Melting Hearts | ✓

c h i l l s ║ix

c h i l l s ║ix

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Mr. Wades and the other's still hadn't come back. Quinn had been checking her phone every few seconds for the last hour, and now it was almost dead. Nobody else had brought anything to tell time with either, so now we were stuck trying to preserve it.

"We won't even need to tell time soon," Abigail reassured us, "They'll come back any second now."

Nobody told her she was being too hopeful, but I knew we were all thinking it. Maybe it was something I liked about her, even though she could be pretty annoying sometimes. I looked around the room at everyone, smiling to myself.

Macy, Abigail, Quinn and I were all sat on the floor, some against the beds. We were all hunched over a pad of paper or a notebook, trying to pour out some ideas. Tyler was laying on his bed listening to music, hoping it might give him some inspiration. I couldn't seem to understand how rap music could make anyone write poetry about the wintertime, but I guess whatever works for him.

I didn't know where Oliver was, one second he was sitting with us and then when I looked up, he was gone. I assumed he was in the bathroom or something, I didn't think he was dumb enough to go outside. The weather was still raging and tapping loudly on the windows.

"Guys," Quinn broke the silence, everyone looking to her, "I can't write sometimes, when I'm having emotional blockage, you know." She stopped and bit her lip, "It's almost like all I can think of is whatever problem I'm having and then I can't focus on my writing."

Everyone nodded. Though I'd never say it out loud, it reminded me of my drawing lately. I'd pick up the pencil and begin, only to shove my stuff away after struggling to forget my troubles. It was funny to me that I had the same problem as Quinn and I guessed that almost everyone here had it too.

"I know exactly what you mean. My dad last his job last summer and that was the first time I went almost a month without writing anything. Every time I started, all I could think about was how things would have to change around my house." Abigail spilled to us. Her mouth was like a faucet, just running out whenever someone turned it on. Sometimes I wished I was like that. Even when someone turns on my spout, nothing comes out.

"Maybe if we talk about our troubles, we'll write better." Macy cleared her throat.

Quinn seemed to consider it, but then a spark of something flashed in her eyes. It was like she was trying to decide something, and then just went for it. I was about to speak, something casual just to agree with Macy.

"I'm not as rich as everyone thinks." Quinn blurted, looking down at her pad afterward. I couldn't tell if she regretting saying that or was just embarrassed at what we might say.

"What do you mean?" Abigail asked, gosh she was so brave. I still bit my tongue and listened to everyone's nervous taps. Macy was running her nails across the floor, Abigail was itching her arm and I was nibbling on the edge of my sweater--a nasty habit of mine.

"We lost a lot of money at the first of this year, after one of my dad's biggest investors fell through. Ever since then I've been..." She tugged at her shirt collar, as if it could help her, "...stealing...almost everything I own...and..."

I tried to hold back my gasp. Macy didn't even try, hers coming out shaky. Quinn didn't dare look at any of us. It was odd for her to tell us that, even if it was for her writing. I wondered if her friends knew about it, I bet they didn't. Were we her friends?