What About Us?

Chapter 17

Melisa

This is getting worse. Jacob won't talk to me about anything anymore, and on top of that Jill is driving me NUTS! She won't shut her mouth, if she says one more thing about Jacob and his history class drama. I was tired of the drama and the lack of communication so I decided to change that. I told Angela I was going to hide in the library and if Jacob came looking, to tell him where I was.

"Mel?" Jacob called through the newspaper archives.

"Over here." I whisper yelled

"Why are you hiding?"

"I'm not. I came back here to read."

"Oh."

There was a few minutes of awkward silence.

"What going on with you? You're being distant and keep leaving history class. Tell me what's going on." I said. "And please be honest."

"I, uh, well, um, you see, the topic we're discussing is a bit . . . sensitive for me. You see, when I ran away I ended up in San Bernardino at a college. That happened to be at the same time the shooting happened. I had met this one girl, Emily, she helped me out. The one guy, he . . . took her life . . . it's just hard for me to talk about." He explained

I suddenly felt horrible for being mad at him for not opening up and forcing him to tell me what was going on. I had no idea how badly this was affecting him.

"I'm sorry." I said hugging him

"It's ok." He said sadly

<*>

This project is stressing me out. I've been having constant asthma attacks and have been cooped up in my room for days.

Apparently waiting till the last week before the project is due is NOT a good idea. On top of this I still have to attend my classes. Trying to cram a quarter long project into a week AND do my class work is nearly impossible. Emphasis on nearly. I've had so many asthma attacks that Jacob won't leave me alone anymore. One time he left me alone to grab his phone from Jackson and when he came back I was bent over my project, in the middle of an asthma attack not even paying attention.

<*>

"Mel?" He asked

"Mmm," I mumbled still absorbed in my work

"You ok?"

"What?"

"Alright, you're done." He grabbed my chair and pulled it away from my desk. "Come on." He pulled me out of the chair and to the door.

"Wait, my project . . ."

"Will be here when you return. Come on, you've been cooped up in here all week. This isn't due until Monday, you have all weekend. Let's do something it's a Friday night!"

"But . . . but . . ." I struggled to get free but he had a grip like iron.

"Come on, just tonight. Spend a little time with me, we can grab some dinner, hang out. Please."

It was extremely hard to say no. He looked so good in his dry-fit workout shirt and sweatpants. His, short, chocolatey hair fell in his eyes and he made that sad puppy face, that could almost always change my mind.

"Fine, but just 12 hours. No more, but you have let me finish my project tomorrow ok?"

"YES! Come on, I have some great ideas."