A/N: Wow, I got this chapter up fairly quickly, considering my usual update speed. Anyway, thanks to everyone who's been reading so far, and I hope you like my second installment (it's a bit longer, too). As always, happy reading!

Eating within the mall seemed to make the most sense, so I decided to dine at the infamous Burger McFlipster's. Apparently, the employees are required to sing while filling your order, so I decided to check it out. Shirley, the girl covering the next shift at the Slush Shop, told me the one guy was cute, too, so it couldn't be that bad. Besides, I was really in the mood for a burger.

I left my apron behind the counter at the Slush Shop, so I finally got the chance to walk around without being called Mariquita. The hot pink was a bit bright for my tastes, anyway; I much preferred my dark green, shoulder-less, long-sleeved sweater and plaid miniskirt. Darker colors tend to attract less attention, and I'm not exactly a huge fan of the spotlight. Dark green's also my favorite color, as it's very comforting, easy on the eyes, and just plain serene.

Anyway, back to the story. Burger McFlipster's is quite an interesting venue, with glossy metal and a color scheme reminiscent of the 1950's. The burgers' aroma filled the restaurant to the brim and leaked out into the hall, which wasn't a bad thing; it smelled really good. My mouth was watering before I'd even stepped a foot inside the place. Oh, and the cute guy behind the counter didn't hurt, either.

His hair was curly and poofy, and it looked really soft. In fact, I almost started to wonder if he needed to use a pillow at night; I was sure his hair would give enough cushioning. I couldn't see all of his hair, though; it was pushed down slightly and stuck out from beneath his uniform's green, white, and red baseball cap. The rest of his uniform used the same colors, but at least it wasn't as embarrassing as wearing a bright pink apron with a neon blue slushie embroidered on it.

"What can I get you?" He gave me an easy, friendly smile, which was quite a relieving change from Jonesy's bedroom eyes.

"Just your standard burger and fries. Oh, and a chocolate milkshake," I said with a grin. Man, was it nice being off from work.

"Coming right up." His grin broadened, and when he turned to get my order, I could've sworn I'd seen him somewhere before. I know that probably sounds impossible, considering I just got done saying I'd never been to Canada before. But he just looked so familiar . . . I knew him somehow, I was sure of it.

It hit me after he got done singing the required song about my burger. Normally, a song about food would probably sound really silly, but he had a really nice voice (I probably could've stood there and listened to him sing all day). Then, right as I was daydreaming about missing a few more hours of work to listen to another burger song, Burger McFlipster's manager came out and said the guy's name.

"Wyatt, can I see you for a moment?"

That was it. It all made sense now.

I waited until they were done talking to ask. "Excuse me, but did he say your name's Wyatt?"

"Yeah." He spoke slowly and gave me a confused look. "Why?"

"I know this is going to sound really strange, but . . . did you happen to have a pen pal in the seventh grade?" I fought the urge to stare at my feet in embarrassment, just in case I was on to something.

To my relief, I was. "Actually, yeah. We still write to each other."

"Is there any possibility that she knows what you look like?"

"Well, she should. We sent photographs of ourselves to each other." He shook his head and arched a dubious eyebrow. "Wait a minute, who are you again?"

I ignored the question and continued with my own inquiries. "Is her name Marisol?"

He stared at me for a moment before continuing. "Yeah. How did you . . .?"

I tried to stifle the giddy giggle welling up in my throat. "When I said we might see each other when I came up here for that summer study program, I didn't think that would actually happen."

His face lit up instantly. "Marisol? Wow, this is amazing!"

"Tell me about it." I looked around to find that the manager was giving me the stink eye. "Sorry, I don't want to hold you up while you're supposed to be working."

"It's cool. I have a break coming up soon, then we can talk." He pushed the tray with my burger, fries, and chocolate shake across the counter and closer to me. "In the meantime, you should eat."

After Wyatt got off from work, we found a bench near the food court and had a good, long chat. We discussed practically everything we'd ever covered in the letters, as well as a few things we'd never mentioned to each other. I was glad to hear Wyatt was still playing the guitar and excited to know that he'd already won a contest for his musical talent. He showed me his tattoo of an eighth note on his arm, and I showed him the one I'd gotten of a heart on my wrist a while back when I'd been going through my "rebellious" stage. That's what my mother had called it, anyway, but I'd really just wanted a tattoo. It's not like it was even that big, but she blew it all out of proportion, as usual.

Thankfully, his voice interrupted my thoughts before I'd had a chance to get too angry over the memories. "So, how's that study program going?"

"Pretty well so far. If I'm lucky enough, I might be able to go to school up here when it starts in September, too." I sighed. "I have to pass this test first, though. It's, like, three hours long, and I heard it's really tough."

"Well, you were smart enough to pass the preliminary exams, and people told you they were hard, too," he reminded me with a smile. "I'm sure you'll be fine."

I relaxed my shoulders and let out a laugh. "I can't believe I'm actually talking to you in person. This is going to sound weird, but I always wondered if you had, like, a really deep voice like some of those Motown singers, or if your voice was kind of high pitched, like that guy from Coheed and Cambria. Luckily, your voice is normal."

We talked a bit more before he asked that fateful question. "So, have you managed to make any friends yet? It must be hard moving to an entirely different country."

"Actually, it's not that bad. I mean, you all speak English, so at least there's no language barrier." Then, I angled my eyes down to my feet. "As far as the 'friends' thing goes, though, I haven't really been that successful. I'm not exactly the most outgoing person in the world . . . or in my family, for that matter."

"How much longer is your break?"

I opened the clock-locket around my neck. "I have about a half-hour left before my shift starts."

"Well, then, there are a few people you should probably meet." He stood up from the bench we'd been sitting at for the past fifteen minutes and starting walking off in an obscure direction. When I didn't follow, he looked back and motioned for me to join him. "Come on, let's go."

Once I saw the busload of people sitting at the Big Squeeze, I became especially apprehensive about walking over and introducing myself. I ducked behind one of the fake trees decorating the mall's otherwise empty corners, perfectly willing to wait there while Wyatt explained who I was and how we'd met. I peeked out occasionally to get a better look at his friends—there were quite a few, even though some were apparently still at work—and recognized one as the guy who'd solicited my phone number at work earlier. If I had any idea that Jonesy and Wyatt were friends, I probably would've thought twice about giving out my number so easily.

Just when I thought he'd forgotten about me, Wyatt noticed I was gone and came back for me. He gave me a curious smile and cocked his head slightly to the side. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, just chillin' behind this plant. I think it's a fichus."

"Come on. I've already given you a whole introduction; all you have to do is walk over there." He extended a hand to help me get back on my feet. I declined the offer.

"I appreciate the effort, but I think I'll just sit here a while longer. The floor is more comfortable than I thought it'd be."

He was determined. "They aren't going to bite. Besides, how do you ever expect to make friends sitting behind a fichus? Now, come on."

"Any chance you'll just give up?" He shook his head, to which I promptly sighed. I hesitantly took his hand and headed over to the swarm of Canadian teenagers, unsure of what to expect.

"Hey there, babe. Have you come to a decision concerning our date yet?" A familiar blue-haired flirt asked me once I'd approached the group. He was sitting with the rest of Wyatt's friends, slouching against one of the chairs assembled around the circular table.

Well, I guess I should've expected that much.

"You two know each other?" For some reason, Wyatt seemed a bit disappointed.

"Yeah, we've met." To say the least.

"Your name's . . . Mariquita." Jonesy had his phone out and looked to be scrolling through his contacts. He looked up. "Hey, you know that means 'ladybug,' right?"

"Yeah, I know. But, um, my name's actually Marisol." He just stared, so I shrugged my shoulders. "The person in charge of making the name tags has a bit of a spelling problem."

He laughed. "No, I think I'll still call you Mariquita. It's kind of cute."

I sighed in defeat, and thankfully, Wyatt took over. "Anyway, Marisol just moved here from the U.S., and I wanted to introduce her to you guys so she'd know at least a few people around here. I'll have to talk to Nikki, Jen, and Jude later."

"So, you've been writing letters to Wyatt since you were in the seventh grade? Oh, my name's Caitlin, by the way."

I looked to see the girl behind the counter at the Big Squeeze was waiting for my response. She had short blonde hair clipped up with a pink butterfly pin, and her wardrobe consisted of a gigantic lemon on her head, a pink tank top, and a blue miniskirt.

Her smile was inviting enough, but I was still feeling a little anxious, so I just nodded as an answer to her previous question.

"Wow. It must be great seeing each other for the first time." She leant against the counter with her elbows, a dreamy look in her eyes. "I wish I had a pen pal."

"Yeah. If I had any idea mine could've been as hot as yours, I would've kept writing to her," Jonesy commented to Wyatt.

Before I had a chance to roll my eyes, I felt the hard mall floor collide with the back of my head. Extra weight began to press down against my ribs, stomach, and thighs. Judging by the hot breath being blown in my face, I was certain someone had fallen on me. When the person started to get up, I was able to catch a glimpse of his face.

It looked like he had blonde hair, though most of it was hidden beneath a black beanie. He wore a black, long-sleeved shirt under a pale, greenish-white t-shirt, along with blue-jean shorts that hung precariously on his waist. I could see the very top of his boxers, too, but that wasn't what caught my attention.

His eyes were barely half open, but they were the most amazing color. It reminded me of our annual family vacation to Puerto Rico, when I'd stand at the edge of the beach with my feet in the wet sand. The sunshine would beat down on my naturally tan skin, adding highlights to my dark hair and kissing my back with its warm rays. The refreshing smell of salt water and the soothing caresses of a tropical sea breeze would pervade my senses, but even more captivating would be the water. You see, back in New Jersey, the water is a murky brown at best. But in Puerto Rico, it's a brilliant, beautiful, almost ethereal blue, a color unlike anything I've ever seen before . . . and it was right in his eyes.

I could've stared into those irises forever. Knowing me, I probably would have, if he hadn't spoken and brought me back to the present. "Sorry 'bout that, bra. Are you all right?"

I could feel my face getting hot as I remembered what I'd just been thinking. "Uh, yeah. I'm fine."

"Dude, it's a good thing I took a shower this morning, or that would've been really awkward." He got to his feet and let out an airy laugh that sounded like it was being played in slow motion. In fact, even the way he carried himself had a mellow, slowed-down pace to it. He backtracked a few feet to find his skateboard lying upside-down on the ground with its wheels still spinning. Well, at least now I knew how the whole crash happened.

I stood up and turned my focus to Wyatt, who looked mortified. "I'm so sorry, Marisol," he said in the most apologetic tone I'd ever heard. I half-expected his eyes to start welling up with tears.

"It's okay, really. Compared to most people, I'm unusually accident-prone." I opened the locket around my neck to check the time. "I need to get going, though. I'll see you later."

They each said their goodbyes, which also consisted of Caitlin insisting I stop by whenever I was in the mood for a lemonade and Wyatt apologizing for his friend's clumsiness a second time. Then, with a slight headache and lighter heart, I headed back to work.

My head still hurt a little from the fall when I got home, but overall, I'd say I felt pretty good about my first day working at the mall. I'd already managed to make a few friends, so my mom would be a bit relieved when I called her later. Zac would be happy, too, though he insisted he meet any guy friends before our friendships went much further. All things considered, it was just another normal day. Maybe this mall thing wouldn't be so bad after all.

Anyway, I would write more, but I need to start working on my pre-calculus homework. The unit circle—along with my trusty friend, Mr. Graphing Calculator—is calling me, and even though everything looks like it's written in Greek, I must attend to it. I'm getting kind of tired, too, so . . . until next time.