Growing up in the small town of St. Michael’s, Maryland, Morgan saw the same people day in and day out. Ocassionally, however, a tourist who needed directions or had a broken down car would knock on her door for help. Unfortunatley for Morgan, there were never any cute guys ‘cause 99.9% of the time, the tourists there were either old couples that were retired or families visiting their retired grandparents. But not this time....
Morgan’s POV
*knock knock*
“If it’s another old man asking how to get to the marina so he can dock his boat…I’m gonna scream,” I muttered under my breath. I stood up and walked out of our refurbish room where my family and I fix up old boats. It’s an extension of the garage but it’s still considered to be “in the house”. The houses in St. Michael’s, being a small water town, mostly all had these little workshops in their houses. Though it was a small town, ergo small houses as well, the builders knew the requirements of “water-people” as we were called, and that was one of them. I washed the wood-refinishing gunk off of my hands, as my dad and I were working on and old criss-craft. Beautiful boats, I thought in my head.
I skipped over to the door grabbing a map of the town that we keep in the front hall. My parents always kept lots of these within easy reach so that any lost crabber could find his way home, or at least back to his bed and breakfast. St. Michael’s seldom had lots of tourists so hotels were out of the question.
“Hey, can I help you?” I said. “Wait-,” I interjected, feeling bad that I had just cut this poor young boy off. “What are you doing here? I have never seen you at school so you don’t live around here, you’re not an old retired couple, and you’re not a young couple with screaming little kids asking for directions to the retirement home over on Delaware Ave. ,” I spat out at him in one breath. “Uhmm…hi,” he laughed. Well that was embarrassing....way to go, Morgan!! I thought to myself sarcastically. “Hey, I’m Cody and I was wondering if –“ Whoops, cut him off again…I really need to work on my conversation skills I huffed to myself. But what I had to say next could be very important, if I was right that is. “Wait…Cody, why does that name ring a bell?” I asked my mind out loud. “Well, probably because I am Cody Simpson, singer-songwriter, visionary, ya know, the whole nine yards,” he laughed nervously.
Why should he be nervous, if anyone, it should be me…not that I am, just to clear things up. He is the famous one after all, the one that has paparazzi following his every move, girls chasing him home, and well, basically whatever else he wanted.
“Ohh I know who you are!” I said, probably way to over excited about it on the outside however, …I want to make it clear that on the inside I am calm and level-headed. He is just a kid like us guys geez, no need to panic… “Oh, you’re a fan huh?” He said less happily but I just decided to brush off his cold-shoulder adittude. He stepped back with a worried look on his face and he began to cover his ears. “Okay, go…” He practically whispered. I grabbed his arms and pulled them down, I could feel his body tense up. “Are you okay?” I asked, trying not to laugh at his ridiculous expression of confusion and relief. “Sorry it’s just that when I meet a girl especially if she is a fan she tends to scream or jump up on me or something crazy and she usually wants me to autograph a part of her body which is really awkward for me ya know what I mean!?!?” He let out in one full, exhausted breath. I couldn’t help but laugh, “Uhm okay…? Must be so…terrible…?” I was trying to find a word that made it sound like I agreed with him that his fame was a bad thing.
“And you are?” He asked. “A little forward not aren’t we!?” I joked around with him. “Haha, no,” was all he made out through his sighs of relief and cute little smile he probably got when he was nervous. He did seem to be loosening up however. “Well,” I said to break the extended silence. But it wasn’t an awkward silence…it was a good, calm, peaceful silence. Kinda like the feeling when you’re out on a boat by yourself for hours at a time. “I am Morgan Trapp, sailor, water-woman, extrordinaire!!” I laughed, copying his description of himself.
