Hope

            I met Hope on a Friday.  I remember it like it was yesterday.  I was sitting in sixth period freshman English class.  Mr. Borman was reading some stupid poem someone in the class had written.  All of a sudden, there was a knock at the door.  Mr. Wilson, the principal escorted a new girl into the room.
         “This is Hope Bourdeaux.  She just  moved here from Florida.  I hope you will all make her feel comfortable.”  He glared at us, then walked back out the door.
         I had never seen someone so beautiful in my life.  She was breathtaking.  She was tall and had the body of a dancer, with white blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes.  There was just something about her.  I fell in love with her immediately.  Not in that kind of way, but in a way I still can’t explain.  I guess it’s like I wanted to be her.
         “It’s very nice to meet you Hope,” Mr. Borman walked over to her and shook her hand, “Why don’t you tell the class a little about yourself.”
         She smiled, “My name is Hope and I am fifteen.  I’ve never seen snow, but I love to dance in the rain.”  She looked back at Mr. Borman, who I swear I’d never seen so nervous.  I’d later learn that she often had that effect on men, and women for that matter.