— Options were limited in small rural towns, especially in the south. Every guy here was either a red neck hillbilly or a smartass business major who thinks he’s gonna be the one to make it out (newsflash: they never do).

So maybe you did look around at options, but none of them were what you wanted; you just wanted a boy who had manners and would treat you right, also a boy who’d (preferably) be able to toss you around a bit.

That’s not much to ask, right?

There was one specific boy you’d had your eyes on; Art Donaldson, raised by his grandparents, a really stand up guy, from which you’d gathered when you’d actually talked to him (he asked you for a pencil and you got nervous so you’d given him yours, ultimately leaving you pencil-less, to which he gave it back with a sympathetic smile).

Somehow, he was the only guy to ever make you feel on the verge of crapping yourself and tingly.

Tonight was the annual summer-kickoff bonfire for the teens in your town, some secret place by the lake with easy places to run if you’d got busted by the cops.

You’d spotted Art a while ago with his buddy pat, but you’d been too nervous to go up to him especially when he was with his loud-mouth friend. So, instead you’d opted to lug yourself up and grab another cheap bottle of beer.