Five foot seven—tall for my age. Honey-brown curly hair and blue eyes. Curvy figure.Me, I think, looking over my reflection in the mirror. The mirror, silvery and smooth like satin, showing a reality that stung.

A dull Sunday. Snow coated my neighborhood, the twinkling flakes falling like diamond dust. And all I could do was think of you. You were so hard to figure out. What did it mean when you made a face at me? Or joked? Or talked about the dance and how you weren’t going to ask anyone, looking at me like you wanted a reaction?

So tough, I thought, patting my unruly waves. If I had it my way, you and I would be standing on the beach, watching the sunset.

But I didn’t often feel like I got things my way. Certainly not this thing.

All I could do was ponder.