Please note that this is the first draft of my story. It has not been professionally edted, editeed, edated, edited or profreed, prufred, proofread, pureed.

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Some take a piece from the Pie of Common Sense but it looks like this guy just got crumbs.

I stared at the vandalism that was crudely written on the wall behind my school. A rough sketch of a guy's face was beside the text, with the name CARL written under it. I kept reading.

Just chuck it in the fυck bucket and move on. Simple.

Excellent life advice. Now, if I could just buy a bucket, then I'd be set.

The sun was almost back in its bed, like a mother who had a long work day. The moon, like a child who wanted to sneak out and play, peeked out from behind the clouds.

I wasn't planning on hiking up the trail today so I was wearing my maxi dress. I only had two of these in my closet, and getting one ripped up wasn't the best idea. Lifting my long dark brown hair off my neck, I let the cool breeze touch my skin, then I trudged my way to that lovely spot I found behind the school grounds.

It was a small clearing surrounded by tall majestic trees that seemed to lean close to it like soldiers, protecting it from passers-by such as myself. Patches of grass and a sprinkling of flowers decorated its grounds, bringing with it the fresh smell of earth. And blessed, blessed peace.

No one knew about the spot as far as I was concerned. I had been going here for a few months and I hadn't seen a soul.

I dropped my bag, smiling as I unceremoniously plopped on the ground, took a deep breath and stretched my arms up. Bending my legs close to my chest, I rested my cheek on my knees, content.

"Don't move."

The voice, so quiet and commanding, had my eyes opening wide in alarm.

A guy crouched a few feet away from where I was sitting, sketching on a notepad almost furiously and impatiently.

"I said, don't move."

I froze.

His eyes, so, so blue, concentrated on my face, as if memorizing each of my features.

A lock of dark hair fell over his eye, and he impatiently brushed it away.

I had no idea why I didn't move, except that his gaze, so intense, so focused on my face held me immobile.

It made me blush. No one had ever looked at me that way before.

The scratchy sound of charcoal on paper comforted me, as it always did.

I studied him as he studied me. He kept his solitude close to his side, like a shield, or a sword. There was an aloofness to him, but it only made me curious instead of keeping me away.

He was absurdly handsome. His face was angelic, with sharp cheekbones, strong nose and unforgiving mouth. I wanted to see it up close, wondering if I was dreaming.

It wouldn't be the first time. My imagination had no bounds.

After a few moments, he carefully laid his notepad and charcoal on the ground, rolled his shoulders. Closing his eyes, he laced his fingers together and stretched his arms above his head, moving his neck from side to side.

There was an animalistic grace in the way he moved that held me entranced.

When he opened his eyes, I was struck again by how blue his eyes were.

"Thank you," he whispered. His voice was deep and smooth, like warm cream poured over black coffee.

And then he turned his back and walked away.