She couldn't help but notice him. He was so confident when he was asked to be the reader of the paragraphs at the Sunday watchtower study. He took such control in managing the microphones. He manned the book counter so masterfully.
She found herself indulging in fantasies in which he took a wholesome interest in her. Together, with appropriate chaparones, he invited her out in field service (she was giddy at the thought). While walking door to door, his strong, masterful arm grazed her bare shoulder in the smoldering summer heat. She felt the sheer power of his shoulder pad, which was enhanced by the strain of his forearm as it clutch his bookbag. Together, they placed more books and pamphlets in an hour and a half ( before the donut break), than either of them had ever before. It was as if the householders could sense their magic.
She couldn't help it, she allowed herself to engage in reveries in which she and he were officially courting; where they went on wholesome outings, with chaparones, of course, to skating rinks, to libraries, to zoos. She even dreamed of their touring Bethel together. A chill ran down her spine as, by accident, their hands actually touched occasionally during some of these chaparoned trips...
She realized she must STOP these potentiallly harmful thoughts. Yet...late at night, she still saw his well-suited image, his bookbag, his little black book containing a listing of all his return visit potentials. Stop!! Stop.