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“Before I could even think of a suitable retort â€� hopefully a witty one â€� I saw, out of the corner of my eye, someone walking with deliberate purpose from the cafeteria entrance toward our table. I turned my head in that direction, and when I recognized who this someone was, my heart leaped to my throat, and I almost forgot to breathe.

Speaking of the Devil, I thought, as I beheld the familiar presence of Martina Elizabeth Reynaud, considered by many to be one of the prettiest girls in the Class of 1983.
Even dressed as she was � denim jeans and a matching jacket, with a plaid button-down blouse, scuffed girls� Keds sneakers, and her long chestnut hair pulled up into a simple ponytail that bobbed up and down when she walked � Marty was simply, heart-achingly gorgeous. Wherever and whenever she was in a room � even a busy cafeteria � she almost always got looks of admiration and/or envy from her fellow students. Most of the guys in our school wanted to be with her, while many of the girls wanted to be like her.

She was tall, lithe, and naturally sexy; these physical attributes drew a lot of attention to her. Most guys, including me, paid particular attention to them, mainly on the rare occasions when she wore her athletic shorts and T-shirt on the way to change in the girls' locker room after her fourth-period PE class.

She was also one of the nicest, sweetest people who went to South Miami. She almost always had a pleasant smile or a cheery 'Hello, there!' â€� especially early in the morning, when most of us were either grumpy or still groggy from waking up early to get to school.”