Summer Camp Sweethearts

Chapter 27

We will find you.

That's all the message said as I looked at my phone. I re-read it for a second time.

Unknown Number.

It comes from an unknown number, and that's when my heart rate starts to pick up. Who on earth is this from? I look up from my phone and scan the cafeteria of the school. At this point, it can be anyone, but I doubt it could be someone from my school. Most of them don't know me. But then again, they have read my story in the newspapers and know what happened. Maybe they want some revenge now.

"Are you okay?" Cara's voice asks next to me. She basically begged me to sit with her during lunch. If it was not for her constant begging, I would have made my way to the library to study and finish that assignment we got earlier this week.

"Yeah, I'm good," I say, tucking my phone back into my pocket.

"Just a little spooked, is all."

"I can understand that" she says, her blue eyes looking sympathetically at me. "After what happened to you, I would be too."

We sit in silence for a few minutes before Cara breaks it. "So, do you want to tell me about it?"

"No," I say, grabbing my fork and poking my food. "Can we just forget it, please."

"Sure,"

I can feel that she wants to talk about it, but it's not that I don't trust her; I just feel it's not that important to inform anyone of it yet. It's the first time these people, whoever they are, are contacting me. Maybe they sent the message to the wrong number.

I take a bite of the piece of chicken on my plate.

"You know that new teacher that started the other day? I find him cute," Cara's voice speaks up from next to me. I choke on my food and sputter,

"What?"

"You know, the one with the dark brown hair. He's really cute." I eye her from next to me and then look across the cafeteria, spotting the person I am looking for. As far as I know, only one teacher started a few days ago. And Cara thinking he is cute is just wrong for me.

"Do you mean Mr. Anderson?" I ask her, pointing toward the new teacher standing near the water fountain, filling up a cup.

"Yeah, that's him."

"That's my brother," I say, and it's her turn to choke on the food she placed in her mouth.

"What! No way. Your brother looks like ... that?" she asks. I stare at her, trying to figure out what she means and not burst out laughing.

"Yeah, he's my brother," I repeat, raising my brow at her.

"Well, I'm sorry. I didn't know." She takes a sip and then stands up, grabbing her tray.

"I better go find someone else to talk to."

"Okay," I say, not really paying attention to her as she walks away. Is my brother cute? Really? He's just my brother. Well, at least this conversation took my mind off of that text message I received earlier.

Before I can think about the text message, the bell rings, indicating lunch is over. I sigh, collecting my bag, standing up with my lunch tray, and walking to dispose of my tray by the trashcan.

***

Sometimes I don't understand why we have certain subjects. I mean, why would we have math in school? It's not like it helps us in life. We might be able to figure out how to add two numbers or something, but that's about it. But history, that's another story.

I'm sitting in Mrs. Rogers' class, listening to her drone on about the French Revolution, and I can't help but think that it's all just a bunch of BS. Sure, we learned about the events leading up to it and what happened during it, but does that really matter? It doesn't make any sense to me. I will not live in France soon, so why bother learning all this stuff? But then again, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe learning about these things is essential because it helps us understand how things can change for the better. I'm not sure. But I do know that I don't want to be a historian.

"Melissa?" Mrs. Rogers asks, bringing me out of my thoughts. I look around the room, trying to get any indication as to what we are discussing at this moment. No one is giving anything away. They all look at me, almost expecting me to solve all of their problems.

"Uh... I am not sure what," I say, looking around the room.

"Well, Melissa, I was wondering if you would like to share your thoughts on the French Revolution," Mrs. Rogers says, looking at me expectantly.

"Oh. Yes. Sure," I say, clearing my throat, "I think it was great. I mean, not everyone had the best experience, but overall, I think it was a good thing. We all need some history in our lives, right?" I answer, expecting to lighten the room.

"I couldn't agree more," Mrs. Rogers says, looking around the room.

"Blake?" she asks. Yes. I am in a history class with Blake.

"I don't know. I mean, it was great for the French people, but I'm not sure if it was such a good idea for other countries to follow suit," Blake says, looking around the room.

"I think it's important that we learn from our mistakes," Mrs. Rogers says, looking at both of us.

"But I also think that sometimes change is necessary."

"Right," Mrs. Rogers says, walking back to the front of the class. She starts to ramble, starting another topic in the middle of her sentence.

I jump in my seat as my phone vibrates in my pocket. I look around the classroom and fish out the vibrating object, checking the screen and seeing I have a message.

Blake: were you trying to be funny?

I look around and spot Blake smirking at me behind his phone. I'm not sure what he's talking about. I shake my head as I put my phone back in my pocket. Another buzz.

Blake: Wow. Are you really gonna ignore me?

Me: I am not ignoring you. We are in class.

Blake: Yeah. Sure. And you are paying attention to whatever Mrs. Rodgers is talking about now.

I roll my eyes and put my phone back into my pocket as I listen to Mrs. Rogers drone on. Blake has not messaged me since before I moved here, but this is a good start since the entire library incident.

Sometime during thisexchange, my face starts to hurt. But it's not because of the accident. Thistime I realize it's the stupid smile on my face.