+ F I V E +

     The dark-skinned boy has spent the last ten minutes trying to explain the basics of football to me. But when he realizes that there's absolutely no point, he chuckles to himself, moving onto the next topic.

     "So, high school?" He smirks, "how's that going?" I shrug, taking a sip of the can of diet dr. pepper I'd gotten myself. "Eh, not great, but not horrible. I mean—it can't be that different from college can it?"

     He scoffs, "it is drastically different. Like, for example; in high school, people care if you don't go to class or if you skip. But in college—my professors couldn't care less if I fell out of the Empire State Building." I laugh loudly, tossing my head backwards.

     "Oh my gosh, there's no way that's true!" He shakes his head, "it is though."

     We're quiet for a bit, as I pay an awful lot attention to my can of soda. In the corner of my eye, I see him move in towards me until our knees are touching. "You know," he begins, reaching over to fondle with the bracelet hanging from my wrist. "We never formally introduced ourselves—last names and all."

     I chuckle, extending out a hand, silently asking him to meet me halfway. "Julianne Hampshire, your local dying girl." He smiles sadly at my last few words, attaching his hand with mine. "Noah Donovan, your local college football player."

By the time Melanie is making her way over to me, Noah and I are laughing our heads off, grasping onto each other for air. She places both hands on her waist, raising an eyebrow at the both of us. "What do we have here?" She sucks at her teeth, sending a teasing smile my way.

"Just having some fun, Mel." Noah replies, and I'm surprised by the fact that they know each other. Noah looks abnormally uncomfortable by Melanie's presence, and there's a sinking feeling in my stomach.

"You guys know each other?"

Melanie sends me a look, "oh, yeah. We know each other real well, Jules." I stand to my feet, rubbing both hands up and down my jeans as Melanie holds onto my bag, while my fingers flex around my oxygen tank.

"It was real nice meeting you, Noah The College Football Player." He grins, sliding a hand through those curls I've aches to touch so much. "And it was real nice to meet you, Julianne The Dying Girl." We smile again, while there's a pang in my heart at the mere thought of having to leave the beautiful boy.

     But Melanie pulls me away from him, dragging me out of the doorway and over to our father's truck. "What the hell, Mel." I spit, sliding into the passenger seat.

     "You don't know him like I do," she injects the keys into the ignition, pulling out as fast as she can. "Just please—stay away, Jules. He's trouble."

I roll my eyes, buckling myself in as I lean an elbow on the door handle. "Mel, he seems nice—"

"You aren't dumb enough to actually believe that, right? He's not a good guy, trust me." I hate how final her words seem. I hate that she's got experience with him and I don't. Even though I've just met him, I wish we had as much history as he and Melanie seem to have.

But I guess I'll never be that lucky.

     By the time my father's truck parks in the driveway, I slide out of the passenger seat, closing the door behind me. Melanie rounds her way over to me, gripping onto my bag. "I'm really sorry about Noah, Jules. You liked him already, didn't you?"

     "Yeah," I whisper, glancing away from due to the fact that I don't want her to see through my white lie. "I really did." She stalks off into the house, and I exhale sharply.

     I wasn't done with Noah. He was too good, too interesting and pretty. I wanted to be around him and laugh with him again. He'd made a great first impression—although, I can't say the same about myself. But I felt bad for Melanie. She seemed so angry by me talking to him.

     My intentions weren't exactly clear—not even to myself, but while dying in a mere months time; I knew I had to go for it. I knew I had to go for him.

     I just hoped that process would be smooth. I'd see him again, and again, and again. And sooner or later, his true colors would burst through, and I'd know if Melanie was right or wrong.

     I just hoped I wouldn't get too attached by then. My goal was to make a friend—or something a little more.