Page 13 of XO

“My mother keeps saying the same. Where the hell is Jacob?”

“I don’t—”

“I knew this was a bad idea. He’s twenty-five minutes late.”

“Perhaps Coach Carter called a football meet.”

“No, it’s just because he doesn’t give a shit.”

“Rosie!”

“Shit! Sorry.” I’m wincing as the words leave my mouth. In recent weeks I certainly haven’t made a good impression on anyone, well, besides Kevin.

“I’m worried he’s going to blow my chances. Perhaps the whole scholarship idea isn’t going to work. Not when I have to rely on someone else. And Jacob isn’t—”

“Jacob isn’t what?” his voice booms from somewhere in the darkened audience, the heavy door slamming shut behind him.

“You’re late,” I reply in my unhappiest tone while searching for his face.

“I had a meeting with Mr. Johnson,” he says, his ridiculously handsome face finally coming into view.

“You mean an after-school detention?”

His brows crease. “No… a legit meeting.”

“He’s telling the truth,” comes a sickeningly sweet yet patronizing voice. I turn to see Chelsea leaning against the stage, her smug smile barely visible in the shadows. “I was with him the whole time.”

Urgh.

I bet she just hangs for the chance to say those one-liners. Annoyed, I leave the spotlight to grab my bag.

“Where are you going?” Jacob asks, confused.

“Home.” Stuffing the script book into my backpack, I decide to take the stairs which will lead me out the back of the theater.

“Posie, wait.” Jacob’s fingers wrap around my wrist, preventing me from leaving. It’s a foreign touch, and it causes butterflies in my stomach. We’re both in the dark away from the others, but once our eyes adjust, we can almost make each other out. “Why are you leaving?”

“Because you proved me right. You don’t care about my scholarship as much as I don’t care for your excuses. Now let me go.”

He doesn’t, his grip tightening when I try to shrug free. “That’s not true. I do care. I promise it won’t happen again. It was a meeting I couldn’t get out of.”

“And I don’t care for your lies either, Jacob. This is senior year, and I have commitments to uphold. You may prefer snogging Ms. Barbie behind the bleachers instead of actually giving a shit about your future. But I’m not about that, and I’m not going to let you jeopardize it. And it’s Rosie, not Po—” A sudden sharp stab in my stomach has me doubled over, tears brimming as I breathe steadily through the pain.

“What the fuck?” Jacob releases my wrist to wrap an arm around my waist. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say, shirking him away. “I’m fine.”

Am I? What the hell was that?

“Now who’s lying?”

I don’t bother looking back, but I feel him watching my every move, broken only when the door slams closed.

~

You look like shit.

I carefully conceal the note Nessie passed to me in calculus, ensuring I meet Mr. Johnson’s gaze while he attempts, rather unsuccessfully, to explain complex logarithmic equations. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe he’s awesome at what he teaches, but I’m simply not comprehending. Ensuring I was first in to claim a back seat, I spent most of the class fighting a chronic fatigue and the urge to vomit. After abruptly leaving rehearsal the day before, I’d gone home, showered, and slept from five in the afternoon until six the next day. And even with the abundance of sleep, I still feel like shit. And apparently, I look it.

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