Title: "Marked"

Disclaimer: The characters and theme of this story are based on Stephenie Meyers' "Twilight" series. Hope you enjoy. :)

Chapter 1

I was awakened by the incessant beeping of my alarm. Groaning, I rolled over to smack the top of the clock, and paused to lay on the edge of my comfortable, warm bed, staring, dazed, at the bright red numbers – 6:30. I slid – no, more like tumbled – off of the bed and crashed to the wooden floor and stifled a screech as my knee slammed into the nightstand. The thud shook the room, and everything that rested on my dresser and desk trembled uneasily. I slapped a hand against my warm cheek, attempting to rub the sleepiness out of my face. First day of junior year. Great.

I used the side of the bed to lift myself up and my legs felt tingly, barely able to keep me upright. Yawning, I pulled the cord on the blinds next to my bed to let some sunshine into my room. What a rude awakening – the sunlight pierced my eyes fiercely and I moaned as I covered my face with one hand. It was 6:32 am, and I was ready for this day to be over.

I slumped across the cold floor to my closet and began scanning it for the perfect outfit for my first day. Oh, who was I kidding? Since when was I concerned with how I looked to everybody else? The people at school were the same ones I'd been going to school with for the past sixteen years, and I had always looked the same to them. This year would be no different. I mindlessly snatched a pair of dark blue skinny jeans and a blue and white striped long-sleeved top, and sauntered into the bathroom to shower.

The cold tile in the bathroom was even more alarming to my bare feet, and I jumped onto the fuzzy blue mat in front of the sink for relief. I laid my clothes out on the counter and leaned backwards to turn the water on in the tub. The harsh sound of rushing water hurt my ears, and I quickly flipped the knob on top of the spigot to release the water in a calm, even spray from above.

The hot water relaxed my sore muscles, but didn't help with the drowsiness of the early morning. I slowly shifted to the wall and leaned my head against the cool, wet, tile, allowing myself to doze off and enjoy the feeling of the water on my back and neck.

A sudden voice – muffled by the shower – disturbed my relaxation.
"Callie!"
I flew upright again, almost losing my balance and tripping out of the tub. That would

have been the second time in less than ten minutes that I had demonstrated my not-so- gracefulness. The voice now bellowed.

"Callie! Almost ready?"

I could barely make out what she was yelling through the rhythmic sound of the water in the shower, but I took it as a warning to finish up, so I rinsed off quickly and turned the knob to shut the water off. As I dried off and got dressed slowly, I allowed my mind to wander to the day ahead.

My first day as an upperclassman, I thought. Big deal. It won't be any different from every other boring year I've had in this town.

One thing my friends and I complained about regularly was how nothing in the small town of Chester, New Jersey, ever seemed to change. The same stores and restaurants were always there, in the same place, year after year. The same people remained in the town without the visitation of many newcomers. The town was quaint, nice, and adorably historic. History buffs enjoyed strolling and taking in the sights of old houses and Civil War-era landmarks. But for my age group, Chester was just. a predictable town with very little to do.

I always had a hard time feeling completely satisfied with the way things were, because I felt like there was more to life than everything I knew. Life had to consist of more than school, hobbies, and homework. Where was the adventure, the danger? Why didn't anything exciting or unexpected happen in my life?

Somehow, I just felt different. Maybe that's why I only had a handful of close friends and hardly any significant social life.

I bounded down the stairs of my family's small, two-story home, and spun around the banister. My house fit into the town nicely; it was old, built in the early 1900's, and it was the kind of house people drove by and took pictures of because it was so 'cute.' It was painted a light salmon color on the outside, with white shutters. My dad had always despised the way it looked from the road, but my mom had apparently fallen in love with it the first time we drove by it and noticed the 'For Sale' sign fifteen years ago. That means I have lived in this house since I was one year old – boring.

On the inside, my house was very bright. Window shades were always hanging wide open to allow as much sunlight in as possible, and the walls were painted vibrant, obnoxious colors. The dining room, for example, was a strange combination of lime green and bright yellow, and the living room was neon orange. I always thought the way my mom had decorated the house was an accurate representation of her bubbly personality, but this early in the morning the colors gave me a splitting headache and made my stomach feel queasy.

I stepped into the kitchen, blinded by the stream of sunlight seeping in through the window above the sink, and spotted my mom standing at the counter arranging breakfast on four plates. My dad sat at the kitchen table sipping his coffee and chatting with my younger brother, Chris, who was starting third grade today. I was envious of his obvious excitement; he was wondering in an animated fashion about who his classmates might be.

I stepped across the kitchen and laid a kiss on my mom's cheek from behind, surprising her.

"Oh, good morning!" she beamed, handing me a plate filled with toast, fruit, and yogurt. She was the good American mom, believing in healthy breakfasts and family dinners. I loved her to death.

As I pulled out a chair at the table to join my dad and Chris, my mom spoke excitedly.

"I was trying to hurry you along in the shower." As if I hadn't noticed. "Wouldn't want you to be late for your first day of school!" She grinned at me as she set plates in front of Chris and my dad.

"That would truly be a tragedy," I muttered lifelessly, picking at my fruit with my fork. My dad snorted at my sarcasm and my mom rolled her eyes.
Chris continued discussing his excitement to be starting third grade as we all settled down

to eat breakfast together. My parents responded with the required "mhmm's" and "ah's" at the appropriate times, and smiled at each other as they finished eating and began packing lunches and feeding the family dog, Miles.

"Are you excited for school, Callie?" Chris asked, as he bit into his toast.

"Sure," I replied dully. I looked up to smile at him after taking the last bite of my toast and washing it down with a swig of orange juice. "It's just another first day of school."

"I'm sure it'll be fun," My mom replied, always optimistic. "Just think, only one more first day of high school for you after this! And then you'll be off to college, far away."

I could see where this was going.

"Mom," I cut in. "Let's avoid the emotional discussion about my departure until graduation , shall we?" I lifted myself out of the chair and set my plate and empty glass next to the sink.

My mom blushed and smiled, turning towards the dishes to wash them.
"Better finish getting ready," she added. I scooted out of the kitchen on cue.
Upon returning to my room, I grabbed my towel from my bed and rubbed my hair dry,

watching my reflection in the mirror. The next hour was spent applying my makeup and straightening my hair, while periodically checking the time to be sure I wasn't running late. All the while I tried to convince myself that this year would be exciting.

Maybe something fun will happen? I tried to think hopefully, but I couldn't lie to myself. Nothing exciting happened in Chester, and this was just going to be another dull year of high school.

I pulled my gray Camry into the small parking lot at West Morris Mendham High School; the same school where I had spent my last two years. People were pouring into the lot and parking their cars when I got there, meeting up with their friends and excitedly making their way into the large brick institution. I swung my car into an empty spot on the far side of the lot next to a shiny black Mercedes; definitely not a car I recognized after living here and being around these same people all my life. I eyed the car as I quieted the engine and slid out onto the pavement. As I pulled my orange backpack on my back and started toward the school, I looked back once at the black Mercedes and shrugged.

It was 8:40, and the sun was already hot, beaming down on me and making me weaker with each step. It felt like the dead of summer – the time of year when I sat inside on a comfy chair with a book, a box fan propped up in front of me for comfort. I yearned for the cool relief fall would bring; relief which would enable me to wear sweaters and sweatshirts comfortably

without sweltering. I rubbed the back of my exposed neck, which already had that tingling, burning sensation.

As I pulled the heavy front door of the school open, I was nearly knocked on my back from the force of my best friend, Anna, bounding up out of nowhere and squeezing me.

"Hi!" She squealed as she let go of me and stepped back. She was beaming from ear to ear. Could she really be this excited to start school?

"Um, hey," I responded, giving her an odd look and laughing. "You sure seem happy to be here. Did you get your schedule yet? Good classes? Good teachers?" I racked my brain for the reason why she was so animated.

"No, no!" She rolled her eyes and waved her hand to dismiss those ridiculous ideas, and we began walking through the foyer. "It's not school that I'm excited about. You should see the new guy!"

I laughed. Now the reason for Anna's mood was blatantly obvious. She was absolutely boy-crazy, so naturally she would be the first person to notice a new male student in the building. Plus, Chester's population of just under 2,000 people made it pretty easy to track new people.
As we made our way to the front office, I looked around, not noticing anyone unfamiliar. The same faces I'd seen for years rushed past me in a blur as students hustled to homeroom or their lockers. Excited chatter and greetings came from all over, and people laughed and hugged as if they hadn't seen each other in three years, rather than three months.

I stepped into the small office and took note that nothing in the room had changed since last year. The same fish tank was standing in the far corner - squeezed in between two burgundy arm chair – the same multi-colored fish zipping around inside. The same small wooden coffee table stood in the middle of the room, stacked with Family magazines and college planning guides. The front desk was already cluttered with papers and the woman behind the desk, Mrs. Fraser, looked frazzled. There were too many students in the office – definitely more than the room was designed to accommodate comfortably. People were shoving each other aside and squeezing through to collect their schedules and locker assignments.

"Good morning, Ms. Creighton," Mrs. Fraser welcomed as I clamored to the front of the group. She handed three other students their schedules at the same time.

I smiled and took the yellow piece of paper she extended to me over a terrified freshman's head.

"Thanks," I shouted over the roar that filled the small room, as Anna grabbed hers. We left in a hurry, eager to escape the chaos. As soon as we reached the safety of the hallway I glanced at the paper and found my locker number and combination.

"Number 34," I mumbled. "that's in the far hallway by the cafeteria." I was talking to myself, but I saw Anna nod in agreement out of the corner of my eye.

"Oh, good!" she squealed. "Mine is number 39; we should be close by!"

We pushed our way through the frenzy of students crowding the halls. Dazed and lost freshman spun in circles wildly, trying to decipher where the numbers on their papers were

directing them. I smiled sympathetically at the poor souls and pointed a few in the right direction. They thanked me, eyes wide and frightened.

Finally, Anna and I were facing the row of lockers directly across from the glass doors of the cafeteria. I stopped dead in my tracks when we arrived, and stared.

"That's him!" Anna excitedly whispered, pointing in the direction I was looking. "That's the new guy I was telling you about!" Her voice was much too loud to be discreet, although she was trying to contain her excitement. I smacked her shoulder with my paper to silence her, but the boy at the lockers didn't look up.

He stood roughly ten feet away with his back facing us, bending down to set his books in his locker. He was wearing khakis and an olive-green polo shirt, which molded to his thin body. As he pulled notebooks out of his black backpack next to him, I couldn't help but notice his perfectly-muscled arms, and the careful way he handled his materials. I forced myself to look away from him and glanced at Anna, who stood there grinning and watching his every move.

"Stop staring," I hissed. So he was a new student, so what? I hadn't even seen his face yet; maybe he wasn't as good-looking as I was imagining.

As soon as the thought ran through my mind he stood, gracefully pulling his backpack up over his shoulder. He turned around and looked up, straight at me and Anna. It was then made extremely clear that he was in fact more attractive than I had been imagining for the past thirty seconds, with his dark brown, maybe black, hair tousled and wisping across his forehead, with strands hanging near his eyes, which I noticed were also beautiful. They looked to be a pale blue color, but I was just far enough away that I couldn't be absolutely sure. His skin was flawless, without being too tan or too pale. I realized instantly that he did not look like a high school student; he could have easily passed as a young man in his early twenties.

At the sight of him I'm sure my mouth fell open or my eyes widened, but I turned my head quickly when I saw the corners of his mouth turn up into a shy smile. Anna giggled and nudged me toward my locker, which was just a few feet from where he stood. My face flushed red as I passed him, and I could feel his eyes on me as I struggled against my shaking hand to open my locker. There was a beautiful aroma – his cologne, no doubt - wafting around me, and I breathed it in as I yanked the stubborn locker door open. Anna stood next to me, and I was sure she was fighting the urge to look at him as hard as I was. Finally, my weakness took over and I stole a glance up to find him looking at me with his, now I was sure, crystal-blue eyes, from only a few feet away. I blushed, and I saw one corner of his mouth curl up in a smile before he turned and walked away.

"Wow," Anna sighed. "He‟s perfect. Did you see those eyes? And how he stared at you!"

"Please," I muttered as I threw a few notebooks into the empty locker and taped a picture of me and Anna to the inside of the door. "He was not staring at me." But of course it was obvious that he was, for some unknown reason.

It wasn‟t that I considered myself unattractive, but I never would have described myself as particularly pretty. Just like any other sixteen year old girl, I had the incredible ability of picking out my faults when I looked in the mirror; consequently I tended to avoid them for my

self-esteem's benefit. My hair was ordinary and brown, hanging just past my chest, and naturally frizzy and wavy, which is why I straightened it every day to tame it. My eyes were a dark blue, almost gray color, and they were my favorite part of my appearance. People frequently commented on how they changed colors with my mood – turning bright blue when I‟m happy and gray when I‟m angry. My skin was pale, something I couldn‟t change no matter how many times I went to the beach or sat by a pool and lay under the sun. My skin only knew how to burn to a crisp and fade back to white, skipping the golden tan that usually took place somewhere in between. I was thin, but not wiry, and my height was 5'4". Mostly, I considered myself a pretty average-looking sixteen year old girl. Considering this, it caused me to question what exactly the new guy saw in me that caused him to stare so intently.

I shut my locker and turned to face Anna, who was still staring down the hall in the direction the gorgeous boy had walked. Her face was excited, and she practically skipped down the row to her lockers, with me a few steps behind. As she tossed her things into her locker, I started talking.

"Anna," I began slowly. "You remember my break up over the summer right?" I felt my face contort in a pained expression at the memory of the difficult split from my nine month long boyfriend, Adam.

"Of course, I do," she responded, glancing up with a concerned expression as she unpacked her things and threw them carelessly into the locker.

"...And how I said I don‟t want another boyfriend this year?" I was pressing her, hoping my underlying message was sinking in.

"Yes." She nodded firmly.

"Okay, just making sure you remembered," I said, looking down at the floor. "I don‟t want there to be any confusion about that. If you think he‟s cute, you should introduce yourself."

Although this new guy was incredibly good-looking, and despite the fact that he had obviously been staring at me for one reason or another, I couldn't forget about my painful breakup that had taken place only two months ago. Adam and I had met in World History, early sophomore year, and we had immediately hit it off. Only a few weeks into school we went on our first date, and by the end of the first month we were a couple. We had a very fun, exciting relationship – always laughing and joking around, and I was truly happy with him. But midway through July things changed suddenly, unexpectedly, and devastatingly. It felt like the end of the world for me when he called me to tell me it was over, that his feelings just weren't the same, and that he was sorry.

It had been my first breakup, and that had made it miserable – almost unbearable for me. I had been crazy about Adam, and all of our friends had expected to see us last through high school and well into college as a couple. He had surprised a lot of people when he ended it out of the blue, catching me completely off guard. The horrible breakup stuck in my memory like a dagger – a painful reminder that my first love was unrequited. It was something that I wasn't ready to forget or move on from.

Because of this, it was absolutely necessary that Anna should be reminded of it, before things got complicated.

Anna finally stood up and closed her locker, and we began walking together in the direction of our homeroom classrooms. She was silent the whole way, and my eyes stayed focused ahead on the long hallway that the new guy had walked down just a few minutes ago. Before I turned into the doorway of Mr. Kessler‟s class, Anna tugged on my arm. I turned to look at her, surprised.

"Look, I know you don‟t want another boyfriend after what you and Adam went through," she started sympathetically. "But, that guy...that new guy, is beautiful. I bet every girl at this school will be wishing that he looked at them the way he just looked at you." With that, she gave me a weak smile, the kind that showed how much she was sincerely trying to relate, although she knew she couldn't. She finally turned away, leaving me standing, dumbfounded, outside the doorway.

I turned and checked into homeroom and took my seat among the other students, placing my backpack next to my chair. I folded my hands on top of the cool, freshly-cleaned desk, rested my chin on them, and began to ponder. I didn‟t know what I was so concerned about. After all, the new guy had only looked at me. It wasn‟t like he had asked me out or anything. He hadn't even talked. I needed to calm down and stop thinking about it – I was just making myself paranoid.

The rest of my day went by in a blur. My teachers all seemed relatively nice, and I had at least a few friends in each class, which at least made each class bearable, despite the subject matters. Nevertheless, I was all too ready when the final bell rang and classes were dismissed. I hurried to my locker and raced out the door to my car. As I crossed the parking lot, I was in such a daze, humming to myself, that I almost didn't hear my name being called.

"Callie!"

I whipped my head around anxiously and found Adam leaning against his car, just a few rows down from where I stood.

My stomach plummeted.

I hadn‟t seen or spoken to Adam since he broke up with me unexpectedly, and ever since then I had carefully avoided talking about him with anyone. Unfortunately, the slightest mention of his name had been known to kick-start a crying fest on my part, and that was not something I was interested in reliving over and over. I hadn't been too concerned about it, though, when I had thought about school starting. I certainly wasn‟t expecting him to talk to me here, and I had secretly hoped he wouldn‟t. Now, I stood facing him, undecided about what to do. He had already seen me, and I was clearly making eye-contact with him, so turning around and ignoring him wasn't an option, to my dismay. I realized I had no choice but to toughen up and go see what he wanted, as hard as that may be.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, hoping it would make my pounding headache go away, but it didn‟t. I slowly walked over to Adam, who was casually leaning against the side of his car, with his hands shoved into his jeans pockets, smiling sweetly at me.
Stop doing that, I begged him silently. I could feel my knees going weak and my eyes stinging already.

"Hi," I said nervously as I approached him. My voice was shaking and I hoped he didn't notice it.

"Hey," he greeted casually, as he extended his arms for a hug.
He's acting like nothing's happened. Does he think I forgot?
I slid into his embrace because I didn't want to make things awkward by refusing, but

somehow although I was in his arms I was able to remain distant.
"It‟s nice to see you," he spoke into my hair, his voice muffled.
I pulled myself out of his grasp quickly and looked down at the pavement.
"You too," I muttered, an utter lie. Of course it wasn't nice to see him. This was exactly

the sort of confrontation I had been hoping to avoid all year. I hadn't even been able to get through the entire first day of school without tears threatening to surface.

Grow up, I scolded myself. Don't let him see you cry, whatever you do.
"Um, I really should get going."
I started backing away in the direction of my car.
"Alright," he agreed happily, leaning towards his car again to open the door. "Well don‟t

be a stranger."
I smiled weakly, but when I turned away my mouth dropped. Why was he doing this?

Did he have any idea how much he had hurt me just two months ago? Did he expect that my heart had already healed? He had no idea what I had gone through; the constant sleepovers to keep myself from crying myself to sleep every night, the weekly mom-and-daughter movie and dinner dates, so I could talk freely about my feelings away from the distractions at home, the manicures, the hair cuts, the shopping trips – all things designed to keep my mind off of the most painful experience of my life. None of it had helped, and that was something he didn't understand. He couldn't understand.

I picked up speed as I neared my car. I needed to get home, needed to forget about the awkward conversation that had just taken place. Maybe go straight to sleep, or bake cookies – anything to take my mind off of it. I looked up angrily from the pavement and froze.
The same guy who had stared at me at my locker this morning was leaning against the back of the black Mercedes that was parked right next to my Camry.

I approached my car cautiously, aware that he was smiling at me, the same smile I had seen earlier. The smile had already been plastered into my memory. Something about the way his body pressed against the car with his elbow holding himself up intimidated me, and I felt my cheeks flush red. I unlocked my car and threw my backpack in, then looked up at him to find him still watching me with that irresistible smile. I looked away quickly and brushed my hair behind

my ear with my fingers. He chuckled at my obvious embarrassment, and with that, I scurried into my car and started the engine.

Great, now he thinks I'm a nervous wreck...Awesome first impression.

As I pulled out of the parking lot, I watched him through my side-view mirror as he climbed into his car and drove through the lot to the exit on the other side of the school. He was out of sight and I could finally breathe.

As I drove home, my head swirled with thoughts of what had happened at school. Why did the new guy seem so interested in me? And why did his smile make me swoon? Why did Adam have to talk to me and make things awkward? Couldn't he leave things alone? He had broken my heart, and now he thought he could just pretend like nothing happened? Did he just want to be friends? Was I even capable of being friends with him? I turned up the radio to tune out the blaring of my own thoughts and began singing along with the song that played. I had almost cleared my head completely, almost reached a semi-peaceful state of mind when I glanced into my review mirror and gasped.

The black Mercedes was right behind me.
I tried to remain calm. I failed.
I gripped the steering wheel tightly and kept my eyes focused on the road, willing myself

not to look into my mirrors and see the car that was eerily close to me.
Is he following me? I panicked.
I turned down the first road that came along in the historic part of town I had to drive

through to get home. Maybe I could deter him or lead him to an area he wasn't familiar with so he would give up. Or maybe if I drove for a long time, he would get tired of following and leave.

Or maybe, my thoughts started. You're so paranoid that you think he's following you when he's really just on his way home.

A comforting thought, but I didn't believe it. Every time I took a sudden turn, no matter what the road was, the car followed. I wasn't going to lose him easily. To say I was getting freaked out would have been a massive understatement.

I took the next turn that came along and sped up, at least the fifth turn I had taken unnecessarily after I had spotted the black car. I passed rows of antique stores and cafes, none of which were even remotely on my way home. The Mercedes stayed close behind me no matter what. This was getting ridiculous.

Finally, my panic turned into anger.

Who does he think he is?

Whether it was with my better judgment or not, I pulled into a parking space along the side of the street. I was not surprised to watch the Mercedes pull up easily behind me. I shut off the engine of my car and threw the door open, stepping out angrily into the street. I couldn't even waste my energy trying to look intimidating – I couldn't scare a fly if I tried.

I watched as the Mercedes‟ door swung open and the beautiful boy from school stepped out gracefully, gently shutting the door behind him. He crossed behind his car to the sidewalk and waited for me, nodding his head as encouragement to join him. I stomped over to the

sidewalk and stood in front of him, staring up into his piercing, beautiful eyes, which smiled down at me.

"What are you doing?" I demanded, trying to sound strong, although his stare intimidated me, and I thought I heard my voice crack.

"I didn't get the chance to introduce myself today. It was terribly rude of me," he smiled. "I'm Owen Braxton."

I stared at him blankly, mouth open, head tilted – trying to understand his odd behavior. I pinched my eyes shut for half a second to gather my thoughts.

"You followed me here so you could introduce yourself to me?" I didn't know what else to say.

He shrugged, that perfect smile never leaving his lips, and replied, "Am I keeping you from doing something else?" His voice was silky, and it almost hurt my ears, it was so beautiful.

What a strange guy.

"Well, no," I looked around, confused. Cars rushed by us in the street as we stood there, awkwardly staring at each other. Finally, he shoved his hands into his pants pockets, but he didn't appear nervous. He took a deep breath.

"Look, I just thought it was rude that I didn't say anything to you today when I had the opportunity to. I just wanted to say hello and introduce myself." He looked straight into my eyes, and then his face changed. His expression became dark, almost pained. I quickly turned my head and looked somewhere off in the distance.

"Well, it's nice to meet you. My name's Callie." I looked back at him and he still stared at me with an odd expression. "Are you okay?" I asked after a moment of studying his face. He was starting to creep me out, the way he looked at my face as if it had been smeared with neon yellow paint.

He shook his head, seemingly collecting himself, and nodded quickly.

"Yes, sorry to bother you. I really should be going. I've taken up too much of your time as it is," he glanced up from the ground into my eyes once more. He suddenly looked nervous, shaken even. He turned away again and said, "I'll see you tomorrow at school," mumbling slightly.

And then he was gone.
Just like that, he swung himself into his car and pulled out into the street effortlessly, racing around a corner and disappearing. I stayed there and stared after him for a moment, then turned to look at the spot he had just stood, wondering what had made him flee.

He wanted to introduce himself to me?

I tried to think back to a time when a stranger had ever followed me halfway home, scaring me half to death, just to tell me their name. I came up blank. The only word that seemed to fit the description of that type of person was psychotic. But then my mind shifted gears as I recalled the smoldering smile that had quickly caused my anger to fade as soon as he had spoken.

Maybe he's just overly friendly?

Then I realized how odd the situation really was. How had he known what I wanted before I even knew? It hadn't crossed my mind during the entire course of the day that I wanted him to talk to me, yet now as I stood there, alone, on this strange sidewalk in the middle of town, I discovered how happy and relieved I was that I had met him. Unconventionally, of course, but now I knew his name, and he knew mine. Strange, however, that he had taken the initiative to meet me without so much as an invitation or acknowledgment from me before-hand. I slowly walked back to my car, piecing together exactly how I felt. My conclusion was that I was happy. I didn't understand why, but I left it at that. No questions. I hesitantly revved the engine and started towards home.

That night involved a lot of homework and a lot of thinking – both things I would have preferred to have skipped. I tried to focus on the massive amount of homework each teacher had sent home, but finally gave in to my desire to just lay on my bed and absorb the day's events. I said goodnight to my parents and Chris and closed my bedroom door, pulling the sheets down on my bed and curling up underneath them. As I settled against my pillow, my mind raced.

Today was weird, I thought.
Owen.
The name flashed through my mind. What a perfect name for him. He seemed so

mysterious, so beautiful, so perfect. I opened my eyes and rolled over. I tried to shake the thoughts from my head and pulled my blankets up to cover my face. Images of Owen's crystal eyes, tousled dark hair, and perfect slender body filled my mind. I could hear his velvety voice fill my ears even though it was silent in my room. I remembered how he had raced away so suddenly in town today, and I wondered what had happened.

Maybe he decided I'm not as pretty as he may have originally thought, I thought to myself, and with that I drifted off to sleep.