Victoria was wandering about the lumber site, looking for her father when she first saw John Turner amid the chaos of working men, looking lost. He had short brown hair and hazel eyes that held a somber and somewhat cynical light to them. He was sixteen years old. Victoria’s eyes grew a bit wide and she took in the boy who struck her as beautiful. She experienced an unusual sensation of shyness, but as usual, curiosity overrode all else, and she stepped up the boy and conjured up all the subtlety she was capable of, and asked him, ‘Who are you?’ The boy turned to find the source of the girls’ voice, and found a wild child with long blonde hair with bright blue eyes that were gazing at him with an intensity he wasn’t comfortable with. ‘I’m John Turner.’ ‘What are you doing here?’ ‘I’m the new wood chip sweeper, I’m looking for my lodging.’ ‘Oh. Well I’m Victoria. My dad is your boss, want me to show you where your bunk is?’ Because John was in a foul mood, he had some unresolved. Every now and then he'd pick up his guitar to test a few notes that match his lyrics before sitting it back down, scrawling the notes and lyrics down. Quietly I lay sprawled out on his sofa, reading a nice little romantic fantasy-fiction. Whenever Ian tested his ideas I would pause on my reading to listen in. "...With a kiss on the cheek she'll be down on her knees begging please, baby, please..." were the lyrics he'd just sang as he strummed the musical instrument. "What kind of song are you writing?" I ask curiously. "It's a song I dedicate to my ex, Lexi," he smirked. "She's a dick-hopper." I knew Lexi; she and I had been best friends in ninth grade year. After school she'd come over to my house, and I swear it was just so she'd discover my secrets because one time she asked me how I felt about Ian. My dumbass filled her in on the crush I had on him since I was eight. She promised to take that secret to the grave, but then a week later they begin talking and it didn't take long.
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