I've always been a loner, never really spoken up about how I really feel or ever really "fit in." I don't really like people, for the most part I prefer books. It's hard to be alone, but it's harder being with people who don't care. I live on the upper east side of Manhattan, I've always been told that it's better to lie and look good, than to tell the truth and be a mess. My parents expect me to be a lawyer or a doctor, they don't want me to result in what they call nothing. My dream is to be a writer. They don't think it's a real job, but personally, writing and books are the only thing that make me safe in this hectic world. My name is Frankie, everyone calls me by my middle name though, so I guess you should. Call me Ray. I've decided that today I'm going to venture into the city, I'm all for an adventure anyway. I grab my bag and head out the door, I'm ready for some excitement. I rush down my stairs past my mother and then quickly run out the door, dropping all of my things out of my hands as I bump into someone I've never seen before. I look down, this beautiful girl is picking up my books and I see through her long brown hair one of the prettiest smiles ever. She looks up.
"Hi, sorry for running into you. My name's Kaytee."
"It's okay, it was my fault. I'm Frankie. But people usually call me Ray."
I look down at my books, she's slipped a piece of paper into one of them. I look up again, she's gone. The paper says
"meet me in Central Park. 8:00 pm."
I don't know who she is, or why she wants me to meet her. But something tells me, this was all meant to happen.
