I remember my first love. She didn't know I was in love with her, but hey I was a little kid back then. The first time I saw her she had a bagel in one hand, a bottle of water in the other, and she was riding a skateboard like it was part of her. Of course I stared at her like everyone else in the block but back then I was barely entering puberty, so when an odd feeling struck my chest I was confused.

All through middle school and high school I snuck peeks at her whenever I could. When girls came up to me and attempted to flirt with me, I brushed them off. One girl had caught my eye and I wasn't letting go any time soon. I never got the courage to talk to her though. All I knew is that I was silently rooting for her when she ran for president, homecoming queen, valedictorian, you get my point. Finally college came and I was stuck going to law school studying to be a lawyer while she went off to study music in Julliard. All this years and the only thing I had ever said to her was good morning. Yes I know I was a coward, and frankly I still am.

I need a job I thought to myself while swerving around people with my very old but trusty skateboard. You might think that a girl who has her PHD in music could get a half decent job. You're right, a normal girl, but I'm not a normal girl. I came to America when I was fourteen. What does that mean? It means I'm an illegal immigrant. Everyone knows that you have to be an American citizen to get a job these days. If only I was born here, I wouldn't have these problems that most people don't worry about.

I stop at the unemployment agency and look over a brochure. When I find out that I have to bring my birth certificate I leave. How have I managed to survive this long? Good question, the answer is construction worker, farmer, and newspaper seller. Pretty boring, low paying jobs, and they don't last long. The reason for that is because when the manager sees you paying everything with cash instead of a credit card, or they see you buying a real book instead of an E-book they ask to see your U.S identification card. Once they do that I have to pack everything I have and move to another town if not another state. My whole life has been work, run, live and for what? A better life like people way back then promised us? Oh please that was a long time ago before President what's his name made everyone scared of the immigrants. It was like the holocaust all over again only this time they didn't kill us they just kicked us out of the U.S to our normal countries. No money, no clothes people literally had to start from scratch. I of course was smart enough to leave where I was, change my name, my orientation and even my gender. No I did not have a sex change I simply started dressing like a guy.

"Move out of the way" I yell when I realize that I'm heading straight for a guy that randomly popped out of nowhere. I'm going at such a fast speed that when I stick my foot out I flip in the air and go flying. When I land a sharp pain goes through my wrist and ankle. Knowing this pain as a sprain I groan. Not again my other ankle barely healed a week ago. I stand up, grab my skate board and awkwardly limp to the side of the sidewalk. When I sit down I grab my backpack that contains my first aid kit.

I wrap my wrist first and when I start wrapping my ankle I realize that someone is sitting next to me watching me.

"Sorry about that," He says. I nod my forgiveness and continue to wrap my ankle. When he doesn't leave I stare at him.

"Do you need something?" I ask. Is he going to sue me for wrecking something? I look at him closely and find out that this guy is dirty rich. His shoes, glasses, hairstyle, shirt, jeans and watch say it all. I feel almost embarrassed wearing only jeans and a muscle shirt.

"Are you okay? Do you need a ride home or something? What can I do to help?" He looks truly worried and I raise an eyebrow.

"Can you help me find a job and a place to stay? I'm new around here so I sort of need help" Why am I telling this man what I need? Rule number one for immigrants is don't trust anybody, or is that rule number two? Whatever, maybe he can help me. By the look on his face I can tell he's thinking.

"I can solve both problems? What do you feel about being a live in house keeper? I know you'll probably say no because men don't clean, but think about it. It'll solve your problem and my problem." His problem, how does it solve his problem? What is his problem? I repeat this question out loud. "I need a house keeper and all the past ones I've had have fallen in love with my money, and me. So having a guy hopefully will solve this problem." I almost laugh when he says that since he has no idea, but hey money is money, and shelter is shelter. Even if it will hurt my "man" ego I'll do it.

"Okay, I'll take the job."

"Great, do you want to pick up your stuff now or later?"

"What stuff?" I ask truly confused then it dawns on me. He thinks I have other stuff other than my back pack. Rule number three for immigrants; travel lightly so you'll be ready to run when needed. So far that rule has not been broken. "This is the only stuff I have." I say shrugging trying to make it sound like it's not a big deal, but by the look on his face, which is horrified, I can tell it is.

"You're that poor?"

"I'm not poor. I'm the richest person in the world." I stand up and wince from the pain.

"You need help?" He asks. Before I can say no, he has his hand around my waist. I protest a bit, but he doesn't budge, he just keeps on walking. I give up and just look at him. Why does he look so familiar? It's as if I've seen him before. No impossible, he probably just looks like someone I've met before.

"What's your name?" Hey I just agreed to work for someone whose name I don't know. Jeez am I stupid.

"Mick, how about you," Rule number four for immigrants, never use the same name twice. So far making names up randomly has helped a lot, but I can't think of anything right now. Joe, Adam, Arnold, Arthur, Art, Art sounds good.

"Art," I answer. After that there's an awkward silence. "'So, um what do you do for a living," I ask randomly.

"I'm a… that's my house," He stops and points at a bright red brick house. My jaw drops in disbelief. The house is big, homey looking, and expensive. How can this guy afford it? How can he live in it all by himself… maybe he has a family. Yea that must be it.

"Wow…You're family is lucky to have such… um a big house?" Wow I suck at this! Mick doesn't seem to notice though so I go on. "Where are they?" He looks a bit stone faced for a moment. When he snaps out of it he just smiles.

"I bought this house with the intention of having kids, but…" He doesn't continue so I nudge his shoulder.

"But… what, you can tell me after all I am your house keeper" He stops walking forcing me to stop right along with him. He looks at me with a pair of green eyes that look like grass during springtime. Why do they look so familiar? Where have I met him before? Do I even know him? All these questions are running through my mind and sadly I don't have an answer to any of them.

"The right girl never came along… Well she did once when I was in middle school and high school, but I was a coward and never talked to her." I nodded in understanding, I knew exactly how he felt, only it wasn't that I couldn't talk to him because I was a coward but because I'm an immigrant. If I got caught and thrown out of the country so would my boyfriend. That's how it works these days.

"That's okay if she was your soul mate she'll come back. If she wasn't then it just wasn't meant to be." I loosen his arm from my waist and start limping towards the house. I'm excited to finally have a look inside a rich American house. I know that sounds a bit weird, but I'm lucky if I can even sleep in a mattress at night. I turn around and smile at him. "Well come on, don't you want to give me a tour of the house?"