Gotta Be You

Chapter 1: Meeting

2005

Jess: Looking out the window of my bedroom, Bradford looks like a great place. But looking at it from the realization why I’m here, not so much. In fact it’s a scary, dark place in my head. A place we had no real choice of. A place that was just a place on the map before now. A place that is a refuge. I could hear my music playing through the earbuds of my MP3. The sun shone through my window. Maybe I would go outside and enjoy the sunshine without the fear of being caught by my father. I got up from where I sat at my desk. I walked down the stairs to the patio door as I slid it open. I sat down on the rough concrete of the patio. The sun soaked into my previously bruised veins. It felt good. Calming.  I sat there. It could have been hours, days, or only minutes. The only way to tell how long it was was to go by the songs that had played. Suddenly I was joined by something else. A person I thought. I opened my eyes to see who this person was. “Hey,” a boy’s voice said. Wait a boy? What was a boy doing on my patio.

 “Hi,” I answered. My voice seemed cautious, and shy.

 “I’m Zayn,” the boys said sitting down next to me, “You are?”

 “I’m Jess,” I answered, not losing the nervousness in my tone.

 “Nice to meet you Jess,” Zayn said. There was an awkward silence before he continued, “Your mom wanted me to come back here and meet you.”

 “Why does she do that? I told her I'm perfectly fine here,” I ranted, probably slightly rudely. Luckilly it didn'ot change his view on me.

 “I don’t understand half the things my mom does. I like to assume I will some day. But I’m pretty sure I’m with you there and I won’t ever,” Zayn chuckled. He was smart, and kind.

 “So what are you listening to?” he asked a moment later. There was one subject I could be open on.

 “Um, sadly the Purple Haze album by Prince,” I answered blushing.

 “Sweet. You like Prince?” Zayn asked.

 “Um, yeah,” I said, blushing again.

 “Yes, I’m not the only one!” he said, air grabbing so hard he fell backward. I laughed at him as he struggled to get up. Then I laughed as he tried to get up after I pushed him back down.

 “So tell me more about you,” Zayn said once he was finally off the ground.

 “Well, I am obsessed with music. Anything that had a beat and some lyrics I love. Even some stuff without lyrics is really good,” I babbled. He nodded.

 “So who is your favorite artist?” asked Zayn, who seemed actually genuinely interested. I was shocked by his interest.

 “Um, I kinda like everyone. The Beatles to Flo Rida. The Spice Girls to Weird Al Yankovic,” I said, blushing.

 “Seriously?” Zayn said, eyes growing wide, “Me too!” I smiled.

 “Someday I want to be in the music business. I really want to be a DJ like David Guetta or someone like that. To use the fancy term House Music Producer,” I said, smiling, "Although just a general producer would be epic too."

 “Sweet. I have always had a dream of being a singer. I don’t know though because I mean I’m not, like, super good,” Zayn said, blushing.

 “I’m sure you’re not that bad,” I said, nudging him with my elbow.

 “I don’t know,” Zayn said looking down at the concrete of the patio.

 “Come on. You can come inside and show me how terrible you actually are,” I said standing up. He stood up and followed me into our house. Little did I know this was only the beginning. The beginning of something I had no idea the size of.