Because it was a Sunday afternoon, campus looked like a ghost town while Melanie and I made our way across the main quad. A few students carrying backpacks were coming out of the library, but most of the people that I saw were either soaking up the last hours of sunlight or throwing a frisbee back and forth. My shins started to ache when we passed the humanities building, though it didn't even cross my mind to ask Melanie if she wanted to slow down. Maybe it was pride or just stupidity, but either way, I felt like I had to keep up with her no matter what.

Focused on ignoring the pain in my legs, it took me a few seconds to realize that Melanie had fallen behind. I stopped, secretly thankful for the opportunity to rest, and reached down to massage my throbbing legs. Melanie was staring at a stretch of lawn that extended between the campus' main auditorium and the political science library. I walked back to her slowly, a little unnerved by the shocked expression on her face.

When I reached her side, I followed her gaze and felt a rush of recognition when I saw that what had captured her attention was S.P.L.'s latest demonstration piece. Although I felt guilty for letting my thoughts drift to Gemma, she had been the mastermind behind the art installation that Melanie continued to stare at. I'd actually helped by driving Gemma and her friends around while they collected the materials that they needed to put the display together.

Five hundred American flags, all roughly the size of an index card, had been driven into the ground by the thin wooden sticks they flew on. Gemma had arranged them to spell out "50," the number of U.S. soldiers killed in the weeks since the first troops had been deployed overseas. Behind the flags were three posters. The one in the center featured the names of the fallen soldiers that had been released to the media, while the posters on either side showed images of stunned civilians fleeing their homes while American tanks rolled through bloodied streets. According to Gemma, the piece was supposed to show the losses already felt by both sides, and it did. I'd been skeptical when she originally pitched the idea to me, but I had to admit, looking at it now, I felt just as moved as she'd sounded when I heard her talk about it for the first time.

I coughed to get Melanie's attention. "It's for the anti-war rally tomorrow. The fifty represents--"

"I know what it represents."

Melanie's voice shook while she spoke and when I tilted my head to look at her, I noticed that her face had gone chalk white. She lifted a hand to touch her collarbone, and I saw that her fingers were shaking. The tremor was slight, barely noticeable, but once it caught my attention, I couldn't ignore it.

"I can't believe the administration let this go up," Melanie muttered, more to herself than to me.

"Free speech, I guess."

Melanie's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, and what exactly are they trying to say?"

"Um," I began. My headache from this morning threatened to return while I searched my brain for the academic explanation that Gemma had given me. I couldn't find it. "These soldiers died for a pointless war?"

Melanie looked like I'd slapped her. "Why do you think it's pointless?"

"Well, because..."

"Do you even know why we're sending troops over there?"

"Sort of," I admitted.

Melanie turned back towards the rows of flags, her chin crumpling as she frowned. "Even if you do think this war is pointless, does that make it alright to exploit the deaths of all these people to... What, help some student organization recruit more members?"

"No, of course not."

"That's all that this is doing, you know. Exploiting them."

"I don't think--"

"You don't think so?" Melanie's nostrils flared slightly. "I bet most of the people in S.P.L. don't even know anyone in the military."

"I'm not sure, but--"

"I just don't believe that they actually care about helping the world, or whatever it is that they claim to be doing. They're just a bunch of spoiled brats who are trying to pad their résumés."

I opened and closed my mouth, waiting for something to come out. Something, anything... But what I ultimately said was nothing. Pursing her lips together, Melanie stared down at the ground for a long beat before taking a shuddering breath. When she looked at me again, her expression had softened, though her eyes remained unreadable.

"You need new shoes," she said.

Taken aback by the jarring shift in topics, I stumbled over my words as I replied, "Yeah, I know, these are falling apart."

"I'm serious, don't run in those anymore. You're going to get shin splints." With a final glance at the display, Melanie rubbed her eyes, almost as if she was trying to rid herself of the images. "Come on."

She took off after that without looking to see if I was following; I guess she knew that I would. She sailed in front of me while I struggled to find my rhythm again, and as she led the way, it struck me that she had really been holding back until this point. Melanie wasn't running as quickly as the morning when I'd seen her near The Row, but her normal jog was definitely faster than the tempo that I'd previously picked. Ignoring the aching in my legs, I pushed myself to keep up, though whenever I pulled beside her, she sped up more.

Eventually I resigned myself to trailing a few feet behind--close enough to hear her breathing but far enough away that our arms never accidentally touched. I'd upset her somehow, that much was obvious, but it took more brainpower than I had available to work out what I'd done. I replayed her reaction to the posters while my feet pounded against the pavement, each step echoing in my ears.

Maybe she was right, maybe the posters were exploiting tragedies. I'd never thought of it like that. I'd always believed Gemma when she said that spreading awareness was what mattered most, even if it hurt people to open their eyes. The strange thing was that Melanie didn't seem blinded to what was going on in the world, and that made me even more curious about her reaction.

When we ran through the southernmost gate that separated our campus from the rest of the neighborhood, Melanie finally started to slow down, and then stopped when we reached a crosswalk. The entrance to the university's botanical garden was just across the street and I could see the spot that I'd originally imagined us sitting in while we talked.

"Hey," I said, trying to fill my lungs, "do you still want to check out the garden?"

Melanie shrugged without looking at me. "Sure."

I started to apologize for whatever I'd done wrong, but the light changed and she started jogging again. I forced myself to stay by her side, even though it was clear that she was trying to surge ahead. Soon we were caught up in a makeshift race that neither of us seemed willing to lose; I'd inch forward, then she'd overtake me--back and forth, until I finally reached out and gave a small tug on Melanie's forearm.

"What?" she asked, her cheeks flushed from the effort. Out of breath, I merely pointed at an open space next to a large marble fountain.

She allowed me to lead her off the sidewalk until we were in the center of the well-maintained grass. I collapsed onto the ground first, and Melanie promptly followed suit. Listening to her panting slow into even breaths, I leaned back until I was staring up at the pink and orange sky, wondering when sunsets had become so nice to look at. Maybe getting older turned you into a sap, too.

From where I lay, I moved my head from side to side while I looked around. Although there were a few flowers to see, this part of the garden was where the roses erupted during the spring. Rows and rows of dramatic red and yellow flowers would emerge from the hedges sometime in March, just like they always did. Now, however, I looked at the plants' mostly barren stems and tried to remember what the bushes looked like in full bloom. I closed my eyes to help recall the memory, and when I opened them again, Melanie was staring down at me with a strange expression on her face. I sat up without using my hands, and my stomach muscles screamed in protest.

"What's up?" I asked, unsure if I should hold her gaze or lower mine. She answered that question when she looked down and picked up a twig. I watched while she broke off its tiny branches until nothing was left but an ugly brown stem. She studied it for a moment before tossing it onto the ground. The tension between us was so thick that I doubted a machete could cut its way through.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"What for?"

She rolled her eyes. "Really, Scott?"

"It's fine," I replied, too focused on her right dimple to feign resistance to her apology. "I'm used to girls yelling at me. Don't worry about it."

It was meant to be a joke but the crestfallen look that settled over her face made me feel bad. Why couldn't I ever manage to say the right thing to her?

"Are you okay?" I asked after a while, and Melanie nodded so quickly that I knew she was lying.

"Of course."

I paused, trying to catch her gaze. Rather than meeting my eye, Melanie stared down at her lap and brushed away a few blades of grass that stuck to her thighs. I continued, "Are you sure?"

"I don't know," Melanie said softly, brushing back strands of hair that had escaped from her ponytail. "I guess I'm kind of stressed."

"About what?"

"My brother was deployed on Monday."

It took me a moment to process what she'd said, but when the words finally sank in, they hit me like a hammer to my gut. As understanding dawned on me, I wanted to slither into the dirt like a worm. "Oh... I-I didn't know. You have a brother?"

"His name's Kevin. He's older--about Michael's age," Melanie explained, fumbling with her armband. It was the same brand as the one that I usually wore when I ran, though hers was cased in turquoise silicone instead of black. Sliding her phone from the band's plastic sheath, she unlocked it and began scrolling through a photo album. When she found the picture that she'd been looking for, she passed me her phone so I could see. "He's married, too. Parker met him and his family when he came to Thanksgiving dinner last year."

A small army of redheads, each member of the Schroeder clan possessed a slightly different shade of hair. Melanie's was clearly the brightest shade of red, followed by her dad's. Her mom, on the other hand, was a strawberry blonde, though if I looked closely, I could see a hint of grey beginning to peek through near her roots. Despite Kevin's closely shorn cut in the photo, I could tell that if his hair grew out, it'd be closer to brown than anything.

"Are you guys close?" I asked, handing Melanie back her phone.

She nodded. "Best friends. We get dinner together every few weeks, or whenever we can. It's been harder this semester because of my schedule but we try to make it work."

"What branch is he in?"

"Navy. He's a SEAL."

"So was my dad."

"Really?" When I nodded, Melanie's mouth twitched upwards. "Small world. San Diego?"

"No," I replied. "He was based in Virginia Beach while he was active. I think it's where my parents got married, actually."

"That's cool. Kev's been in Coronado since he finished training. It's nice that he's stationed closeby--when he's home, that is."

"How many times has he been deployed?"

"As a SEAL?" Melanie frowned while she hugged her knees. "This is his third time. It'll be his longest, too."

"How long?"

"Nine, maybe ten months."

"Wow. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Melanie sniffed gently, wrinkling her nose. "We should all be used to it by now, but I guess I'm not."

I patted her on the shoulder, wishing I knew how to comfort her. "I'm not asking you to, like, pity me, or anything," Melanie added as she squirmed away from my touch. "I'm just thinking out loud."

"That's fine."

"But, I really am sorry for snapping at you. I guess I... I've met so many of the guys in my brother's unit, you know? I've gone to barbecues with their families, I've babysat for them. If any of them died, I think it'd break my heart to hear someone call their deaths pointless."

She looked at me and a chill ran through me, cutting to my core. "I didn't mean it like that," I said quietly. "Seriously, I didn't. All I meant was--"

"It's okay," she replied. "I know what you meant."

Neither of us spoke for a moment, though I wrapped an arm around Melanie when a gust of wind made her shiver. It was instinctive, but the look of surprise that flitted across her face made me wonder if I'd crossed a line. Before I could pull away, she leaned against me so that her head rested on my shoulder and my heart began to pound so loudly that I was certain she could hear it. From the corner of my eye, I watched her chest rise and fall, and I pulled her a little closer. Parker really hadn't been joking when he'd said she had a lot going on in her life.

"Are you worried about him?" I asked eventually, my stare trained on the grass around my feet. I felt Melanie nod.

"Yes and no. I really only worry when he goes dark before a mission, but otherwise, I try not to think about it too much. He loves what he does, but I miss him."

"How do you handle it?"

Melanie shifted so that her breath tickled the side of my cheek when she spoke again. "I pretend like he's coming home tomorrow."

I thought about that. "Does it help?"

To my surprise, Melanie laughed, though there wasn't any humor in the sound. "I wish."

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A/N: Thank you for reading and voting! Let me know what you thought of the chapter. :)<3