Matt drove his car to the fork in the road, a fork in the road that many have talked about but few have ever seen or experienced, one path leading down his street, a street where success, hardwork, injury, and sacrafices were every day dialogue between neighbors at the breakfast table, their bland routine of munching on morning toast buttered with rich expectations very overrated. To the left, there lived a magical, surreal girl, as troubled as him, locked inside comformity and her prison, holding onto Matt for dear life and sanity. His smile lifted toward the star-dusted sky as the moon filled his gaze, a beautiful cresent overlooking their fairytale of a whirlwind romance. He slowed the car to a stop and stepped out, his heart racing faster than the beat of a tribal drum at the evening's planned events, the darkness crowding him just grime on the windshield of his renewed vigor for life...all because of Alana.

His eyes searched frantically for her in the blackness like heat sensors located strategically on a viper's head, hoping he wasn't too early. He didn't understand why he couldn't pick her up at her house like a proper date would with flowers in his hand and charm in his smile, but he didn't want to question her; Unlike fairytales smitten toddlers relish in during the years of undying youth, lost happened often in the real world. He was too scared of losing her.

His heart began to pump out of his chest, tingles cascading his veins as he saw Alana approach, dressed in stonewashed flares and a dark purple hooded sweater. She clenched her hands together, the warmth flowing through her hands battling valiantly against the snipettes of cold. "Hello," she called, her face brightening with every approaching step. Matt smiled his Prince Chamring smile at her, wind lightly teasing his short blond locks.

"Hey," he responded cheerfully, pillowing her in his scrawny yet strong arms.

Alana gazed up at him, the silence enveloping them like music to their ears. Her stare ran to the car, puckering her lips together and whistling.

"She's quite a beauty of a car," Alana informed him with a head nod, her fingers dancing over the sleek black paint.

"The only beauty I see here is you," Matt whispered in her ear, the tenderness of his voice rivering compassionate shivers down the slope of her neck.

"You are too kind, Matt," Alana told him, supressing the tears squirming to her eyes into the pit of her stomach. His chin still perched on her shoulder, she touched his cheek with two fingers, sending a simular sensation straight for a target painted in blood on Matt's heart. They stood there, in the pale moonlight, swaying to the rythums of wind smacking branches of trees for what it seems like eternities, their heart beating morphing as one.

"Your chariot awaits, my lady," Matt stated her as properly as possible with the surging anticipating screaming through his body, opening the door for her and motioning for her to get in.

"Thank you, Sir," Alana played along, lacing her hand in his as she slowly crouched in. With a slam of the door and a turn of the key, they were rulers of the open road, heading wherever they wanted. Their stomachs called for food, so they headed to Main St. for a little night time snack.

The Silver Starlight Luncheon was just waking up for the late night crew of truck drivers and night owls, its tin siding glistening like gems in the deadness of night, sweet smells of cakes and soups seeping from its large mouth, located on the top of the roof. Its door was open 24 hours a day, savoring the most mostrous appetite with their infamous Apple Pie a La Mode with cinnamon topping. Matt and Alana parked, their stomachs churing rocks as the smells of home-cooking seeped through their nostrils. Matt opened Alana's door for her, her smile augmenting as he offered his hand to her. She felt like she was supposed to feel like, a princess.

Freda, a stubby woman in her 50's with a warm smile coupled with frizzy red hair poking from her messy bun lead the two to a corner booth, the cushion a dull grey and tabletop a bland bashe. Matt knew instantly what he wanted; a Moonrock Burger with all the fixings; lettuce, ketchup, thinly sliced pickles, even thinner cuts of onions, tomatoes and a inscrutable pink sauce, An Iced Tea, and an order of spiral spicy fries.

"What's calling to you, Honey?" Freda asked, her voice sounding like it was scraping between sandpaper in the walls of her throat, the snapping of her bubble gum between her teeth drowining out the tired conversation creeping through the small resteraunt.

"I think I will try..." Alana said, fingering her choice on the endless pages of white menu, "The Lunar Salad...with Italian Dressing? And a Sprite."

"Nice choice, Sugar," Freda huffed with a small wink. She took the menus and retreated to the clangs and sizzling exploding in the kitchen.

"I an glad you were able to come out with tonight," Alana confessed, her fingers drawing pictures on the table as her eyes locked on Matt's, "This may sound strange, but I couldn't stop thinking of you."

"It sounds perfectly normal," Matt cooed, blanketing his hand over hers, "I couldn't stop thinking of you either."

A tint of scarlet brushed her cheeks, her petite hand laying to rest on her jeans' left pocket. She suddenly remember what she spent 3 hours crafting for was deeply embedded in the safety of her jeans. Matt peered at her curiously as she wrenched the piece of paper from her pocket, sighing in relief that it wasn't absolutely wrinkled. "I...made this for you," Alana said quietly, unfolding the paper.

Matt's eyes skimmed over the drawing amazed, the mural dedicated to Lacrosse incredable. In the left corner, a beautifully sketched player with a blue jersey cradeled the ball with little trouble, his tight muscles flexed and strained through his jersey and eyes fierce behind his face mask . A yellow stick and ball occupied the right side of the page, diligently drawn even to the closet detail of the "Brine" Logo printed on the head of the stick. The the middle, a pair of dirty black cleats layed after triumph and victory, blades of grass sticking with wetness over the black cleats like leeches and laces hanging with fatigue to the ground. It was one of the sweetest gestures he ever received. "Wow," was all Matt was able to say before Freda bumbled into their private space with their drinks.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Matt confessed, referring to sneaking out so much to see Alana, slipping the drawing into his pocket and sipping his Iced Tea as a tray of steaming food slid across the table.

"I know," Alana replied, lifting her salad from the round brown tray, "I never disrespected my mother's rules until you came along..."

"Guess I'm turning you into a bad seed," Matt analogiesed jokerly, hoisting his burger in front of him, their laughter filling the void between their two worlds.

Something still urked Alana's mind as she glanced at Matt childly drowning his fries with a tidal wave of ketcup. The small matter of her being royalty had not popped up in their many conversations. "Matt," she began, her fork clashing with her salad. Matt turned to him, his eyes shining with hope and mouth lined with ketchup.

"We do not want any secrets between us, right?" Alana asked casually, shoving a forkful of garden salad into her mouth to stall time, concoting what to say next. Matt took an involuntary gulp of Iced Tea, not ready to tell Alana about Dream Street, not ready to rumble their "relationship" like acid turning a person's stomach.

"Riiiight," Matt squeaked slightly, reaching for his napkin.

"I have something to tell you," Alana admitted, turning towards him, biting at her bottom lip. Matt smoothed her hair with the touch of a father, urging her to tell him what's bothering her. "I am a Princess. My mother is Queen of Leitchenstein. My father shipped us here for my education because the United States is the best place to learn, he says. My mother is here tending to affairs between our two countries. I...just thought you...should know."

Matt smiled thoughtfully, his mind swimming nonchalantly in her eyes. "I knew you were a princess," Matt told her, his voice fluent with tenderness, his hand conspiculasly reaching for a fry dressed in red. "An angel, too."

Alana peered at him astonished, raising her hand to her mouth in joy, the dull light suspended above them seeming to brighten. Matt chuckled at her responce and scratched at his head nervously.

"I have something to tell you, too," Matt told her. "About why I don't see you as much as possible. I am a member of Dream Street, a singing group of 5 boys from here in NY. With dance practice and studio time and concerts and signings and radio interviews, I never imagine stumbling upon someone, someone who I wasn't looking for, let alone someone who was perfect for me."

Tears sprang through her weak restraints, staining her cheeks with wetness. "Damn you, Matt," she joked with airy embarassment, brushing her eyes with the backs of her hands. Matt caressed her face with his gentle hand, her fingertips lingering on his wrist.

"No more secrets, I guess," Alana analogiesed, a pixie smile spreading across her face.

"Accept for one," Matt replied, his hand falling from her face to her elbow, "Let's go to the lake."