The next boy I met was Jimmy Patterman. He was Tom’s little brother and the one who had been shouting to me from the water. He was the one boy I hadn’t noticed riding through my woods that morning on a dirt-bike. Like Tom, his older brother, Jimmy also had freckles and pale skin but his hair was a little more brownish in color. He had a bowl style hair cut and was the only one wearing swimming shorts.

      He was the youngest of the bunch, only thirteen and the smallest of all the boys. He had a bright red stain above his upper lip from drinking fruit punch. The other boys made fun of him by calling him, “Jimmy Juice Stain and Little Mustache Man.” He didn’t like being called names but the juice stain was so obvious to everyone but Jimmy, the boys couldn’t help but tease the youngest kid in the group.

       I met Nick Santos who was sixteen and acted like the tough-guy. He had dark hair, dark eyes and dark skin. He used slang and swore when he talked and started wrestling fights with the other boys. He was wearing a white tank top to show his upper body. Nick walked over to me and held his arms away from his torso, as if to exaggerate the actual size of his muscles. He shook my hand tightly, trying to portray his strength. His confident demeanor and muscles didn’t impress me much, but he showed them arrogantly anyway.
 

       “So Avery, you goin’ in the water?” I heard Randy ask.

       “No,” I replied, “I have all my clothes on.”

       “Oh that’s alright,” Randy said, “Tom went in and he had all his clothes on.”

       “I know and look at him, he’s dripping wet and looks disgusting. I don’t want to walk home like that.”
 

       The boys laughed when I described Tom and the puddle he created underneath his wet body. Chris seemed to find my comment especially amusing and stood up to begin walking towards me. Still holding his half empty bottle of soda, he said, “I’m not goin’ in either, have you felt the water? It’s freezing.” I shook my head no and found myself unable to focus on anything other than the size and magnetism of his big blue eyes. They were captivating and reminded me of a deep lagoon filled with sun-warmed, aqua-blue water.
 

       Distracted by my fascination, I didn’t hear Jimmy shout, “Geronimo!” once again, but that was his signal for the others to stand away from the water’s edge. I soon heard the impact of a big splash. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of a large wave coming in my direction. I covered my face with my hands hoping to avoid contact with cool country water. But I didn’t react quickly enough to avoid being hit by the wave Jimmy created after jumping in.
 

       “Sorry ‘bout that guys,” Jimmy remarked, as he smiled and splashed around in the water. I never thought such a skinny kid could make such a large splash.  But I was soaked.  My hair was soaked.  And I was sure I was going to walk home looking as cold and disgusting as Tom who stood over the swimming hole with drips of water leaking from his cut-off jeans. 

       My lighthearted mood quickly faded as I felt annoyance toward the kid who seemed delighted by his actions.  I forgave him, however, assuming what he had done was unintentional.  I would later understand that situations such as the one that had just occurred would happen often, and I would learn to expect them if I were going to hang around with a bunch of young teens living in the small town of Hillden, Vermont.
 

       Chris grabbed a ripped white towel that was left hanging on a branch and handed it to me. “I don’t think this towel is gonna do you much good,” he said, as he pulled a sticky wet leaf out of my long hair.

      “Well, ya might as well go swimming now Avery,” Nick joked, “you’re soaking wet!”

      “Yeah, I can kind of see that,” I said derisively, while I smirked at Jimmy and said, “I’m gonna get you back, you know.” Jimmy swam through the water smiling happily with that bright red stain above his upper lip, as he showed content by not taking my threat seriously.

       “Just be glad nobody’s gonna throw you in,” Chris said. “During everybody’s first time here, they all get thrown in but we figured we’d make an exception for you since you’re a girl.”

      “Oh thanks,” I said, and rolled my eyes, implicating not to make exceptions for my femininity. But Chris didn’t notice my slightly offended expression and continued, “Did Randy tell you what we did to him the first time he came to the swimming hole?”

      “No,” I said inquisitively.

       “Well,” Chris began, but was interrupted by Randy who shouted, “Hey, you tell her that, I’ll tell her about the time you stepped in a yellow jackets’ nest behind my house.” Randy’s friendly threat persuaded Chris to stop talking, but the conversation didn’t end. I heard Jimmy yelling to me from the water as the foolish thirteen year old began to explain what did happen to Randy during his first time at the swimming hole.
 

       One early summer night Randy was invited to meet the guys by the water. Upon his arrival he was dared to go skinny dipping. Though he wasn’t thrown in, each of the boys, Nick, Jimmy, Tom, Chris and Eric decided to put Randy through an initiation process as part of acceptance into the group. Once Randy was swimming, the boys ran off with his clothes and threw them into trees. 

         As Randy paddled through the water buck-naked, he could do little to stop their actions, but watched his belongings being sporadically tossed into branches.  His shoes were thrown into one tree, his shirt in another. His shorts, his hat, and the rest of his belongings were left near the road.
 

       Randy ran home through the dark woods after gathering his shirt and one muddy shoe. With the picture of Randy and his skinny legs sprinting through a dark forest with only a t-shirt and one shoe, I felt a large smile appearing on my face.
 

       The boys told me the next day Randy found his shorts, his other shoe and hat, but didn’t discover his underwear until one of the boys pointed it out at the top of a pine tree in a nest made by a black squirrel.
 

       The story was humorous but seemed a little far-fetched and after hearing it, I was sure the boys were pulling my leg. Yet each of them looked at me with wide eyes as they nodded their heads and insisted the story was true. So I asked them to show me the nest with Randy’s underwear. And sure enough, there it was in a nearby pine tree, Randy’s tighty-whities. They had become part of a black squirrel home.
 

       After seeing Randy’s underwear I laughed so hard tears started coming to my eyes and I completely forgot about my soaking wet hair and clothes. The boys were amused by my laughter and found it quite entertaining to embarrass one of their friends in front of a girl.

     To spare Randy’s feelings and of course his dignity, I could have held back my laughter…but I didn’t. I laughed loudly and it felt good. I couldn’t remember the last time I laughed so hard and didn’t feel obligated to spare anyone’s feelings.
 

       As the day went on and some of the boys were swimming, I began to shiver. The early summer air combined with wet hair and clothes made me cold. Chris noticed I began to run my hands along my bare arms and asked if I wanted a ride home on the back of his four-wheeler.

     Having a ride home sounded more appealing than walking back through the pricker bushes spread along the trails of overgrown forest. So after agreeing to his offer we told the boys we’d be leaving. I heard several voices shouting, “Bye…see ya later…nice meeting ya.” I waved, yelled goodbye and got on the back of Chris’s quad.
     

     Chris started to drive into the woods as he explained there was a trail that lead to my house from the swimming hole. He mentioned that each of the neighborhood kids walk to the swimming hole from their backyard. That meant I could follow the trails to the water from the back fields of my home.

     After traveling through the woods together for about three quarters of a mile, I began to see my property. From far away I noticed my mother working in the garden and asked Chris to drop me off by the woods. I didn’t want him meeting her, assuming she’d say something embarrassing or awkward in front of him.
      

       Once he stopped his four-wheeler, he jokingly apologized for Jimmy’s actions. “It was no big deal,” I remarked, but reminded Chris about my intentions to get Jimmy back for soaking me. He nodded with a smirk and said he’d help me come up with a plan. We looked at each other for a moment and I felt my heart beginning to beat more rapidly. His blue eyes made me feel like I was being lifted into midair, as if I were weightless and able to defy gravity. I had never seen eyes so blue and so wide.
      

      “We’re all gonna meet up tomorrow sometime if you wanna come,” he said. I nodded, told him I’d see him the following day, said goodbye and headed through the hills back to my house. I walked slowly so the moment I was experiencing could last as long as possible…the moment I first realized moving to Hillden and living near all that land might be a fun way to spend a summer vacation. I took a deep breath and felt the fresh country air fill my lungs and continued to walk through the grassy hills, heading towards my home.
      

      As I approached the backyard my mother looked up from the garden and moved her brown hair away from her face with dirt-covered hands. She looked at me with dried mud on her nose and asked, “What happened to you? Who was that boy who gave you a ride home? That didn’t look like Randy.”
     

      I expected the typical questioning.

      I simply told her it was one of the guys I met at the swimming hole and proceeded to walk passed her and into the house. “Why are you all wet? Did you go swimming?” she continued, though I was already on my way into the kitchen, trying to ignore her.
    

      I could see her reflection through a window and realized she had stood up to watch me walk in, as she awaited my reply. I looked back at my mother through the screen door and with a smile said, “I got splashed.”

      My mother wondered why I wasn’t upset about being soaked by the water that struck my hair, face and clothes. She had a confused expression on her dirt-covered face and knew I could become easily annoyed by something such as a coating of cold country water.

      Though I gave that occurrence little attention. Instead, my thoughts focused around the blue-eyed, blonde-haired boy I had just met. Though I didn’t explain details to my mother as she waited by the garden on the side of our home.
      

       After heading indoors and taking a long hot shower, I put on the thickest and warmest fluffy bathrobe I had hanging in my closet and went downstairs to find something to eat. Usually my mom and I would have a small meal together for dinner. Meals at our home were never fancy, elaborate or made with a great deal of effort, since dinner was always prepared for two people with schedules too busy for large appetites.
      

      My mother and I agreed on having macaroni and cheese…again…along with our typical drinks.  She had her tea and I had my orange juice.  As we sat together at the kitchen table, I began to recall my mother’s lifelong dream of living on and owning a farm.  And she finally did.  So I felt happy for her but still wished I could call the friends I had in California. 

       I wanted to tell them about the dirt road named after my great-grandfather, the stray cat with the blue-green eyes, the swimming hole and the boys I met.  But I couldn’t contact them.  We didn’t have long-distance calling.  I was also under the impression that we would never get it, such a phone plan being too expensive for my single mother supporting a house and looking for a new job.  My mother also wanted us to have a life in the country.  She wanted to separate herself from the more quickly paced lifestyle we once knew and lived.

       After dinner I decided to go in my room.  I turned on my radio, pulled open my blinds and sat with my back against the bay window.  Underneath window seat cushion, I noticed I had tucked away my diary after writing resentful remarks just hours earlier. The lump beneath the fabric created by the bulkiness of my book of thoughts caught my attention and I decided to open the pages again, and began writing…“Night two of summer vacation…”

       I thought about how my perception was beginning to change and how exciting it felt to ride on the back of a four-wheeler for the first time. I thought about Randy’s initiation process and Raurey’s creature catching task. I thought about Chris and his mesmerizing blue eyes, his pirate smile and charm.

       And I began to do what any fifteen year old girl would do. I wrote Chris’s name several times on one page and circled them with hearts. I drew, scribbled and decorated the pages of my diary until my eyes felt heavy and difficult to keep open. I put my diary down on the floor next to the window, said goodnight to my mother and shut off my bedroom lights. I fell asleep on my second night to the sound of crickets near the woods and frogs by the pond.

Chapter One