Camille had fascinated James since she had moved in down the street. He black hair and her silvery eyes. Her tiny frame. She was careless and free, and he promised himself that he would protect and love her forever. Be like a brother to her.

But when their parent's strong bonds of friendship crumble and die, will their own friendship do the same?

February 14th 2001

Camille sat in her year 4 class. She was 9 years old and had not yet received a valentine. well. not really.

The bitter wind outside the door whistled between the buildings, distracting her thoroughly from her maths calculations.

Her yes flitted between the rough scribbles in front of her and the red door to the class-room and with every bob of the head – from paper to door – her black curls bounced and waved ever so slightly on her shoulders.

It was February 14th? She checked the date that Mrs. Conaway had written on the top of the white board. February 14th.

9 years old.

Surely someone would send her a valentine.

Watching the door. Watching the door.

She found herself muttering a rhyme in her head to pass the time.

She had given up on her sums completely, but forced herself to look at the paper and not at the door, because if she hoped it would surprise her when the immobile door opened.

Finally it was time to pack away her maths things, hand in her work, and get out her English book from the shelf. And that was when it happened. The door opened, a boy with unnaturally ruffled hair came in holding a bag with a few letters inside. Camille's heart leapt in her chest as he began to hand out chocolate and cards to various people around the class. She looked at him expectantly. He made eye-contact but left the room without going anywhere near her.

Nobody. Nobody had thought to get her a valentine's card or gift. Not even James.

She felt hot now. A mixture of anger, frustration, and embarrassment – she had sent him one. She had sent him a card, the way she did every year, the way that he should have done – like he did every year.

I guess this was the point that the little Camille first felt alone in a strange country. The point when the little girl began to grow a shell around heart to protect it. Because she hated feeling this way.

Review please, I really like where this story is going in my head, but i need a kick up the backside. If you like it, then please review it!

- Kate