Damien Wood and his guitar.

The day I met Damien Wood was exactly two weeks after my 16th birthday. His dark, curly hair was in desperate need of a cut, his jeans were torn and his shoes scuffed and dirty. He carried a battered guitar on his back and a crooked, lazy smile on his face. 1

My family was on holiday in a small lakeside town in late Summer. I'd gone out one warm sunny morning to buy some milk. I was in the shabby little corner store, the milk on the counter, digging around in my pockets, searching for the appropraite amount of change. "I'm sorry," I told the grumbling shopkeeper, who's bulging arms crossed her chest in a disgruntled manner. "I was sure I had enoungh..." I trailed off, desperately slapping my pocket for the third time. Our cottage was quite a walk away from the store, and it would be a pain to walk back again. A light cough came from behind me, "Calm down, I'm almost done," I said irratibly. 2

"Let me get this," an elegant hand reached from behind me and placed fourty cents on the counter, "You can pay me back later, if you like." I turned around to thank the stranger, and came face to chest with the most handsome boy I'd ever seen. I looked up slowly, a large pair of golden eyes smiled down at me. "Thanks," I mumbled, trying to squeeze past, the store was old and quite small, so the boy was unnervingly close to me. I dashed out of the shop, almost slipping on the door mat. I was hiding behind the side of the building when I realized I had left the milk on the counter. I slid down onto the grass, cursing my super-anxiety and asking God why he had bestowed such feeble nerves upon me.3

I started pulling blades of grass from the drying earth. A long shadow fell over me. I looked up once again into the face of the boy, his skin had a pleasant tanned glow here, much different from the pale palour the tube lighting from the corner store had given him. "I don't know if you realised," his eyes looked like they were laughing, "but you forgot your milk."
I fidgeted on the ground, not sure whether to get up. "Thank you," I squeaked. He held out his hand, I stared openmouthed at it for a moment. What am I doing? I asked myself, I took hold of his slender fingers. He chuckled to himself, as he hauled me up. He was still a good head and a half taller than me. "You live around here?" He asked casually.
I shook my head, "My family and I are staying out here for the Summer."
He cocked his head, "Whereabouts?"
I pointed to a cluster of holiday homes around a bend of the lake, "Pine Cabin, my uncle owns it."
He looked startled, "THE Pine cabin? You're kidding, that place is huge!"
I smiled and looked at my shoes, "My uncle likes showing off," I admitted. "But he's out of the country, and wants someone to look after it."
"Well, I live right over there," he pointed towards a group of houses built into the hillside.
"You live here?" I asked, looking up at him with amazement, "that's so cool!"
He smiled, "My dad thinks so."4

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