****I haven't written for so long because of various trips interfering with my access to the computer lately. But I am writing now, so let's see where I'm going to take this story!
Bridget sat hunched over her cereal in her home's kitchen, at six o' clock in the morning on Saturday. She was awake all night last night much to the annoyance of her sister Florence, who had plans with her boyfriend all day today. Florence was only fifteen, but she acted like she was twenty, Bridget's other sister Ophelia, however, was a senior in high school (eighteen), and yet she acted like she was Bridget's age. Bridget scooped the small flakes of fruit flavored corn into her mouth, and sighed. She kept thinking about Oliver all night last night, and it caused her to lie wide awake in her bed, and when it turned six (the earliest time her parents would allow the children out of their rooms), Bridget got up, and walked downstairs for breakfast. Yesterday, she had yelled at Anthony Higgins, and had permanently landed herself in her clique, The Queso Carney Cult, alongside Nicole, Rosetta, Mike, Ike, Laura, Stella, James, and most importantly, Oliver. It was good she had landed there, and not alongside Morris, Lavender, and Oscar, mainly because she detested Lavender, and got the creeps around Oscar. Bridget's spoon hit the bottom of the cereal-less bowl, so Bridget lifted the bowl up to her mouth, and drank the remainder of the milk within it so as to not waste milk. Bridget got up from her chair, and shuffled to the sink bowl and spoon in hand, and set them down in it, and looking up from the window casually to see Rosetta swinging on her swings in her backyard, and James next to her, swinging in unison. Bridget grinned, turned around, and shuffled upstairs to her father's library, which was enormous, and filled to the brim with wonderful and classic books to read. Bridget used to spend many hours in here when she was still home schooled, and would do nothing but read all day stopping only to relieve herself, and eat, it was one of the reasons her parents decided to send her and her brother to public school, to have them develop "social skills". Bridget fingered the worn spines of the books as she walked, smiling as she remembered each of the stories the books contained. Bridget stopped walking when she got to the door of the room again. Not really in the mood for reading this early in the morning Bridget left the library, and walked into the hallway. Her dreamy state was interrupted by a quiet knock on the front door, thinking it odd for someone to be here early, and not wanting to see who was at the door when she had opened it, Bridget walked to the window at the end of the hall that overlooked the roofless front porch below. Taking a cautious peek over the window frame, Bridget saw an all too familiar head of curly black hair. How did Oliver find out where she lived? "No time for questions," Bridget thought, as she quickly walked down the stairs, smoothing down her currently messy hair, "Oliver Callahan is at your front door, at the crack of dawn, and you're going to answer this door right now!" thought Bridget to her already sweaty self. Slowly, Bridget opened the door, peeking only her eye out and seeing a smiling Oliver. Blushing a bit, Bridget opened the door wider, only poking her head out. "What brings you here to my humble home?" asked Bridget who grinned widely at Oliver, who seemed to be dripping with sweat. "Well um, I um… I er… I just wanted to… to tell you that um… I-I-I-I-I-I- r-r-really th-th-think that y-y-you are j-j-just," Oliver said, stuttering terribly, the stutter he thought he outgrew had returned seeing Bridget in the morning light. He was terrified of admitting he liked Bridget and wanted to quickly leave. "H-H-here," Oliver said beckoning towards Bridget with a small bouquet of flowers, "I-I-I g-g-got th-th-these f-f-for y-y-you." Bridget extended her hand out the door, opening it wider, and eventually she stepped fully out, ratty t-shirt, sweats, and all. Oliver quickly placed the bouquet in her hands, and with a meek smile, turned and ran away, down the street to Bridget's bewilderment. Shrugging, Bridget looked at the flowers and gasped, as she slowly recognized the meanings of each one. Oliver must have raided someone's garden, or happened upon a florist's freshly dumped out, but still good flowers, because they were lovely. There was Jonquil, a purple lilac, a moonflower, a gardenia, and most importantly, a single, beautiful, thorn less rose. Bridget blushed deeply, and looked towards the end of the street, and saw Oliver still standing on the corner. Bridget smiled, lifted the flowers to her nose, and inhaled the flowers' lovely scent. She turned to the bench her mother had placed on the porch years before, and quickly setting down the bouquet, Bridget turned and ran the whole way to the corner, and nearly slammed into Oliver. She pulled him into a firm hug, and looked up at him for a brief second before his mouth made contact with her's and Bridget's whole world caught fire. The pair broke apart, blushing, said a quick goodbye, and parted ways. Things were never going to be the same again.