Something unexplainable was calling in the back of Matt's head as he cruised his black BMW beauty down his street toward his home after dance practice, the tunes of K-Rock flowing softly over his eardrums and the interior of the car. The sun was settling for a deserved rest behind its blanket of a dark horizon, having warmed up the earth to an immaculate 80 degrees that September day. Matt was happy to break out his summer clothes one more time, but his leather jacket was missed having not seen the mystery girl since their first encounter last week. I guess it's an eye for an eye; the girl's slipper still layed untouched in his bedroom like a precious shrine, waiting for Matt to return it to its rightful owner. The voice echoing in his head, like some little person living in the cavern of his ear, surviving on his ear wax and spoken words, told him to go to the lake that night, that hour, that moment. Matt never paid attention to his subconcious; his thought the mind knew better than mixed emotions; how wrong he was.

He made the left and carefully drove up his driveway, thrusting the car into a slapdash 'Park' and running up the grey cobble steps to the house, opening the door with the grip of Superman. The picturesque setting of David, Lynn and his father enjoying a quiet dinner came into his field of vision, the 3 of them displaying startled faces at his clumsy, rowdy entrance.

"Well," Lynn replied, her hand still clutched at her collar bone with shaken nerves. "Honey...You startled us." Matt shrugged as he proceeded quickly to the stairs.

"Don't you want dinner, son?" His father, Mike called to him, his fork deeply embedded in creamy garlic mashed potatoes, the smell driving Matt's tastebuds wild.

"I already ate," Matt shouted back, resisting the temptation of wasting time and arriving at the base of his door. He flicked on the light switch and went straight for the cloud slipper, it slightly covered by his unexplainable reoccuring lazy tactic of putting away clothes. He reached down and extricated the slipper from the growing blob of shirts feeding off of Matt's slothy character. With his key to unlocking the mystery building up between him and the girl held securely in his hands, he zoomed down the oak stairs and to the back door, hoping not too many seconds have been thrown away that he will miss his chance.........

Alana meshed the leather jacket around her hands, regretting that she had to give it back. It was so warm and comforting, the aura of it something like a sedative, calming her nerves. She sprawled the jacket over her black capri pants and rested her black flashlight on top, the light barely enhancing the abyss of dusky woods, the trees snarling at her with sharp branches. She suddenly felt very cold, the thin material of her light blue spring jacket barely adequate guard against the chilling night, and very vulnerable. What was she doing? She escaped once again to parade through the woods because her instincts told her to go see a stranger she knew would be there. Just to return the faceless guy's jacket he kindly lent her to fend off the cold and possibly getting hacked up in the process? What was she thinking? This wasn't some horror movie cliche. This guy seemed just like her, alone, scared, confused, and lonely.

Speckles of lights fluttered above the already fixed headlight of her flashlight. Her heart began to hammer up into her throat, swallowing the sudden rush of fear down an impossible possibility. She whipped around to who she assumed, prayed, was the boy from last week, the unknown guy's flashlight the only indication he wasn't a mirage because of her rattled sleeping inhabitions. Fearing for her safety and grasping her flashlight in her hand like a club, she slowly turned the light on him, his blue eyes squinting against the light's magnitude. "Truce!" Matt yelled jokingly, waving his hand in front of him to shield his eyes from being burned like toast. Alana sighed thankfully, aiming the flashlight higher above Matt's head, slivers of light spearing off against the grain and brightening up his face.

"You startled me," Alana admitted breathlessly, rising shakily from the log and peering at the stranger. He looked clean cut, obedient, blond hair whisping by his blue eyes, nice adidas track pants clinging to his medium frame like they were washed in static, a shy smile coupled with thin lips.

"I'm sorry..." Matt began, leaning a little closer in hope she would get the hint and give him her name.

"I am Alana," Alana informed him, taking almost a frog leap over the mossy log, offering her right hand to the stranger and her left hand to her hip. She raised her chin slightly, her unique eyes barely dialating, lingering for a responce to her belevolent gesture.

"Matt," Matt replied, wrapping his hands around her outstretched fingers awkwardly and shaking them. The corner of her mouth rose negligibly as he let go. He suddenly lost his tracks in the Bahamian seas of her eyes, not able to grapple for a map, a boat or words. "You...uhh," he started, his hand with the slipper clutched in it lifting to her face, "left this behind."

"Oh," she replied high-pitched, the thought that her slipper fell off in mid-flee last week bobbling out of her mind. She cupped her hands over his, a tingling sensation diffusing through their hands like sweet magic. She tugged the slipper from his grasp, running her dainty fingers over the plush material. "It was sweet for you to return it," she informed him, petting the slipper like a pet and gazing into his eyes. "I inadvertantly stole this," Alana admitted sheepishly, holding out his jacket in her right hand. He smiled, taking it from her graciously and slipping it over his navy Reebok sweatshirt, his body looking like a chemically inbalanced marshmellow.

"Thank you," he replied, walking in large strides over the mossy sweage of the ground to the log, sitting down on the decaying log and peering up into the sparkling dark blue sky. Alana looked through him curiously, looked through his unsure composure and character, trying to decipher her best judgement about this guy, Matt. He looked sweet and innocent, his eyes trying to find the truth in the constellations dotting the sky. She decided to stay; a wise decision.

"Are you gonna sit down?" Matt called over his shoulder awkwardly. Her feet carefully crawled over the wetness of the ground and sat gently next to Matt, her frail hands cradeling her position. That night, they both jumped a rocket to the stars, an unforgettable, releasing journey for the troubled, fueled by wonder and amazement about each other and the world surrounding them. Their worries were left at the lake, drowning in reality and sticky mud, millions of miles from their hearts and smiles. They stopped at the milky way, taking a short break for chocolate moonpies and frosty milk before heading to the moon. They sat on a crater, gazing at the marble of the earth holding up the sky, discussing whatever popped up in conversation, nothing upsetting or draining. It was different between them than other "star-crossed lovers"; they actually crossed the stars, the stars of varied paths, mentally crippling situations and unforseen futures.

In the dim lighting of the night, Matt admired every thing about her; her voice, her beautiful eyes, her high cheekbones, her mind. His problems were buried in the cold ground with the deceased when they were together, only to be resurfaced by the reprehensible punishment of his mother when she finds him sneaking in at 12:30AM. It was a relief that not every one leads "Beaver Cleaver" lifestyles, that problems ail everyone, including beautiful blond girls.

Alana smiled deep inside her soul, at the core of her being at the way Matt listens to her, unlike her deaf, unconcious mother. When he's deep in thought, he rests his chin on his palms, his eyebrows come to a point a few inches above his nose and his eyes bore through hers, trying to read her thoughts before she could speak them.

"So what do you like to do for fun?" Matt asked in an attempt to find out more about this girl who walked abruptly and thankfully into his life, tugging on his pant leg caught in the grip of a sticker bush.

"My favorite hobby is drawing," Alana

confessed, rubbing her hands on her knees, her eyes skidding about the surroundings like moths flutter around a light. She could notice something different every time she came, something beautiful, something wondrous, something pure. "It makes me feel as if I'm in control of something, something I can only make."

"That's cool," Matt smiled, admiring her honestly and intellict, watching the moonlight dance across the ripples and lilypads of the lake. The rythums of sleeping children and snoring birds reverberated off the thick trees and circled them feverishly. "When I have the time, I like to listen to music and play Lacrosse."

"Really?" Alana enquired, her eyebrows raising as she itched a tingle spasing in the corner of her mouth with her finger. "I played Lacrosse back in Leichtenstein for quite a few years."

"What position?" Matt asked, surprised that such a small girl played such a violent, enduring sport. His arms reached for the moon to stretch the stress from his back as he waited.

"1st Home," Alana said proudly, her eyes frosty with the sweet memories flooding her mind. "I was the MVP of my hometown's team." Alana's face drastically fell and her eyes saddened, in disbelief that those memories would now be few and far between.

Matt didn't want to get into why she became so sad with the mention of her home. Maybe it was because she missed it terribly, which was understandable, but there was something in her voice, some streak of resentment and regret that clued Matt in that her misery had to be deeper than homesickness. The distant chime of "11" rang through the forest from the clocktower in town like a cold wind, alerting them to the time they were unaware of in their profound conversation.

"It's 11 o'clock already?" Alana wondered aloud skeptically, peering down at the flouresent face of her watch. Her heart sank to her churning stomach when her watch coincided with the chimes.

"I better get going anyway," Matt said regrettingly, 3 hours flying by without looking back. "I didn't tell my parents where I was going."

"My mother, I never tell," Alana whispered nearly inaudiably, rising from the log and wrapping her arms around her chest like she a sheild, like she was utterly alone in an inhumane, relentless world, her back to Matt as her eyes scowered the only place where she could salvage serenity. "She never cares."

"What was that?" Matt asked concerned, instantly by her side, his face hovering by hers, his hands sensually placed on her shoulders in an effort to comfort, their breath mingling together with the sounds of bullfrogs and soothing silence. Alana peered over her shoulder at him, their eyes centimeters apart, and their lips closer. What could happen under the midnight moon and cupid's spell?