“I won’t pretend,” he said, “that this is an accident. Senior year started with a whimper. She was young and bright, little to no make-up except for lip-gloss, long, straight, glossy reddish blonde hair slightly past her shoulders. Eyebrows knitting, she looked towards the ground a few feet away from him, guiltily. She felt very awkward as she stared at 103 the top of his ashen hair. I believe that I have heard my sister speak of you. Upon what this instinct was based she could not say; she was conscious only of its insistence.
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