Author's Note: Okay, so for this story I already have a lot of the plot thought out. And I really like it. Read and Review and you'll have my ultimate gratitude and thanks. =] Now, without further adieu, Story Time:

After I was no longer able to be entertained by daytime television, and I couldn't get a hold of any of my friends back home, I decided to venture outside. Not that there was anything remarkable to do out there, but I needed to do something. Because I was starting to feel concern for my mental health. Both my mother and my step-father work long days, so I'm by myself for a great portion of my day. And when that happens, I talk to myself. And then giggle uncontrollably about it.


The town that my mother lives in is the perfect example of a stereotypical "small-town." It's the place where if you live beyond a fifteen mile radius of it, chances are you never even knew of it's existence. It's where everybody knows everybody, with the exception of me. I'm the outsider in Craigston. Though, I suppose that's my fault for never really trying to initiate any conversation with my neighbors. That and I'm only here for the summers. I stayed with my father in Maine during the school year.

There was a little park less than a mile from the house. One that, over the past few summers, I made it a habit to visit pretty much everyday. It's on a lake, with water that I'm convinced would make your skin sizzle off your bones if you ventured into it. I have yet to prove this theory because I've never seen anybody actually swim in it, but that fact is enough proof for me. There's a set of swings, a sort of obstacle course made of huge mac-truck tires, and a few benches. A pretty sparse park, to say the least, but it serves my purposes just fine.

Sometimes I would bring a picnic lunch, other times I would just sit on a bench and talk on the phone or listen to my iPod. This particular time, though, I had brought a small blanket, soda, and my prized copy of Pride and Prejudice. I set myself up so I was sitting against a tree, and popped the tab of my Diet Coke--the truest nectar of the gods. I cracked open my book and was quickly pulled into the sharp wit of Elizabeth Bennet and the major sex appeal of Mr. Darcy.

I was so engulfed in this beautiful piece of literature that I didn't even realize that a large dog was making his way over to me. I only realized that this dog even existed when he forced me to take notice by jumping on top of me, and then proceeding to lick my face. Not to mention spill my diet coke. That alone would have called for immediate persecution for the animal, however I was in a generous mood. That, and I was too surprised at the intrusion to worry about the sticky wetness that was now seeping through my shirt.

"Shit!" I exclaimed, glancing down at my purple t-shirt. It was my brother's shirt, actually. With a Crusader gracing the front, and then written underneath was, "John Bapst Hockey." My mascot. My school. Unheard of by the residents here.

"Hey, buddy," I said to the dog with a stern look. "You have to at least buy me dinner before sticking your tongue down my throat. Gosh, whatever happened to the Gentlemen?"

Clearly, I thought that I was alone. Just me and the big Husky. In retrospect, I probably should have, I don't know, looked around for the owner. But, honestly, I just hadn't thought of it. And I was mortified when the owner spoke.

"Oh, they still exist," said owner commented. "Most of them just happen to have two legs instead of four."

Embarrassment colored my features. He overheard me. Talking to an animal. Dear Lord. "True," was all I could manage.

I looked at my audience of one and saw that he was about my age, or so I figured. I also saw that he was attractive. Very, very attractive. My teenaged hormones immediately took note of his messy mass of brown waves on his head, his brown Bob Dylan T-shirt, and his blue jeans that weren't cutting off his manhood, but still fit him nicely. Really, really nicely.

This boy was hot.

And I had soda on my shirt. Granted, that was his fault for not keeping control over his pet, but it still served to further my mortification.

"Deej, come. Now." He commanded. The husky detached itself from me and ran over to his owner, looking lovingly into his green eyes.

He bent down to his dog and took the animal's face into his hands. "You," he scolded, "cannot throw yourself at the ladies. It makes you look desperate, and I will not allow any pet of mine to be desperate. No treats for you for exactly one week."

The dog went to lap at his face, but my acquaintance was quick to turn his head away. "None of that." He stood up again, turning his attention back to me.

"God, I'm so sorry about that. He's still a pup." He scowled again in the direction of his animal. "I'm Harrison, by the way. The rascal that was slobbering all over you was DJ."

"It's okay," I told him. "And I'm Remy," I told him, standing up from under the tree.

His eyes dropped to my shirt, and more specifically, the huge wet spot on it. "Is that… recent?"

I let out a small, embarrassed laugh. "Very much so."

His gaze shot up to my own, assessing my reaction. He looked a little sheepish and as if he was bracing himself for me to lash out at him now. "I'm really, really, really sorry."

I made a motion with my hand that signified dismissal. "Don't worry about it," I said, "it's not even my shirt."

Harrison looked at my shirt again with a frown, and I rubbed my hands together feeling embarrassed to be under his stare. "It's my brother's." I had to say something, he didn't seem to feel the need to fill the awkward silence.

"So, he's the hockey player?" He said with what could only be a smirk.

"Yep. I still have all my teeth, so it's obviously not me," I smiled brightly, displaying my pearly whites as proof.

Harrison chuckled, and then asked, "your not from here, are you?"

"What gave me away?" I questioned as DJ attempted to climb Harrison's leg.

"It's a small town," Harrison said, swatting his dog off of him. Looking completely unfazed by the dog's actions.

"How they manage to keep two Dunkin' Donuts running, I have no idea," I commented with a grin. Ah, human contact. Wondrous, beautiful human contact.

Harrison shrugged, "this is New England, Dunkin' Donuts litter just about every town. You can't expect society to leave out Craigston just because it's not substantial in size."

This, I laughed at. "It seems like they might be overcompensating with two of them. On the same road, nonetheless."

"That road is the town," he smirked. Again. I was beginning to think that this was an ever-present feature that he had. Or if it was only while he patronized me.

"I may not have seven generations of family that've lived here under my belt," I began faux-scowling at him, "but let me tell you, I can read a map like no one's business."

After about five seconds of Harrison staring blankly at me, he started laughing. Guffawing, even. His laugh was my favorite kind, it was huge and strong, and very loud. One that you could tell that you were genuinely entertaining the person with the laugh. I loved it.

When he calmed down and checked his watch, he said, "hey I have to go meet up with some people, and I know we just met and all, but can you give me your number so I can text you? I really liked talking to you." He thought about his next statement for a few moments. "Your kind of odd."

"Well," I said. "You sure know how to charm the socks off a girl." I chuckled lightly. "Give me your phone and I'll put my number in it," I commanded while handing over my own phone--a signal for him to do the same.

"You know," I said as when I finished putting my name and number in his phone. "I'm not as street-smart as I once thought I was."

Harrison cocked an eyebrow and passed me back my own phone. "Why do you say that?"

"'cause," I tried to hide the "duh" in my voice, but I'm pretty sure I failed. "I'm pretty sure handing out my number to a stranger isn't too much better then jumping into a white van with the promise of candy."