Living with Jennifer Lawrence

[44:] Helping Him Out

Taylor Mangan = Maddie

Before you read, who do you think "him" is?

Maddie's P.O.V.

Something is very wrong.

Well, what happened today is very wrong. It doesn't make any sense.

All of this had happened this morning, during P.E.---physical education---and I was running a mile just like everyone else. Sweat was making my hair stick to my face, and of course I wasn't as fast as the others. Good thing I wasn't last.

Nearby are many trees, enough to create a forest, but it isn't one. It's just a lot of trees together. Big, tall ones with lots and lots of leaves.

By now, I have ran one forth of a mile, and I fell like I might pass out already from heat exhaustion or something. I slower my pace, so my "run," became more of a jog.

Most of the thin and fit girls and boys are already halfway done while I'm still going.

There's a rustle in the trees. I assumed it was just the nonexistent breeze I was feeling. But then a figure came out.

I knew instantly it was a male. With his broad shoulders and even by the way he walked---or should I say tumbled through the woods-like area.

Surprisingly, no one really noticed him, for they were already ahead of me.

Whoever this was---he was in bad shape. Like, really bad. He was filthy, especially his clothes; they were coated with dirt. He had cuts and scrapes along is arms and cheeks, and I noticed his fingers were excessively bleeding. His hair was a mess and a couple of dead leaves were sticking out.

He collapsed to the ground. Because of the trees, he remained hidden enough, and I ran to him.

He was on his stomach, panting, and obviously in pain.

"Are you okay?" I tapped his shoulder, and he winced. He lifted his face, turned to me, made his eyes widen, and quickly scooted away---with whatever energy he had left.

"It's okay." I stroked his head gently. There too, was coated with dried-up blood. "I won't tell on you."

He looked relieved.

"Look at you, you're bleeding!" I picked up his arm delicately, and got a better look at it. Countless little scrapes were visible; it looked like a child had scribbled onto it, but with a knife or something. "What exactly happened to you?"

He scurried away, and the two of us went deeper into the wooded area.

"Look, I won't hurt you or anything. If I really wanted to, I would have done so by now," I tell him. He gave a slow nod. "What's your name?"

"Logan," he muttered.

Oh. Shit.

This must be him. The Logan. The one the was. . .in jail! Oh, man. What do I do? He obviously escaped. Why else would he be dirty, bloodied, and afraid? But I said I wouldn't tell. I gave him my word. It's too late to change my mind.

"Oh, okay," I reply unsurely. I got down to his level, slung his left arm on to my shoulder, and helped lift him up. Gratefully, he did.

"What happened to you?" I repeat. "And don't lie to me."

"I'll explain later," he said weakly.

I nodded in response.

"Wait, why'd you come here?"