The Boy

When I think back about my childhood/teen years, I can see how much the characters in my books influenced my thoughts, actions, and expectations in life.

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As breakfast came to an end, she quickly grabbed a hot chocolate, the requisite daily devotional materials, and headed outside into the chilly, crisp air to "find a spot for her 'quiet time'", i.e. to look for the boy.

She'd seen him exit the youth camp cabin alone a few minutes before. Her junior high crush sported sandy hair, soft brown eyes, and a lop-sided grin. Popular and outgoing, yet also a hint of reservation and mystery, he was the perfect fodder for her imagination, a physical manifestation right out of her teen romance novels.

As the morning sun filtered through the trees casting hopeful rays across her path, she hurried along hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

She quickly slowed her pace and came to a stop when she spotted him near the creek. He stood on the small boulders at the water's edge casually skipping rocks. She tucked herself into the shadow of a nearby tree.

"What could he be thinking about?" she mused, "an anticipated boy adventure? a cute girl? a disagreement with a friend?*

The next rock skipped 4 or 5 times as he stooped to pick up another one.

*Sigh* If only he was thinking about her.

But she accepted she was an invisible introvert and bookworm, her looks plain except for too much eyebrows and an unruly head of dark hair that needed 21st century hair products yet to be invented.

He was still boyish enough to be a naive Henry Huggins, Tom Sawyer, or Huck Finn just planning a day full of adventure. But he was also mature enough to fit the bill as an irresistible 'Sweet Dreams' or 'Sweet Valley High' boy-next-door.

He turned slightly and she caught the look on his face.

"Wait! Did she just glimpse a deep brooding, sad expression?!" her heart fluttered with the thought.

If only she could catch his eye, and he could look into her soul, then he wouldn't be able to prevent himself from seeing past her dowdy looks and awkward social skills. He would know deep down that she was the only one that could tame his restless spirit and save him from himself.

It was so obvious. She was Jane Eyre to his Mr. Rochester.