A/N: mmk… Here it is. So far, I've only got the frame story worked out, so… any thoughts, ideas, suggestions? You know what to do. Coughreviewcough Thanks for reading

The worn soles of my blue canvas sneakers offered little traction against the slippery water soaked stones. I did my best to keep up with the long strides of the brown-haired boy in front of me, hopping from rock to rock and praying under my breath I wouldn't fall. The water streamed smoothly past our rock trail, the browns and grays of the creek bottom visible through the gentle push of the current.

"Careful -- the next one's a little tricky," he called back as he deftly lept from one slippery surface to the next. "Uh huh. Sure," I nodded hesitantly, unconsciously tucking my tongue out of the corner of my mouth. Safe on the other bank, he turned around, watching me and waiting. I looked up, catching the teasing glint in his eyes, the tug of a mocking grin on his lips. Defiantly, I held my breath and jumped for the leaf-covered shore.

I landed butt first in the ice-cold water, jeans soaked and shoes water-logged. I looked to my companion, but he was doubled over, overcome with peals of laughter. Eventually he straightened up and saw the death stare I was shooting him.

With a rakish grin, he extended his tanned arm. "Need a hand?" he drawled condescendingly. "Not from you, you little bastard!" I shot back. "Me? Little?" he scoffed, a peacock strutting his tail feathers, drawing himself to his full, newly acquired stature of "six feet and three quarters inches." I pulled my hand back and splashed him cleanly in the face, then grabbed him around the ankles. He fell into the water with the yelp of a little girl, arms flailing wildly.

Within minutes we were both soaked, my black hair plastered to my head, his navy blue tee shirt suddenly skin tight, revealing his subtle muscle definition. Gleefully, I poked my best friend in the stomach. "Been working out?" I teased. A rosy flush spread across his cheeks, and I smiled, which soon turned into a shiver as a crisp autumn wind blew. "Are you okay?" he asked, a look of concern in his brown eyes. He reached out and wrapped his arm around my shoulder, gently massaging my chilled skin. It felt natural, comfortable, but, "I wouldn't be sitting here freezing my ass off if it weren't for you, park ranger boy." I quickly reached for the nearest rock and smoothly pulled myself out of the stream. "Now how do we get there?" I asked the soggy lump behind me. "Just follow the trail," he mumbled. Jeans dripping and shoes sloshing, confidently I continued the hike. I placed one foot in front of the next, not looking back to the source of almost all my teenage angst.

I remember when I first met him, in eighth grade, back when, at five foot seven; I was still taller than he. I walked into the school library, a stack of books for my English project precariously balanced in my hands. And, characteristically, proceeded to trip in the most dramatic, embarrassing way possible, falling flat on my face as the books flew in a thousand directions. Face flushed, I groaned, crawling around on my hands and knees to gather them up. "Want some help?" I looked up and my gaze met the most sensitive pair of brown eyes I'd ever seen. He reached out his hand. "Robin," he introduced himself. "I'm... a total klutz. And, my name's Yael," I responded as I shook his hand.

It wasn't until months later, as we sat on the blue striped rug on his living room floor, studying, that I asked him. "What kind of a name is Robin, anyway?" He looked at me reproachfully. "I'm named after Robin Hood."

"Yeah, right, Mr. Hood. Seriously." I challenged. He sighed, "Okay, well. I'm named after my grandfather. He died, like, right before I was born. But, his name never really suited me, so I go by my middle name."

"Wait, wait, wait! You go by Robin voluntarily? What was your grandpa's name? Doyle?"

I could hear a pounding of footsteps and the sounds of heaving breathing behind me. "Jeez, Yael. Where's the fire?" I did my best to ignore him, concentrating on my dirty shoelaces. "Yael?"

"Oy. I just want to get there. The faster we get to your dumb aunt's house, the faster I get warm, okay? Plus, honestly Hood, I don't want your one memory of this escapade to be me falling into a creek, 'kay? I don't know why I even agreed to do spring cleaning for some random lady I've never met. It's fall."

"Thanks. She's my aunt, remember? Besides, I only asked you because you're the one who spends days looking at old junk. You love history, remember?" I blushed. So, he was right, just because he knows me way too well doesn't prove anything.

Eventually, the trees began to thin; the trail widened. Scanning the clearing, I saw it, Robin's aunt's house. The old fashioned wooden porch was carpeted with dead leaves; paint was chipping off the wooden columns. Everything about the house looked as though it had seen better days, and that it belonged in the middle of suburbia, not some random forest.

"Your aunt lives here?"

"Well," he considered, "I think she used to? She travels a lot anyway. This was my grandparent's house. I think my mom just sent me so I'd get out of the house..."

"And, it's always been... here? You sure they didn't dig it out of some clean-cut, picket-fenced neighborhood and plop it down here?"

"Umm... Maybe," he muttered as he pulled the battered key from his back pocket. I gave him a funny look as he clicked the key into the old fashioned lock. With a push from his shoulder, Robin opened the door. Together we walked into the dusty darkness. I felt the wall for a light switch, and a flickering bulb light up the entryway, revealing the staircase. He turned to the right, leaning over his shoulder to ask, "So, where do you want to start first?" I stayed behind him, switching on lights.

I examined the pictures on the shelf of the living room. A red faced, brown haired baby in the arms of a tired but smiling mother. Two toddlers sitting on the steps we just passed, a girl posing with her blond haired dolly, the boy pulling on his sister's pigtail. At the sight of the next picture, I almost gasped, and grabbed it off the shelf to inspect it more closely. "What the hell? When'd you go to France, Robin? You're always complaining about how you've barely been out of the county. We were gonna go together. Why are you standing in front of the Eiffel Tower and what's with the funny hair cut?" And who's that gorgeous girl standing next to you, I asked myself. The girl standing next to him had her arms wrapped around his elbow. Her head was tilted back and she was laughing, her golden curls glinting in the Parisian sunlight. And there he was, looking at her with those brown eyes as though she were the only girl on the planet, the only woman in the universe. Who was she? How did she make him smile like that?

"Oy, Yael, you're insane. That's not me. Those are my grandparents, Phil and Keely Diffy."