Melissa

            My eyes opened slowly to a pitch black room, sleep and confusion emanating from me as I rolled over onto my stomach and picked my buzzing phone off the bedside table. The bright light stung my eyes as I opened Anthony’s text. I pulled on my glasses as my watering eyes adjusted, and checked the clock, which blinked 1:21 in dull red lettering.

            “What the hell?!” I whispered to myself. I turned back to the phone, now open in my hand, where four words glared at me:

Karlee I need help!

            My heart leapt into my throat, as my thumbs raced along the miniature keyboard, hurriedly typing back:

What’s wrong? R u ok?

            I pushed myself up, so my back was resting against the headboard, silently debating about whether the cops were necessary.

            On the one hand, it was Anthony; he did stupid stuff. I mean, he didn’t usually need help, but when he did it was usually getting his car out of a ditch or something.

            On the other hand, it was Anthony; he did really stupid stuff. The kind of stuff that gave me, his best friend, panic attacks at 1:21 in the morning. But I stuck with him through every depressed phone call, every “I’m drunk and need a ride” request, and every night he’d almost slipped over the edge because - and only because - he was my best friend.

            At least, that’s what I told him. I mean, who in their right mind would expect the devilishly handsome, terribly charming, popular (if misguided) jock to fall for the uber-nerdy, innocently naïve four-eyes who spent all her free time writing hopeless love stories?

            No one, that’s who, because that kind of thing only happens in my stories. Especially when that misguided jock couldn’t stop talking about my polar opposite: Melissa.

            Melissa:

            The girl I’d never met, but knew so well I could pick her out of a crowd. The girl with the perfect green eyes, and a sexy black A-line. The girl with the perfect body, who could flirt her way out of a ticket by batting her perfect, black eyelashes. The girl with the dazzling smile, and the adventurous spirit.

            Yeah, his nerdy best friend, with her bespectacled hazel eyes and long brown hair always in a ponytail, the girl who only got out of a speeding ticket because she’d stuttered and blushed so much the officer had felt bad for her—that girl didn’t have a chance.

            The buzzing in my hand shot through me like a bolt of electricity; I'd completely forgotten about the phone in my hand. I flipped it open, wincing as it lit up my bed, and read through the text quickly.

            My jaw dropped, and soon silent tears were flowing slowly down my cheek.

            In simple black lettering, eight words found the power to break my heart:

How do I tell Melissa I love her?

            I’d known this would happen one day. Hadn't I listened to my own ramblings? But that didn’t stop the tears. So I did the only thing I could do.

            I answered his question:

Just do it…don’t hesitate just tell her

            Tears were still streaming when he replied:

Yeah but how? How would you write it?