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Salut,

To put it bluntly, this story is in dire need of a massive face lift. I took down the story because it was irritating me. It's hard to believe I got reviews for the original considering the characters had such drab personalities and the vocabulary / grammar of the story was appalling. While trying to determine what I could do with this story, I came to the conclusion that the original had no substance. The story passed without many events and somehow forty eight thousand words later it was over. Rereading it earlier this week it looked like I barely spent any time even trying to make it sound good. The story was the definition of the stereotypical cliché, only it was written so terribly that it wasn't even an enjoyable cliché.

That being said, I still like this story, as it was the first story I ever fully completed on this website. I want to try to give it a second shot, but there will certainly be some major changes. I've written out basic summaries of what I want every chapter to be like at this point and a lot will change. For the better, for the worse, I don't know, but I want to at the very least improve the mechanics of the story.

So here is a very brief preview of what I hope the first chapter to be like. If you have already reviewed the first chapter and wish to review again, simply log out and review anonymously or send me a private message.

Thanks for your patience, you'll be hearing from me soon.

A.

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Preview.

“Aaron.”

One would need an infinite number of fingers to count off by hand the number of times that an individual requested why I would be named after a boy, when clearly, I was a girl.

Well, as I always liked to reply, when you live in the middle of nowhere and you have to drive a thousand hours (read: forty minutes) to get to the hospital to give birth to your child, along the way, any name starts to sound good.

Even that of a boy.

Hell, if I was even slightly creative the name might even suit me. My parents weren’t completely out of their minds when they named me, it could be worse, I could be named, I don’t know, Orange? Or something seductive like Helga.

Note the sarcasm.

My parents couldn’t agree on anything back then, let alone what to name their child. Look at them now, their disagreements escalated into divorce and my father decided to move in with a Russian model eight years his junior. Who can blame them? I’m sure when one of them suggested Aaron the other accepted merely because they were far beyond exhausted of bickering.

Besides, I’d prefer to be a girl named after a boy than the other way around. Picture Bobby, innocent eight year old, learning that his best friend whom he thought was named Jake all of his life was actually named say… Jaclyn!

Spine chilling, I tell you.

At least my name is just Erin misspelled Aaron; I’d even go so far as to say that if I possessed even just an ounce of originality I could work the name to my own advantage–

“Aaron.”

Right, that internal rant was brought upon by the mentioning of my name.

I looked upwards into dark green eyes that laughed back at mine.

“Thought you were having a seizure or something, Aare.”

I frowned.

I didn’t let just anyone call me Aare, it wasn’t my real name and those who were able to get away with the frustrating nickname knew I didn’t like it. If there was anything I hated more than being named after a boy, it was gaining a nickname that was a homophone to the colorless, odorless and tasteless mixture of gases breathed in and out repeatedly by humans every day of every week of every year.

“You know you need to stop studying chemistry all the time and get a life when…” He trailed off, eyes still taunting me.

Had I said that last part aloud?

I reddened in embarrassment and anger.

“I was simply recounting how much I dislike how often people over use that ridiculous nickname.” I stared pointedly at him.

“Aare is a catchy name.” He retorted, “Just because it so happens to sound the same as the word Air doesn’t take away from it.”

I frowned again.

“You’re one to talk Valentine.” I drew out every syllable of his surname, “Do you enjoy the mockery that is repeatedly made of you every year on February fourteenth?”

“Why not?” He drawled sleazily, “The name is effortlessly charming. If having dozens of girls throwing themselves at you is mockery, then I’ll take it without complaint like the amazing, selfless person that I am.”

The urge to roll my eyes overwhelmed me.

Matthew Valentine continued to grin over me.

For once, I had nothing left to say.

“It’s just a name.” He mumbled a moment later, “What’s the big deal?”

This time, I did roll my eyes. “You wouldn’t get it.” I belittled, resuming my spot in my book and drowning him out.

Of course, ignoring Matthew Valentine would never be easy, as I was going to learn.

The hard way.