Page 15 of Withered

I wave back. “Bye, Esme. It was nice to meet you.”

Mom and I call it a day as soon as they leave. I double-check my schedule for tomorrow, pack my stuff, and read a few pages of my current novel. When I start to feel sleepy, I switch out the lights and enter my imaginative world.

After a shower, I wrap myself in a towel and go to the closet. I pick an outfit and go to my room while wearing my matching red lace set. Sunlight brightens up the room in a yellowish hue, making me happy. I take a step forward towards my mirror when I notice Jake staring at me from his window.

“What?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him. I don’t want to start the day arguing with him.

He’s dressed only in black jeans that loosely hang on his hips. His hair is slightly damp as if he just got out of the shower, and his nakedtattooedtorso is on full display. He stands frozen and stares at me from up and down, his mouth hanging open wide.

Confused, I look down at my body and realize I’m only in my lace undergarments. My eyes go wide, and my mouth hangs open in shock while Jake smirks at me.

I scream and quickly hide next to the window, putting on my clothes in a hurry. When I’m done, I return to the window and see Jake wearing a white shirt.

“What the hell?” I yell. At this point, I don’t care if Mom rushes into my room.

“What?” He shrugs as if nothing happened, trying to play the innocent card here.

“What is your problem? Don’t you know staring is rude?” I ask him, even though I’ve asked him this question way too many times now.

I ball my fists to control myself by keeping my mouth shut. I’m not the kind to scream and cause a scene, but this one can draw it out of me.

He stares at me as if I’ve grown two heads. I cross my hands, waiting for him to say something, when he suddenly bursts into laughter. I feel like a complete idiot now.

All through my school life, I’ve been nothing but nice to everyone, and all of a sudden this tattooed, egotistic boy comes out of nowhere and brings a completely new Rose Evans out of me.

“It’s not my problem thatIhavemywindow open.” He fires back with his signature smirk.Oh no, the window; he’s right.

“Even if it was open, so what?” I try to keep my voice stable, but I am sure my face must have given away.

“You,” I say, pointing my finger at him, “should not peek into someone else’s room.”

“It isn’t my fault that your room is just in front of mine, is it?” He asks.

For the first time, I correctly heard his accent. Perhaps it’s because this is the longest talk we’ve ever had. I opened my mouth before I could process the words, “You should just close your window then.”

“You should close yours then.” He counters back with a sweet smile, showing off his dimples, and finishes by putting his hands in his front pockets.

Is it a crime if I say he looks so good in his plain white shirt and black jeans? The way he is standing, he would put any model to shame.Jesus, what is wrong with me?

I huff in annoyance and close the curtain. I hear his deep laughter, which annoys me more. I ignore him, get ready, and head downstairs before I head off to school.

I’m five minutes early today, so I go to Kristy’s instead of going to my locker. Everyone is at their locker or chatting in the hallways. I spot Kristy, who has her head inside her locker. She must have lost something. That is typical of her.

I creep up to her locker door and shout, causing her to startle in surprise and hit her head.

“Jesus, What the fuck?” She shouts and clutches her chest, startled at my intrusion.

“You should have seen your face.” I manage to say it in between laughs.

She glares at me with her arms crossed. I try to calm myself down, but when I see her face, I laugh again. Seconds later, she joins me too.

When people in the hallway give us weird looks, we calm down while still giggling.

“What are you trying to find this time?” I ask, my cheeks still hurting.

She gives me a tight smile. “How nice of you to assume I lost something? Which I did. I forgot to bring my history copy; worse, I think I’ve lost it.”

I look at her, confused. “Why do we even need a copy for that? I mark everything in my book.”

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