There’s something magical about fog. It sneaks in and covers the earth with a veil of secrecy. The magical mist hides the world’s flaws and makes everything beautiful. Even me.
We don’t get a lot of fog in Wyoming. It’s too dry here in the “high desert.” But sometimes in wintertime, we have just enough humidity for a dense cloud of fog, and everything transforms. Dead grass and tumbleweeds become delicate crystal sculptures. Ugly brown rocks shimmer under a coat of diamond dust. A shroud of mystery obscures the drab, gray emptiness. It’s easy to get swept up in the fairy-tale romance of a Wyoming winter mist. That’s why Shane Crawford kissed me.
But if this is a fairy tale, someone goofed. I got my kiss from Prince Charming, but I’m still a frog, and this isn’t “happily ever after.”
I’m not the fairy-tale princess type. I’m not beautiful or charming. Flowers don’t bloom at my touch, and birds don’t follow me around, singing happy little songs. I’m seventeen years old, and I’ve never even had a boyfriend. Seth once punched Kenny in the nose because Kenny tried to hold my hand, but that was kindergarten, and when Seth moved away at the end of the semester, Kenny lost interest. It’s been downhill ever since.