April 1977

Nine-year-old Sondra lay comfortably sprawled on the large woolen rug, the only warm spot in the basement, while her mother worked nearby. In the relative quiet, she could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall. Every fifteen minutes the little cuckoo bird hiding within would emerge from behind its tiny door and alert them of the passing moments with its perky tweets. Sondra had heard three such chirps in the time she’d spent lollygagging.

With no space upstairs, her mother had chosen this section to locate her writing desk with its cubbyholes for papers, pencils, and a myriad of office supplies, mostly for the strong lighting. Several overhead lights and her desk lamp showered the space with bright light and cast the shadows farther away. Sondra had learned to only look toward those far, dark corners when down here with her mother; otherwise, her imagination brought too many terrible ideas to life. Her feet couldn’t carry her upstairs fast enough when that happened.

Humph. Her mom’s snort broke the silence.

Is everything okay, Mama? Sondra knew she might not answer. When she was in her writing world, her awareness of anything going on around her fell away. Sondra could understand since that’s how she became when she wrote or read too.

Yep. The clacking sound that had dominated the last hour resumed.

Sondra’s feet swirled the air above her as she doodled on a pad of paper and listened to her mom typing on Grandpa’s old typewriter. She loved the sound it made as her mother’s fingers flew across the keys, pressing down firmly, making a loud thwack onto the paper. It reminded her of popcorn seeds popping in her grandma’s old metal popcorn basket that she would fill and shake over the stove top till they popped into fluffiness. Sondra started to salivate and suddenly wished she had some of the buttery, salty treat to munch on.

To distract herself from her growing hunger, she glanced around. This section of the basement housed out-of-season decorations and boxes filled with odds and ends. Sondra imagined what treasures might be buried in the sturdy cardboard boxes that were stacked neatly against the walls. Multiple jottings from old magic markers scribbled on the sides tried their best to identify the contents, but really, it was anyone’s guess. Sondra’s dad annually threatened to pitch all the boxes without even opening them.

We’ve made it for years without any of that junk, Julia, he would point out. I’m fairly certain there’s nothing we need from any of them.

Her mother would protest, But, James . . . She would give him a look that would make him sigh and relent and bought another year of life for the entire stack.

The top cinder blocks nearest the tiny window looked to be home to a spider, whose small nest had been bravely woven. For a moment Sondra entertained the idea of relocating the harmless creature to a safer spot outside. Little did he know that Sondra’s mother did not tolerate spiders for very long: his webby home would be gone soon with their weekly cleaning. The idea of the little bug getting sucked up into the merciless vacuum hose made Sondra a bit sad. That thought brought to mind a new one: Will Mom let me get out of cleaning on my birthday?

Dreams of the celebration for her tenth year of life, still a few weeks away, filled Sondra’s mind. She smiled with anticipation, imagining the whole family—including her grandma and grandpa and aunts, uncles and cousins—filling their small house, eating cake, and playing games. She thought of her grandma, who had funny sayings that Sondra didn’t always understand, like, Use your minutes well, and the rest of the day will order itself. Sondra would smile shyly, and her grandma’s eyes would twinkle knowingly at her, like they shared a great secret.

Her grandpa would rush in, smelling of pipe tobacco and planting whiskery kisses on her soft cheeks and sharing jokes that would make everyone laugh.

I bet Grandpa could even make Felicia laugh.

Felicia was a new girl who had come to her school last week. Sondra, content to sit on the sidelines, had listened as the sad-faced girl explained how she had come to join their classroom so close to the end of the school year.

I’m a foster child.

What does that mean? Benjamin had asked.

Felicia had fiddled with her pencil case a moment and then answered, It means I don’t have my own family, so I have to live with different families.

The children gathered around her desk had been respectfully silent at such a thought. Only Bobby had challenged her, That’s stupid. Everyone has a family.

The girl had turned her sober gaze on him, replying sadly, Not everyone.

Their teacher, Ms. Miller, had hurried over then, so there was no time for more questions though many churned in Sondra’s mind. At lunchtime, Rene had invited Felicia to join her and Sondra at their table. Felicia had gratefully accepted, confiding that she was with her second foster family since her parents’ death two years earlier.

I liked the first family I was placed with. But my foster mom got sick, and they couldn’t keep me. That’s why I’m here now. My new family lives in this school district. She had taken a small bite of her sandwich before stating, I’m lucky. At least I don’t have to go to the orphanage.

Rene had asked, What’s an orphanage?

Felicia had drawn a deep breath before answering, It’s where you live with other kids, and there are no parents around.

Sondra had been horrified and meekly asked, Will you get to stay with this family?

A hopeful look entered Felicia’s eyes for a second, then flickered away. I don’t know.

Sondra learned something important that day. A family is the best of all. A family means you belong . . . Poor Felicia!

Drat. Ah, well, it is what it is, her mom muttered, breaking into Sondra’s meandering thoughts.

What’s wrong? Sondra asked.

Oh, nothing really. I made another mistake, and since it has to be perfect for the copy editor, I’ll have to retype the whole sheet. It can’t have liquid eraser on it. Exasperated, her mom turned the carriage feed of the old machine, removed the sheet, and fed a fresh piece of paper into the metal clamp, turning the feeder bar that brought the paper to the right starting height.

Mama, what do you write about?

Her mother smiled and, with a glance at her daughter, replied, Well, right now, I’m working on a book about trials. Seeing that her answer didn’t fully satisfy her, she added, About living a life of victory even when you’re dealing with hard things.

Oh, said Sondra. I see. She frowned, picking at a small thread of the worn rug. Are you dealing with hard things?

Her mom laughed. Well, not this very minute, honey. I mean, everyone has troubles in their lives, right? Seeing Sondra nod, she went on. What I’m hoping to share is that even when we face hard situations, we can still honor God with how we live. In fact, if we recognize the purpose of a trial, we can actually have gratefulness for it because we see His very hand involved in our lives through it. There are a lot of people who don’t look at hardship in their lives that way. Lord willing, I’d like to offer a new perspective on it. She began typing again, leaving Sondra to ponder.

Mom, can I write a book when I’m older?

Somewhat distractedly, her mom answered, If you want to. But first, you have to live life a little bit until you’ve learned something that’s worth sharing.

She threw another quick glance at her daughter. Darling, you know I would love to sit and chat with you more, but right now, I have got to get this done. The deadline for this draft is looming, and I’m running behind. Can we talk later? Without waiting to see the nod she knew Sondra would give, she turned back once again to the machine in front of her, concentration on her face.

Sondra doodled on her paper.

Something worth sharing, hmm?

She tried to imagine what her life might be like in ten to fifteen years when she figured she would be really old. She looked at her beautiful mother, bent over the typewriter, squinting at the sheet rolled into the machine.

What could I write about someday?

Sondra pushed aside her pad of paper and reached for her notebook. Inside were stories she was working on and poems she’d written, anything she felt moved to write. Sometimes, she would come across a really great word, one she hadn’t heard before. When that happened, she would add it, plus its definition to one of the columns in the front of her notebook. She had several pages full already. Her last word had been a real find: perceive. She had asked her dad what it meant. Well, honey, it means ‘to understand the truth about something—or someone.’ As in, ‘I perceive you are an obedient and kindhearted daughter.’ He’d winked at her, his eyes twinkling.

Sondra had hugged him and added it to her list. She’d already put it to use in her latest poem, which she’d only shown to Rene.

I like when you write, Sondra. You write what I feel. Hearing that made Sondra happy. What are you going to call this one? Rene had asked.

Sondra shrugged. I don’t know yet. Maybe just ‘Secretly.’ She glanced sideways at her friend. It seemed they’d always known each other, but of course, that wasn’t true. They’d met on their first year of school. Sondra had spent that whole summer dreading the first day of kindergarten, where her brother also attended school. Don’t worry, Stephen had assured her. Kindergarten is a breeze. Wait till you get to fourth grade, like me. His words had not helped.

Desperately wishing she could stay home with her younger sister and their mom, Sondra had reluctantly obeyed. The perky redheaded girl who had taken a seat next to her had alarmed her with her boldness. What’s your name? she had demanded of the timid blond-haired girl. Sondra had ducked her head and whispered, Sondra. The redhead had nodded. Well, you don’t have to be afraid. My sister told me that kindergarten is fun. I’m Rene Simpson, and we’re going to be friends. She had smiled brightly at the shy girl, and they’d been best friends since.

Now in fifth grade, Sondra couldn’t imagine what life would look like without Rene by her side. They spent every moment they could together, riding bikes and exploring the nearby woods and streams. Rene was fearless and spunky. With her, Sondra felt brave too.

At first she had felt a little embarrassed at sharing something so close to her heart as her poems and writings but knew if she could trust anyone in the whole wide world with those thoughts, it was Rene—well, Mom and Dad too—but not many other people in this world and certainly not her older brother, Stephen. They used to be closer, but since entering high school, he’d gotten mean.

Sondra’s thoughts roamed back to a few days earlier when he had grabbed her special notebook and wouldn’t give it back. He had torn a couple of sheets out, mocking her and dancing around the room, keeping the notebook out of her reach.

Sondra is a nerd-turd, a nerd-turd, a nerd-turd. Sondra is a nerd-turd, a turdy, nerdy nerd-turd.

Sondra had gathered the ripped pages, trying to reach her book, but he laughed and dangled it over her head, repeating his song.

His little ditty had caught the attention of their mother. Stephen Michael Spencer, what do you think you are doing? She had stood in the doorway of the family room, hands on hips, demanding an answer from her fourteen-year-old.

Ah, sweet justice, Sondra had thought. Here it comes.

Stephen had shoved the notebook back into her waiting hands, pushing past her. Nothing.

She won’t let him get away with that.

Sondra had held her breath, anticipating the moment of judgment.

Her mother eyed Stephen up for a moment. And what would you like to say to Sondra?

He glanced her way. Sorry.

Astonishingly, her mom had nodded and began to move from the doorway.

But, Mom, Sondra had protested, that can’t count! He didn’t even mean it!

She watched her mom swipe her hand across her eyes in a weary way. Sondra, please. He was wrong. He’s apologized. You need to forgive him. She threw Stephen another warning look and walked away. He had smirked at her. Upset, Sondra had tucked her notebook under her arm protectively and went to her room, plotting revenge.

While he was out playing basketball with his friends that afternoon, she had snuck into his bedroom. In his dresser, she found what she needed: a crumpled and well-hidden note written to her brother from a girl in his class, Wanda Wilkinson. Sondra knew Stephen liked Wanda. But what she sees in him is a mystery to me. The paper smelled faintly of Love’s Baby Soft. What a waste of perfectly nice perfume.

Sondra had quickly read the note, full of loopy letters spelling out words of fondness from Wanda, complete with pink bubble hearts cascading down the margin. Oh yes. This will do nicely.

A plan began to form in her mind as she had tucked the folded paper into her pocket and left his room, carefully putting things back the way they were.

He’ll regret that he messed with me.

But now, she’d had a couple of days to think. As she lay on the floor of the basement, Sondra wrestled over what to do. He can’t keep getting away with stuff. Someone’s got to teach him a lesson.

She mulled over the changes that seemed to be happening. Lately, her mom was letting Stephen get off the hook for everything. Sondra didn’t understand why and felt a little abandoned. She knew her mother carried a full load in caring for their home and family.

A lot of other people thought she was special too. Sondra knew because a few months earlier while in the church bathroom, a stranger asked if she was Julia Spencer’s daughter. Hearing Sondra’s reply, the woman’s eyes had opened widely. What must it be like to live with Julia Spencer right there in your home, always ready to dish out some wonderful scripture or timely advice? Her frank admiration confused Sondra.

She had escaped the fawning woman, but not without being wakened to an entirely new view of her mom.

Upon hearing the story, Julia set her down and sternly warned her, Sondra, I don’t want you thinking that I am some superstar. I’m just a woman whom God chose to use to teach in a Bible study and speak to women. People look on the outside and get giddy about a gifted leader or an engaging speaker, but God deserves the praise for those traits because He’s the one who gave them. I don’t want you getting confused with the difference between praising God for giving gifts that let us bless others and becoming prideful over them.

Sondra’s Sunday schoolteacher, Mrs. Harrison, had also addressed the issue of pride one week. Don’t think you’re something special because you’re not. God doesn’t need any one of us, and if you think He does, that’s pride talking.

On the drive home, Sondra had asked her parents about Mrs. Harrison’s words.

Her dad cautiously said, Since I wasn’t there, I’m not sure exactly what she meant. But I can say this: sin is sneaky, and only God can see into hearts. We need to guard against craving recognition from people. It can breed pride in a heart very quickly. There’s nothing wrong with acknowledging it if God has used us to be a blessing to someone. But He alone should be worshipped.

Sondra felt like her dad was looking right into her heart. Hearing his words, she wanted to crawl under the seat. Newly aware that her parents were held in high regard in their church, it was hard for Sondra not to get a sense of pride about it. They talked with lots of people on the phone. Sometimes people came to talk privately in her mom’s study. Some of them seemed very upset. Her parents prayed with them and shared from their Bibles. It must have helped because the line of people wanting to talk with them seemed to grow longer as time passed.

I love Mom and Dad very much, but I wish some of those people could come see how, once in a while, my parents are unfair. They’ll help all those people, but they won’t stop Stephen from bullying me.

Sondra opened her notebook to her newest poem and read it again.

But how can I write that but not forgive Stephen? I bet Felicia would forgive him. She’d probably be grateful for the chance to have a big brother to fight with.

She sighed, pushing her notebook away. Wanda Wilkinson’s note was still hidden away in her room; she had time to decide if she would carry out her plan against her brother or not. Sondra heard the perky chirp of the little cuckoo bird again as she stretched out on the rug and dreamed of doing big things someday too, like her mother.

Hopefully, something brilliant, like writing a book that helps a lot of people.

She turned back to her doodling pad, looping letters and figures across the paper, practicing her signature, and pondered what might be something worth sharing . . .

Secretly

"Secretly, you’re just like me, and I am just like you.

We may have different thoughts and dreams,

But we’re more alike

Than not.

If you could look into my heart and see my hopes and fears,

You might be surprised to find

You feel

Right at home.

Will I be liked? Ridiculed? Perceived as who I am?

Accepting or rejecting those

Who wonder

The same thing?

If we could only glimpse into each other’s hearts and minds,

I’m certain we’d more likely be

More patient and

More kind.

’Cause secretly, you’re just like me and I am just like you.

Together, we could go far, you and I,

If that became our

Starting point."

Ten Years Later

May 1987

Sondra clutched the stack of books closely to her chest with one hand, trying to balance while riding along the dirt path on her bicycle. Her tires kicked up a slight trail of dust behind her. Despite the sunny day, she had spent the past hour holed up in the town library, her favorite hangout.

Later this afternoon she would be meeting Rene. The girls were planning on shopping together for a dress Rene needed for a relative’s upcoming wedding.

Afterward they were going to go to the movies together with Patrick, whom Rene had been dating, and his friend. Rene had arranged everything. All she would say about John was, Trust me, you will like him.

Sondra didn’t have much experience around boys and found her brother’s friends dull. She hadn’t left a lot of room in her life for socializing but was perfectly content. She had watched Stephen marry and liked his new wife, Grace, very much. But something in Sondra shrunk back a bit at the thought of upsetting the comfort of the way things had always been.

Upon high school graduation, she had lamented to her mother, I don’t ever want to leave you and Dad—I’d miss you both too much.

The alarming idea of change was a powerful weapon in her fight to keep everything familiar intact.

Her mom had smiled and assured her daughter, You can stay here for as long as you’d like. This is your home.

Relief had flooded Sondra’s heart, and she hugged her mother.

My home—were there ever more comforting words than those?

Her job as secretary for a small printing company in the nearby village allowed her plenty of time for her interests.

Sondra had finally agreed to Rene’s suggestion of a double date.

"But only if we can go see Three Men and a Baby. I’ve been waiting to see it."

Fine. That’s a small price to get you to come.

Her coworkers had raved about the comedy. Bess, a chain-smoker who was on her third marriage, had declared Tom Selleck to be the hottest man on the planet.

Carol had disagreed. I went just to see Ted Danson. She had sighed with a dreamy look. He is so good-looking.

Pamela, closest to Sondra’s age, asked her, Have you seen it yet?

No. But I’m really looking forward to it. Rene and I are going tomorrow night.

Oh, you’re going to love it.

Sondra carefully veered right on the wide path around an oncoming walker and his little dog. The echo of a bark hung in the air as she peddled steadily toward home. Her mind played with the story line of the book she’d already begun reading.

If I hurry, maybe I can read more before Rene comes.

Reaching home, she pushed her bike against the brick wall of the garage in the worn space between the hydrangea bushes and raced into the house. She set her stack of books on the countertop, noting her mother’s wide-brimmed straw hat hanging on its peg near the back door.

Oh, good—no gardening today.

Sondra’s mother loved to tend to her vegetable garden and often asked her daughters to help. Sondra hated it. She tiptoed into her mom’s study, peeking in the doorway.

Finger to lips, her mom waved. She was on another one of her calls. Sondra nodded and quietly went back to the kitchen to scour the fridge for red apples. Finding one, she crunched it happily, feeling the sweet juice stream down her chin. Grabbing a napkin and her book, she headed to her room and curled up in her favorite chair, captivated by the story.

Far too soon, the back screen door gave its distinctive slam, jerking Sondra back from the world her mind had traveled to over the past hour. Sondra heard her mom greet her friend, You can go on in, honey. She’s in her room.

Of course, she is. Thanks, Mrs. Spencer.

The clucking sound coming from Rene’s tongue conveyed her disapproval as she stood in the doorway and surveyed the scene.

Sondra looked at her friend. What?

Rene shook her head in disbelief, coming farther into the bright room.

Sondra’s dad had built shelving on two of the walls, which housed dozens of books. The backboard of her bed held several more. Stacks of books occupied floor corners and tabletops. A stash of colorful bookmarkers graced her bed table. Sondra surrounded herself with books. When she needed comfort, she reached for old favorites. When she felt adventurous, she sampled new ones. Books were her dearest friends outside of Rene.

I cannot believe you are sitting inside on this beautiful day, reading. And what are you so hooked on? She saw the title and sighed. "The Tsar and Tsarist of Russia? I mean, come on, Sondra. You act like a little old lady curled up with a cat in your lap, spending your whole day, reading about snooty, dead people. Wouldn’t you rather get out and live an adventure instead of living life through other people’s eyes?"

This last part was said with Rene’s arms swirling the air as if to indicate that, perhaps, Sondra might, with very little effort, even fly if she would only get her nose out of her books and at least try.

Sondra sniffed and stood from her cozy spot, pushing Mr. Biggs, her gray tabby, onto the floor.

I know you don’t appreciate a good story, Rene. But I do. I like reading about the extraordinary lives some people live. She looked away, then back at her friend with a bit of defiance in her snapping green eyes. It’s fascinating.

Fascinating? Rene said scornfully.

Yes. I’d rather read about other people’s lives than live my own. That wasn’t exactly true, but she couldn’t back down now.

Oh, Sondra. That’s so sad. Rene looked truly worried about her friend.

Sondra laughed. Oh, come on, Rene. It’s not like reading is the only thing I do.

Rene eyed her skeptically. Name three other things you do that don’t involve paper!

Easy. I like movies and games and . . . She stopped, stumped.

Rene nodded. Yeah, I thought so. You would read and write and do those stupid puzzles all day if it weren’t for your job and me not letting you.

Well, what’s so bad about that? I don’t require anything else to stimulate me. I’m perfectly happy, she said with a little flounce.

You can say that all you want. But I don’t believe you.

What do you mean?

Rene eyed her friend. Well, I think you are scared. Life is meant to be lived, Sondra. There are adventures just waiting to be discovered. Rene glanced at the book in Sondra’s hands. But it’s safer reading than doing. Rene’s chin thrust out a bit.

Sondra ducked her head. That hit dangerously close to the truth.

Rene’s voice softened. That’s why I’m so happy you’re finally willing to meet John. Oh, Sondra, you’re going to like him. He’s super nice and cute to boot. Though, of course, not as good-looking as Patrick.

Sondra met her friend’s teasing gaze and sighed. Well, I will meet him. But I can’t promise I will talk with him.

She carefully marked the spot where she’d left off and placed the book neatly on the table. The jittery feeling in her stomach started up again at the thought of having to converse for a whole evening with a perfect stranger.

A boy at that.

It’s going to be wonderful, Rene insisted, if you’ll just put down your book long enough to have a conversation with him.

She pulled on Sondra’s arm to hurry. The two girls entered the kitchen, where something bubbled on the stove and homemade bread sat steaming on the countertop.

That smells delicious, Mrs. Spencer! What are you making?

Julia smiled at Rene’s exuberance. Soup. Are you girls heading out now?

Yes, Patrick and John will pick us up at my house around six. We’ll go to dinner and a movie. I promised my mom that I’d be back by eleven o’clock, so we’ll bring Sondra home by ten forty-five at the latest.

That sounds good. Have a wonderful time, girls. She hugged her daughter. I hope you find the perfect dress, Rene.

Thanks, Mrs. Spencer.

Bye, Mom, Sondra called out as the friends dashed outside.

With someone he knew in the used-car business, Rene’s dad had bought her a blue convertible for her high school graduation gift. It was her pride. She drove everywhere she could with the top down, weather permitting. Though May and sunny, it was afternoon, and a bit of chill hung in the air of the small Illinois town that sat just outside of Chicago.

Their long hair whipped in the wind as they raced to the nearby mall. They parked and closed the top, noting that the skies had turned a shade of gray that could signal rain soon.

The second shop they stopped at elicited the perfect dress for Rene. Sondra’s stomach began to knot again with anticipation of their evening out.

Back at Rene’s house, the girls put on makeup and curled their hair, teasing it to make it as puffy as possible. Rene then sprayed both their heads with so much hair spray the locks took on the sheen and durability of aluminum.

There. It might not be touch-ably soft, but it sure looks great, she said with satisfaction, setting the half-empty can aside.

They carefully eased their sweaters over their heads and draped colorful jewelry around their necks, finishing just as the doorbell rang. Opening the door, Rene threw herself into the arms of the dark-haired boy standing on the dim porch. Patrick!

Patrick embraced the striking girl until the boy by his side gave a small cough.

Oh. Sorry. John, you know Rene. And this is Sondra.

Sondra was unprepared for the sensation she felt at seeing John standing on the porch.

Rene said he was cute. But wow.

She was not ready for the radiance of his smile or the deep blue of his eyes. She gulped and flushed, turning her gaze to the ground.

Rene came to the rescue. I thought we could have dinner at Francesco’s then go to the movies. Does that sound good?

Patrick rubbed his jaw. "Sure. But do you girls mind if we go see the newest release that came out today? It’s a sequel we were hoping to see—Jaws: The Revenge."

Rene turned brightly to Sondra, knowing full well the problem this might present. Even she was surprised by Sondra’s loud and sudden assertion: Oh, that sounds wonderful! Sondra blushed.

John and Patrick looked pleased. Great. Let’s go. He waved to Rene’s dad, who had come to the door. Hi, Mr. Simpson. I’ll have her back by eleven.

Rene’s dad nodded. Okay, Patrick. Drive carefully, kids. And have a good time.

The loud Italian restaurant they went to was a popular place for families with kids and young people with limited funds, seeking good food and plenty of it. The owners, shunning the expected red-and-green tablecloths, opted instead for a palette of blue hues mixed with white. The jukebox in the corner could blare out a variety of songs if the requisite amount of quarters were plunked in. There was also a small cleared section of wooden floor for the braver souls to dance.

Quieter midweek, the crowd could be boisterous on Friday and Saturday nights; it was a fun place to bring a date.

Sitting in the booth, Sondra didn’t notice much around her other than how charming her companion was.

He’s so easy to talk to.

She got lost in the twinkle of his eyes and the brilliance of his smile. He was witty and smiled a lot. Sondra let her guard down, trying to get used to the new feelings of attraction that were invading her heart.

What was I so afraid of? He’s fascinating.

I’ll finish college after my next semester. I fell a year behind. He shrugged, explaining, I had to take time off to work full-time and save up more money first.

He’s so sure of himself and what he wants to accomplish in life. And he’s such a hard worker.

John took a sip of his drink and asked, So what do you do for fun?

Oh, um, well, my job takes up most of my time. But I like to read whenever I can. She looked away, embarrassed at the sound of her paltry life.

Just admit it. You are a big snooze, Sondra.

And actually, I . . . I love writing. Someday, I hope to get published. She bit her lower lip and looked back at him.

John seemed interested. In fact, he was leaning in, listening as if he found her hobbies as enjoyable as she did. The sound of the crowd around them grew distant as they focused on each other’s words, and time zipped along.

When their food arrived, John and Sondra both reached for a napkin from the holder. Their hands barely touched, yet they each pulled back with the shock of the electricity that flowed between them.

The rest of the evening, Sondra couldn’t get that moment out of her mind.

None of Stephan’s friends are even an ounce as dazzling as John is.

She wanted to know everything he had ever done or said. She couldn’t explain it, but there was a sizzle between them, and having tasted of it, she wouldn’t ever again be content with her mundane existence.

It’s almost like I’ve just now come alive!

As for John, the lovely girl with the electric spark bewitched him. Her voice was gentle, and he loved her laugh. It wasn’t his nature to be so open so fast with a girl—or anyone else, really. But she was easy to talk with. She appeared to be enjoying herself. He sure hoped so. It was definitely worth the extra shift he was going to have to pull to take her out to dinner and a movie. If he knew no one was watching, he might have jumped into the air and given a shout for how light his spirit felt.

Having talked so easily during dinner, Sondra felt more comfortable as they drove to the theater. New sensations coursed through her as she took in John’s close presence.

At the end as they poured out of the theater doors with the other moviegoers, the cool night air caused Sondra to shiver. John asked, Would you like to wear my coat? He held it out invitingly.

Sondra flushed. Oh, thank you.

His hands draped the garment over her shoulders, and Sondra was once again shocked by the energy he seemed to generate whenever they connected.

The two couples got in Patrick’s car and headed for Sondra’s house. Sondra carefully hid her true feelings behind outwardly polite behavior. But she didn’t try fooling herself: something big had happened, and life wouldn’t ever be quite the same again.

Standing on her driveway, Sondra smiled shyly at John, handing him his coat. She wasn’t good at small talk. A light went on in the house. Thank you, John. I had a really good time.

John wanted to say something that would impress her but couldn’t think of a single thing. It seemed his mind had gone completely blank. It was great meeting you, Sondra. Can I call you sometime?

She nodded and quickly looked down, unable to keep her feelings hidden from his gaze.

John shifted his feet. He didn’t want her to go in but could see her mom peeking from the front window.

Sondra caught his glance and followed it, blushing at the sight of her mother watching them. Well, I’ve got to go, she said, moving away.

Sure. Me too. Well, good night, Sondra.

Good night. She quickly ran to the front door and inside.

On the ride to his apartment, John was barely aware of Rene and Patrick’s conversation. His mind was preoccupied with Sondra. He had to see her again.

* * *

Tucked away in bed, Sondra busily wrote in her journal. She poured out her thoughts about the entire evening, wanting to relive every moment. She finished with a quote from Dante that she once read: Remember tonight…for it is the beginning of always. It captured her heart perfectly. She sighed happily, turned off her light, and dreamed of the man who had made sparks come from his fingertips.

* * *

Patrick was taking the long way to get to Rene’s house while she held his hand.

Well, what do you think? Do you think he liked her? Her voice carried a note of anxiety.

Patrick grunted. He was in the car two minutes ago. Why didn’t you ask him?

Oh, Patrick. I couldn’t do that. I don’t know him well enough to ask him that. She paused. He’s your friend. You’ve got to find out.

Another grunt accompanied his look of exasperation. Rene, if he likes her, he will ask for her phone number. Don’t push it. He shook his head. You girls sometimes like to push too much.

Well, if we didn’t, you boys wouldn’t make a move. She released his hand, pouting.

Aw, come on, Rene. Don’t be like that. I will ask him, all right?

She took his hand in hers again. Well, it won’t matter if he does or doesn’t if Sondra didn’t like him anyway. She hadn’t noticed any overt sign of what Sondra’s thoughts had been. Rene sighed, knowing she would have to wait till they could talk tomorrow. Patrick pulled Rene closer to him. He kissed the tips of her fingers, breaking into her thoughts.

Honey, we only have a few minutes alone. I don’t want to spend any more time talking about John and Sondra’s possible future. He kissed her fingers again. I’d rather talk about ours.

* * *

Nearly a year had flown by. John and Sondra’s courtship had been filled with excitement. He devoted every spare moment he could with Sondra. He also spent time with her family, who adored him as well. He brought her flowers and sweets and left little notes declaring his love in creative places that she would find with great delight.

She told Rene, He’s the most wonderful guy I’ve ever met.

Her friend grunted, "That’s not saying a whole lot. He’s practically the only guy you’ve ever met."

Sondra laughed. I only need one.

One day she confided to her mother, I can’t imagine life without John, nor do I want to. Julia smiled as she listened to her daughter. How could we have walked the same streets, entered the same stores, seen the same sights in town, and not have known of each other’s existence?

What had I ever found worth getting up for in the morning before he entered my