There isn't much to say about the mayor's daughter, Lia, rather than the fact that she's a real eye candy inside the boxing ring.
Dean noticed that for quite a long time, too, and as she pounces towards an apprehensive opponent with such strong conviction to knock him out cold, he realizes that he has had enough of her. She was too much for him that even if the summer left him feeling hollow most of the time, he was filled to the brim with thoughts of Lia and her steely gray eyes.
Heh, he thought. It's not like he was going to confess to the strongest girl he had the pleasure to meet anyway. Nope.
She lunges forward and in a ring without any precise rules, she surprises her opponent with an unprecedented high kick aimed straight for the jaw. Jack of all trades, I see. Here's a piece of advice: never settle for the no-headgear-because-i-am-hardcore kind of battle between Lia because when she gives you at least one underhanded attack, you will only feel such excruciating pain after waking up. You won't have that much time to feel when you're already unconscious and less of a man anyway. Trust me, I've been kicked and left in grief enough times than my body cares to remember and you knew better than to argue with someone who talks from experience.
God, don't freaking remind me any further.
Triumphant over another victory, Dean watches over the girl who made his heart swell with intense bemusement over the past eight years. It has been a long stretch of time. And as if on cue, Dean recollects the memories of one of the best summers he had and how they first met still prowling in the recesses of his mind; bringing forth a not-so brilliant epiphany that recoiling away from those steely gray eyes is going to be a lot harder than he expected.
~
It wasn't nice getting bullied over the summer. Especially if you're a tourist.
At the age of ten, I already have this unabated hate towards bullies and how they should start contemplating their life choices before I get the golden ticket in making sure that I scare the living crap out of them. And as I was sporting my usual routine of jogging around cul-de-sacs in my neighborhood, I was greeted by that one last scenario I ever wanted to see.
"All this heat is making me really, really hungry. Could you be the kind girl that you are and treat us with burgers downtown?" A paunchy guy — to which I assumed was the leader in his small pack of wolves— loomed over a small girl in pigtails, stepping a little towards the girl while leaving behind the people who had sworn allegiance to him. That's just sad.
"Clearly, I am not your mother. And, Jordan, you're eating too much grease. I'm afraid that the more I look at you, you're becoming more like the burger." She spat, and that's when I knew that she was a new girl. No one dare cross these guys with such atrocity. I mean, no girl that I knew.
"I am not Jordan, you piece of trash."
"Look who's talking."
