by Melissa Jane
Son of a…
“Exactly what I thought,” he proclaims, witnessing my blank expression. Leaning back, he points to the vacant chair in front of him. “Take a seat, Posie, and let me teach you a thing or two.”
I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched by the world. “You’re actually my tutor? Like, legit, and not setting me up for some Jacob Lynch style prank?”
“You look upset by this.”
Am I?
“I’m not upset. Just… surprised.”
“I’ll try not to be offended by such a comment.”
I roll my eyes. “Please! You don’t get offended by anything.”
“Because I’m too busy causing offense?”
This makes me chuckle. At least he’s aware of his vice. “Mr. Johnson didn’t say who my tutor was going to be. So, I’m a little shocked it ended up being you.”
“Even an asshole can be smart.”
Truer words could never be spoke.
I look behind me and scan the library.
“She has cheer practice,” Jacob announces, intercepting my thoughts.
“So, she won’t come in here screaming like a banshee if she sees me with you?”
“She doesn’t sound like a banshee.” I raise a brow, and he accepts defeat. “Okay, she does. But for today, you’re safe.”
Reluctantly, I take a few steps in, conceding my own defeat and take a seat opposite Jacob. Uncapping my pen, I wait for him to start.
“So, I’ve had a look at the results from your last test paper,” Jacob starts before I groan with embarrassment.
“Johnson showed you?”
“He did. I needed something to go off of.”
“If you dare hold this over me, I’ll find some way to get you back.”
“Let’s say I do hold it over you, you’ll never know when I strike.” He’s playful, but his track record suggests he’s definitely adding this to his arsenal.
“I always know when you strike. You make sure of it. The bigger the audience, the better.”
“Everyone has a weakness. Let’s just say calculus is yours.”
“And what’s your weakness, Jacob Lynch?”
He doesn’t say a word, just holds my gaze for a long, intense moment. A moment which causes my heart to thud. Breaking the hold, Jacob clears his throat and straightens his papers. “Let’s get started,” he says, dismissing the question.
I don’t press the issue because I’m thrown by his reaction.
For the next thirty minutes, I listen as Jacob runs over the error of my ways with each incorrect answer on the last test. He surprises me further by explaining calculus better than Mr. Johnson who’s been our teacher for years. Jacob’s patience in painting a mathematical picture for me turns out to be more beneficial than anything I’ve learned in class. The bell trills through the library signaling the end of recess, and as we pack our belongings, Jacob turns personal. “Kevin still asking you to prom?”
Stilling, I take a moment to consider how to respond. His tone is an unfamiliar one, so I’m careful how I tread. “Yes, but I’m confident he’s joking. Must be something about you boys that you love seeing me react to your jokes.”
Jacob shakes his head slightly. “I don’t think he’s joking.”
Sitting straight, I prop my calculus text on my lap. “So, I’m not understanding. What’s the problem?” I understand my father having problems with it, but not Jacob. He’ll be preoccupied elsewhere to care an inch about what I do.
Jacob rubs his perfect jaw, contemplating his next delivery. “It’s just…”
“What?” I prompt when he stalls.
He looks up and smiles, but it’s reminiscent of my father’s from just last night. It lacks all sincerity and truth. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it,” he says, changing his mind.
“You don’t start a conversation like that and then say ‘don’t worry about it,’ because that’s exactly what I’m not going to do.”
“You should only be worrying about it if you agree to be his date.”
So, now he’s throwing semantics at me.
I huff. “I didn’t agree to anything. But that doesn’t stop a girl from wanting to know what’s got you so pissed off when you shy away from giving the warning.”
He shrugs his shoulder defiantly. “I’m not pissed off.”
“Well, kind of feels that you are.”
“Then forget I said anything.” Jacob stands and shrugs on his Panther’s jacket. His tone is dismissive, and for some reason, it makes me feel small like he’s lording something over me, or that I’m too stupid to understand what he’s not saying. I didn’t even agree to be Kevin’s date, so why has he now got his knickers in a twist? “See you at rehearsal.”
“Yeah,” I say as he walks through the door. “Looking forward to it.”
I once again roll my eyes at how Jacob Lynch has managed to get under my skin and all without even trying. Everyone seems to have an opinion, but no one wants to share it.
On my way to class, I mull over the possibilities Jacob has planted in my head, but I don’t have time to propose my own ideas and possible solutions because I never make it to next class.
~
The rest of the day is especially heinous. After collapsing in the corridor, only a few feet from history class, the school nurse was called to escort me to sickbay. She and Mr. Johnson—who I decided I needed to have words with, just not at that particular point in time—picked me off the floor where I was curled into the fetal position, clutching my stomach and sobbing, much to the horror of onlooking students who’d gathered outside their classrooms. Whatever was taking hold of my insides had come at full force and was virtually incapacitating me, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Nurse Meyer attempted to get hold of Mom, who not surprisingly, didn’t answer her cell, and my dad was across town held up in meetings. With a hot water bottle on my lower back and cup of cold tea next to me, I nursed the waves of pain. Somehow, I have to make it home, and I dread the thought. Still shy of getting my license, the bus is my only option. I manage to get word to Jacob that I won’t be attending rehearsal—dammit, more ammunition for him—but heard he gave no reply. For some reason, his non-reaction made my heart sink. His hot and cold attitude toward me is more than I can handle right now.
Hate me or like me.
He can’t do both.
When the bell rings signaling the end of the day, the sick room door bursts open, and Jacob’s presence fills the space, concerned eyes observing my curled-up position.
“Can I help you?” Nurse Meyer asks without turning to see who she’s addressing.
“It’s just me, ma’am,” he replies, all too familiar with the nurse who’s repaired him many times after games.
“Jacob,” she exclaims with a smile that lights up the room. She turns in her chair and ushers him in. “Big game next week. Are you nervous?”
He shrugs his sturdy shoulders. “The Giants may have beat us last time, but we’ve got them covered. Mr. Johnson’s been brought in to help us strategize. Got us watching the last game and mapping shit… sorry, stuff out while Coach Carter deals with technique.”
Through my wincing, I can’t help but be impressed. There seems to be so much more to Jacob than meets the eye.
“Well, that sounds wonderful, dear. What can I help you with?”
“I’m actually here to pick up Rosie,” he says which takes me by surprise.
“You are?” I barely manage, my heart performing a somersault.
His smile is small but genuine. “Can’t leave you stranded, can I?”
Well, he could. He doesn’t owe me anything.
Without another word, he strides over, slides an arm around my waist before lifting me to my feet. “You’re shaking,” his gentle voice rumbles against my ear. I can’t reply because I have no energy to. Instead, I allow him to lead me down the hall, ignoring the curious stares of onlookers. It would look a bizarre sight—the school’s
hero and heartthrob practically carrying home the crippled art nerd no one has ever paid any attention to. But I’m too sore to care.
“You’re not going to like this,” he says softly. “But the Dodge is in the shop getting all new tires. So, I’m busing it home with you.”
“That’s more than helpful.” I barely manage the words because as slow as it is for me to walk with Jacob’s help, I’d never make it to the bus if I were to do it alone. And as it is, we arrive a little too late as the bus doors close and starts to move away from the curb.
“Wait here,” he says, ensuring I’m safely latched onto the no parking sign. He runs to the bus and with a flat palm, bangs on the side to gain the driver’s attention. When the bus comes to a sudden stop and the doors reopen, Jacob returns and once again hooks his arm around me. “Don’t worry…” he quips, sensing my relief, “… I would have piggy-backed you home.”
I smile, and my heart skips a beat at his sudden care factor. We awkwardly climb the bus steps, ignoring the gawking from onlookers. When I see every seat taken, I almost cry. I’ve used every ounce of energy just leaving the sick-room, and now I have a fifteen-minute ride home in a packed bus.
We’re three-quarters of the way down when Jacob spots two freshmen who seem hell-bent on avoiding eye contact. Pissed, Jacob’s having none of it.
“Move,” he orders, and I suspect he would have asked nicely had they had been decent human beings in the first place. Unimpressed, the two slide from their seats and enter the aisle where we wait. They move to hold onto a handrail while Jacob lowers me onto the seat. He opens the window, and the breeze hitting my face is a welcomed sensation because it still feels like I have an angry fire-breathing dragon inside of me. I take comfort in having Jacob so close, his thigh pressed against mine, his arm resting across the backrest where his fingers gently stroke my shoulder. To an onlooker—who doesn’t know I’m being attacked by some heinous affliction—we might appear to be an affectionate couple. And it appears, some feel the need to speculate as such.
“Must be his new bit of ass on the side.” I hear one boy, I’m certain it’s Xander from the basketball team, say to the boy next to him. I feel my cheeks redden, and although they’re probably saying it quietly enough to be a private conversation between the two of them, I feel Jacob tense so I know, like me, he’s heard every word.
“From a cheerleader to that. Who the fuck is she?”
This doesn’t hurt me like it would others. I’m no cheerleader, looks or personality wise. But when I see Jacob’s leg bouncing in agitation, I’m suddenly flooded with a feeling of shame. He’s risking his reputation to help me out. Only a small handful of students actually know of my existence, and then to compare me to Chelsea, it must have Jacob considering the consequences of his actions.
“Don’t know, but I’d do her.”
Urgh. I think I’d rather stay invisible.
I sense Jacob biding his time, and when the bus finally pulls to our stop, he helps me stand. This, for some reason, encourages another slew of comments from the boys.
“The fuck is that?” one asks bordering on hysterics.
“Jesus, fuck!” the other comments.
This pulls Jacob’s full attention, who’s obviously now had enough of their mud-slinging. He quickly steps toward them and then comes to an abrupt stop. I can’t see his face because I’m balancing on the railing, but I see his movements. Quietly, Jacob removes his Panther’s jacket and wraps it around my waist, tying it in a knot at my belly.
“What are you doing?” I ask, confused.
“Just keep it on, Rosie,” he says gently against my ear. “Try to get your way to the front of the bus. I’ll be there soon.” If I weren’t caught off-guard by the jacket, I would have spent more time questioning the fact that for the first time ever in our history together, Jacob actually said Rosie instead of Posie. Doing as he says, I fumble my way to the driver and turn back to see what’s unfolding.
Gasping, I watch in horror as Jacob’s fist smashes into Xander’s nose, sending a luminous spray of blood onto the bus window.
“Jacob,” I cry, but it goes unheard.
Covered in blood, Xander’s friend motions to stand, but Jacob issues a threat I can’t hear, and the boy immediately sits. Holding Xander by the scruff of the neck, Jacob speaks and when he doesn’t get a reply, he violently shakes Xander. With blood dripping from his nose and into his mouth, Xander raises both hands in surrender. Satisfied, Jacob releases the boy and flexes his hitting hand while heading down the aisle.
“What was that?” I ask, bewildered.
“Nothing, babe,” he says, while hooking an arm around my waist.
Rosie? Babe? What in the actual fresh hell is going on?
The doors creak shut behind us, and the bus continues down the street, leaving behind the memories of a ride from hell. Before I have a chance to ask Jacob about the showdown, a wave of nausea washes over me, and I bend at the waist, heaving long, slow breaths.
“Jesus, Rosie, what the hell is going on with you?” Jacob asks, and the genuine concern in his tone is enough to make me cry.
“I don’t know,” I barely manage.
Glimpsing a car pull into my drive, my father’s voice grows closer each second. “Rosie! What’s happened? Jacob, what happened to her?”
While I want to put my father at ease, I can’t. It’s as if my body waited to be home before it really sends me for a tailspin. I struggle remaining upright even with Jacob still holding me tight. I vaguely hear the conversation between he and my dad, the guilt in my father’s voice as he explains traffic delays on the highway prevented him from arriving sooner. How guilt switches to annoyance when he sees Jacob’s hands all over me and his jacket wrapped around my waist.
Somehow, I’m moved from the street, through the front yard, into my house and up a flight of stairs, all without me noticing. I blank out hard, but fight to stay aware because of the terse interaction between the two men wanting to help.
“Thank you, Jacob, but I’ve got it from here. You can go now,” my father dismisses.
“But, Mr. Reign—”
“Jacob, leave me to attend to my daughter.”
“You should know—”
“Leave, Jacob!”
“She needs to see a doctor, now, sir. It can’t—”
“I know what she needs, and it’s not boys like you hanging off her. Now go. I won’t say it again.” Dad pulls at the Panther’s jacket, his eyes following Jacob’s, and for a moment, I become super aware of them both gawking in horror at me. As if I didn’t have enough of that on the bus.
“What?” I ask, but don’t know how audible it is.
I blink hard clearing some blur, enough to see Dad’s face pale, his stare glued to the back of my skirt. “What the hell. Rosie…”
He may have finished his sentence, but I don’t hear it. My stomach lurches, and I vomit over the upstairs wooden floor like the Exorcist on steroids. The room spins violently and as more sick rises in my throat, my spinning world turns a perfect shade of black.
6
THEN
“I suspect it’s a severe case of endometriosis,” Dr. Symmonds informs my father who’s sitting on the edge of the bed. I look out the window and notice it’s already dark. “But I can’t be certain of that until I perform an examination. We’ll wait a few days for that to happen, so in the meantime, I suggest taking these.” The doctor hands my mother a small orange bottle of pain relief. “That’s all I can give you without a completed script, but you should be able to get this filled tomorrow.” He pulls his script pad from his case, fills it out and hands it over.
“Will she be okay?” my father asks, worry lines still etched around his eyes.
“She’ll be fine, now. It’s not uncommon amongst young girls, but the symptoms she’s been displaying tells me it could be severe as stage four endo, which for someone her age, is a quite worrisome.”
There’s a fleeting moment of sadness which crosse
s my mother’s face when hearing the suspected prognosis. “I should have known,” she says, chiding herself.
“You couldn’t. Rosie’s symptoms are rather extreme, and everyone is different.”
My mom has been quite open about her own endometriosis in the past, and the difficulties she faced in falling pregnant with me. I was a miracle baby she’s said before her stage two endo had resulted in five miscarriages before me. Hence, when I was born, they were too tired to try for another.
A single tear slips over my temple. If what the doctor says is right, the idea of ever having my own babies is just that, an idea.
“Bed rest for at least two days until swelling subsides. If she continues to push herself, next time will be even worse.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
He nods before giving me a small wave. “I’ll see myself out.”
Mom watches him leave while Dad squeezes my hand. “Gave me one hell of a fright there, boo-boo.”
I smile weakly. “Sorry, Dad.”
“How’s your head? You gave it quite the beating on the way down.”
As if on cue, the throb near my temple picks up pace. “It’ll be fine. I’m okay, I promise.”
“Yeah, those very words are what got you here in the first place. Always so stubborn.” He pats my hand. “I’ll go make you some tea.”
I watch him leave, gently closing the door behind him. My mother walks to the bed and takes his place. “I’m sorry I didn’t call the doctor sooner, honey.”
“It’s okay, Mom. You weren’t to know.”
“It could have saved you from the embar—”
“Mom!” I plead, cutting her off. I close my eyes tightly, cheeks flushing because I know the incident will be talk of the whole school.
Rosie Reign bleeds through her skirt on the school bus.
And according to Mom, it wasn’t even just a little bit, something more akin to a years’ worth of period. My skirt, she’d said, can’t be saved.
“Jacob… he…”
Mom nods. “I know. He was leaving the same time I got here and told me everything.”