The movers were there, bringing in all of their furniture and personal belongings. The house next door had been abandon for so long, and now things would be different. Someone would live there. A small boy, with dark, curly hair that almost crept over his eyes sat on his porch, Indian style, watching the men carry couches...tables...chairs...all into the house. With his eyes, he followed them, making constant trips from the truck, into the house. He sat, and wondered. The boy was a thinker. He always thought things through a little more than the normal person. He liked to imagine, and pretend. He was often called a dreamer, and sometimes teased for not being the best on the football team, or not being able to play cricket. He wondered where the furniture would be placed. He wondered what would be put inside the refrigerator. Wondered what kind of food his new neighbours liked. Wondered what kind of clothes they wore. Wondered if they drank tea at tea, or if they just had some apple juice and a biscuit like he normally did.

A small, red car rolled into the drive way of the newly occupied house. A tall, blonde man stepped out of the car, along with a skinny, blonde woman, and a small, blonde little girl. She looked to be about the age of the small boy. She was wearing a pink, lacey dress, white tights, and matching pink shoes with little ribbons on them. Her hair fell to the small of her back, it was wavy. His mouth dropped open a little, she was the prettiest girl he had ever seen. Another thing he was often teased about, was his common interest in girls. He was a big fan of girls, and most boys said they had "cooties". He knew they didn't though. Girls always smelled nice. Their hair was always brushed, and often tied with ribbons, or put into braids. How could someone who was much cleaner, and much brighter, have "cooties".

Shaking his head, and keeping himself from his thoughts, he noticed that the little girl was staring at him. His cheeks turned rosy red for a moment, he then flashed her a smile. He was proud of his smile. He had just recently lost two teeth, and two teeth was always something new to show off. Yes, he enjoyed constantly annoying his mum around Christmas with the carol "All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth." He would sing it to make himself sleep at times, and sometimes sing it while he was walking home from school. But often, he sang it at the dinner table, arousing "shut ups" from his older sister.

His mum, then scolding at his sister's use of words would say, "Emma, love, you're smarter than that. You could at least find a phrase that isn't so...vulgar."

"What does vulgar mean, mum?"

"It means naughty, Mark."

"Oh...Emma..." he would then say in a shameful voice. She would just shake it off.

The little boy then drew his attention back to the little girl. She was walking into the house. He wanted to follow her more than ever, but didn't know what he should say. He then stood up, brushed off his stone wash Levi's jeans, and looked around. The movers were almost finished with their work. At that moment in time, Mark's mother appeared on the porch.

"Mark, dear, will you do me a favour?"

"Sure..."

"Will you take this cake to the new neighbours. Please tell them sorry I couldn't take it over myself, I am just very busy at the moment."

He jumped at the chance, "Sure, mum!"

"Thanks dear, you're a big help."

"Oh, no problem."

He then took the cake from his mothers arm. It looked awfully big compared to his size. He waddled over to the house, trying ever-so carefully not to drop the contents in his hand. He walked up the steps to the porch, the door was open. He didn't know whether he should knock, or just walk in. He decided to compromise with himself, and he called out "Excuse me...hello...new neighbours..."

The tall man walked to the door. He looked upon him and smiled.

"Why, hello there," he said in an accent that the boy had never heard before.

"Um...hello. I've brought you a cake," he explained, holding up the baked good. "My mum says she is very sorry that she can't deliver it herself. She is very busy at the moment."

"Come in," the man said, taking the cake and ushering the boy inside, "and tell your mother that I say 'thank you'."

"Sure..." he said.

The man then shouted something up the staris. It was in an unfamiliar language. "We have a visitor," was all Mark could understand. The man turned around, "What is your name?" he asked.

"Mark, sir. Mark Landon."

"Nice to meet you, Mark Landon," the man said, holding out his hand.

Wanting to impress the father of the pretty girl, he shook his hand as firmly as he could.

"You have a nice grip, boy."

"Thank you sir."
"And by the way...my name is Jón Sveinsson"
"If you don't mind me asking, sir...where are you from?"
"Iceland. We've just moved."
"Is that what you've been speaking?"
"Aye."
"You're very good at it."
"Thanks. lad. Hey...how old are you?"
"Eight and a half, sir. I'll be nine soon, though," he said, flashing his toothless grin.
"I have a daughter about your age. You should meet her...I'll call her down. Harmony!"
This was the moment he had been waiting for. He would finally get to meet the pretty girl that he saw just outside of his house. Of course this girl would have a name like Harmony. She was nothing but perfect harmony with the ground she walked on. She came silently, gracefully down the steps. Mark watched her every move with awe.
"Yes, papa?" she said, coming close to him and grabbing his hand.
"I would like you to meet Mark. Mark Landon. He lives next door."
The girl gave him a once over, then started, "Hello Mark. I've seen you before. You were on your porch a few minutes ago."
He gulped, "Yes."
"Well, nice meeting you."
"Why don't you two go out and play?" Jón suggested.
"Okay, come on," Harmony said, leading the way out the door. Mark followed.