The feeling of freshness and new beginnings filled the air, bubbling to my surface, exploding into a smile. It was the first day of summer before high school, the way I looked at it, it was my last summer of being a kid. I was going to find my summer love. My Noah from The Notebook, my Will from The Last Song, my Danny from Grease. My summer was going to be an all-out summer fling, chick-flick, cliché love story.

The park was warm and wet, mostly by humidity. The joggers were drenched in sweat, panting by me in tight spandex, almost as if they would pop right out of it. Little kids were pushing each other on the swing and spelling their names out in rocks along the sidewalk. My yellow nail polish was flaking and I could almost feel my freckles growing as I squeezed my eyes shut and directed my face towards the sun, wincing at the reddish color behind my eyelids. The bench I've laying on was now hot and muggy, but a comforting reminder that summer was finally here. No more cold winter days or bare trees. Just sunshine, just the way I liked it.

I opened my eyes halfway just in time to see a boy with dark brown hair and stunning green eyes barreling towards me, swerving off the bike path.

Oof.

Yes, you guessed it. He fell right on top of me, bike and all. This is how all these love stories start right?

Cliché much?