"The angels up in the clouds, are jealous knowin' we found, something so out, of the ordinary. You got me kissing the ground, of your sanctuary. Shatter me with your touch. Oh, Lord, return me to dust."

The day you got put on the YellowJacket's soccer team was the best day of your life. Sure, you were already kind-of-friends with a couple of them, but they were basically rock stars at Wiskayok High, or the closest thing that a small town in New Jersey could get.

Typically, you were an artist. Drawing, painting, photography, writing, music; anything to do with being creative, and you were there. But, unfortunately, your grades in the classes that "really mattered" (according to your crappy mom) dwindled quite a bit, so a sports scholarship was the only real way you could guarantee you'd get a place at your dream college, without a miracle.

Luckily for you, you were pretty good at soccer, having done a little bit when you were a kid, and even more luckily, you'd met an angel while on the field. Sure, most other people on the team probably wouldn't describe Mari Ibarra, the resident bitchy-ish mean girl, as such, but that was okay; you knew better than to trust the judgement of others, especially on the girl who actually didn't seem to mind your obvious-to-everyone-but-you infatuation with her.

You're the sculptor, she's the clay; your muse, if you will (not that she's not already gorgeous, without your detailed recollections on paper). Over the following 6-ish months, your sketchbook became a sort of shrine to Mari, with a few other pictures here and there of other, more boring things, to disguise it a little bit; her laughing at somebody's dumb joke, a shot of the way her eyebrows furrowed slightly in frustration during Math class, and her putting her jersey on in the locker room before practice, to name a few (your favourites). All of which would most likely be burned into your head for the rest of your life.

Even now, out in the Wilderness, after the teams plane crashed on the way to nationals, you were obsessed with her. Summer went to autumn, and autumn to winter, being seen in by the death of your team captain, Jackie Taylor. Winter was escorted out along with Javi (Coach Martinez's son, who had died in the crash, and Travis's younger brother)'s body, and now it was summer again.

Following the cabin being burnt down just before spring (the flames of which you'd managed to save your sketchbook from), you and Mari became sort of an item. What first started off as cuddling up together to stay warm, then turned into stolen kisses away from the group as new shelters (and a new way of order) were manufactured, and finding excused to always be close to one another, and later on sneaking in and out of each others huts at night (and early in the morning) to spend even more time together, similar to the way you had earlier that year.

Which has now turned into this; you sat with Mari by the lake as she sunbathed, creating another in a long line of images that were contained in the pages of the sketchbook she'd never even set eyes on the content of, with the 'ink' and 'paint' you'd made out of mud, and flowers that you'd found in the woods. The others (Shauna, Melissa, Nat, Lottie, Van, Tai, Travis, and Akilah) scattered around camp, far away from the two of you, still completely unaware of the bond the two of you shared made with one another over the last few months.

"Anyone ever tell you you're really cute when you get really focused on your art stuff?" Mari questioned, pulling you from your thoughts after getting distracted by the contour of her abs, both on the page and peaking out from the bottom half of her bikini, mere inches away from you.