Anissa Andrews glanced at her cell phone and then placed it on the picnic table. Clasping her hands, she closed her eyes, and a single tear escaped. I silently sat beside her. My hand stealthily covered hers, and I edged a little closer.

Anissa rarely spoke. I recall the first time I saw her. September, many years ago, when we children began first grade, she appeared at the edge of the schoolyard. The chatter of young voices ceased as we stared in her direction. She differed from the rest of us.

Her store-bought school dress hung just above her knees; black and white saddle shoes covered her feet. She clutched the strap of a patent leather handbag. Annissa did not move, nor did we. A stillness overhung the small group of frightened children.

Finally, I brushed the dust off the backside of my denim overalls and approached the new girl. For a moment, we stood face to face and toe to toe. Her shoes were too white, too clean. My old brogans were brown, and the soles flopped up and down when I walked.

"Hello," I greeted, my voice nervously squeaking. "We don't dress up in the backwoods, but you're new. We won't hold it again' you. I'm Hollyn Mays. What's your name?"

The child ogled me as though I spoke a different language. Her wide sapphire eye rounded in wonder. Dolefully, she shook her head. Then, cruelly, my schoolmates grasped hands and, circling her, cried out, "Mutey, mutey." Breaking through, I grabbed Anissa's hand and dragged her into the old one-room schoolhouse.

We grew up together. Leaving the little schoolhouse behind, we walked to Edwin Mills to attend the high school. Anissa Andrews grew into a tall slim girl with thick brown hair and a freckled face. As beautiful as she once, she rarely uttered a word. When she did speak, she could say 'Hollyn' with a strange foreign lisp and a few other mangled syllables. I understood her perfectly.

I loved Anissa Andrews. Inside my spiral notebook, I wrote her name and enclosed it in a heart. Secretly, in my bedroom, we kissed. Boys meant nothing to me. I wanted Anissa, who always remained sweet and innocent and virginal. She, on the other hand, returned my favors but without emotion. She was a part of my life, but she was never really there—never real.

The text message disturbed her. I tried to comfort her, but she leaped up and ran away. Following close on her heels, I plunged into the underbrush. Gaining speed, she disappeared. I panted behind her. When I reached the clearing, I halted, my eyes bugging in amazement. Anissa stood on the platform of a strange conveyance. For a minute, she was just Anissa—the girl I loved. Then, her eyes rounded and undulated. Her smooth white arms turned a sickish green color. Her beautiful hair vanished, then she disappeared.

The silvery spaceship hovered over the tree line and, in a flash, evaporated.