A/N: This is the 'forgotten" chapter. i forgot to lao it, so count it a a sort of bonus to my loyal readers. I'm gonna be adding a special chapter for my readers, as well as fix grammar and spelling errors. Be sure to check back often for the bonus chapter coming up. (hint hint; Ron and Danny will get to meet a certain Colonel)

"Veronica, I really think you have talent. I wouldn't be asking you to do this if I didn't think you had any." Miss Wheaton, her English teacher, said.

"Do what?" Ron asked, brushing a stray curl aside.

"Enter this contest. It's a national novel writing contest for high school students. The grand prize is having your novel published."

Ron gaped. "Published? Wow!" Her dream. To have people all over the world read what she'd written. A near miracle, it seemed to her. "I'll do it. When does it have to be sent, and where?"



Miss Wheaton smiled. "I thought you'd be up to it. It has to be done by December 31st. Here's the address. Good luck, Veronica. If you want an editor, I'd love to read and comment."

"Thanks, Miss Wheaton. Thank you so much!" Ron's gears were already turning. A story about a pilot? A lost girl? A traveler? A family? Possibilities ran through her head, eager and alive.





She decided on the story of the family. There would be the father, strong and helpful. And the mother, lively and cheerful. The eldest daughter, bubbly and popular. Then the younger daughter, quiet and moody. A few problems; problems were normal, but nothing serious. No best friend of the father's dead. No ex-lover of the mother's, killed in war.

Ron wrote and wrote. Hours at an end, day after day, her mother, or her father, or Danny, would find her sitting on a protruding boulder in the middle of the creek. Or in the middle of the meadow, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of grass. Or next to Daniel's grave. Or in the hanger. Anywhere and everywhere. Writing.

And then it stopped coming. Whenever she reread, what had seemed like a masterpiece only moments ago, would become a family so normal, so perfectly normal, that it was creepy. The ideal problems, the idea solutions. Ideal this, ideal that. Crap.



And that's when she started over. Rose from the ashes.

She was bored, looking for ideas and inspirations when she stumbled upon an old cardboard box with old essays and stories. And she found it. Inspiration. Her novel had laid buried under a few layers of dust, under her bed, the whole time!

The family history she had written in eight grade! It was perfect. She had living breathing resources under her own roof. How stupid of her to forget! To forget a war; and it's leftovers.

She called it A War Story. It was. It was a war story. It was a love story. It was a story of findings. A story of shattered hopes. But most of all, a story of loss.



"Pray for me Danny, pray for me. And wish me luck." She whispered to herself as she dropped the package into the mailbox.

Her old friend. She still spoke to him. In her mind now, not aloud. In the meadow. Or next to his grave. Or near the creek. Or, in the air. Whenever her brother or her father took her up, that is. She never did fly alone. She had her try at it, the summer she turned nine. But it was . . . too . . .scary for her. To be in charge of something so powerful. She preferred the passenger side.

Of the airplane, that is. She took full control of everything else in her life. Or, at least, she tried to. She was successful, mostly. But things backfired sometimes. They did for everyone, not just Ron. Or, Veronica, as she was better known that year (her junior year in high school).

But to one angel, who always listened, she would always remain the outspoken, long-legged, lanky, tanned and freckled little girl.

To another, a person, she remained his angel, loyal and adventurous, with Ev's big hazel eyes and her own honey colored curls. Just Ron.




A/N: Hope everything makes more sense now! Sorry for the confusion!