Page 23 of Withered

“Where did this happen?” Another one asks, I stay put and act as if I am doing something.

“Janitor’s closet. He seemed angry and wanted an escape.” The earlier voice speaks. I gag at the mention of the janitor’s closet, which is enough to tell me where this topic is heading. If someone sees me, they will probably look at the disgust on my face.

“I never imagined that Jake would kiss me.” The same voice continues.

When I hear his name, my eyes widen. He’s all over the place. Can’t they talk about it somewhere private, rather than in the middle of the hallway?

I shut my locker and walked out, not wanting to hear anything else.

The drive home felt like an hour. Maybe because my head is wandering off somewhere else.

After parking my car, I dig in my bag for the house keys while walking but can't find them when I get to the door. My frustration reaches its peak, and I empty the contents of my bag on the front porch.

I’m not messy, but now I am a mess. I find the key stuck between the pages of my book. Picking it up, I shove everything back in the bag, get inside, and head straight for my room.

I freshen up and hear some shuffling coming from downstairs. I frown because I clearly remember locking the door. It can’t be a thief; everything is locked.

I make my way downstairs slowly, careful not to make any sound, and peep into the living room first. No one.

When I walk into the kitchen, I see Mom with her back to me, wearing an apron.

I haven’t eaten anything since I got home. “Hey, Mom.”

She turns around and smiles at me. No matter how tired she is, cooking is her escape. All her sorrows and worries are forgotten when she cooks. Her words, not mine.

“Hi, honey,” she replies, continuing whatever she is doing.

“When did you arrive?” I open the fridge to grab my litchi juice. I feel like I drink juice more than water. But juice contains water, so I am good.

“Like twenty minutes ago. I shouted when I got home, but you didn’t reply. I assumed you were sleeping,” she says. When she even shouted, I didn’t hear a thing.

I changed the subject. “Anyways, what are you making?”

“Mac and cheese,” she replies, and I freeze; the juice is long forgotten.

“Gimme that!” I practically shout.

Mom laughs and places a plate in front of me. “Here, have this.”

I grab it and start munching. Mom plops down beside me with her plate.

“Oh, honey!” Mom has that look of admiration.

I smile at her and lick my lips. We eat in silence, and after a little catch-up on our day, we part ways. She gets busy with her work while I head upstairs to complete my homework.

Before I start, I check my phone to see five missed calls from Kristy. I call her back, and she picks up after two rings.

She says, “Hey, Rose. You, okay?”

“Yeah. Just a little tired.” I sigh.

I want to tell her everything that happened today. We’ve known each other for ages; we don’t hide anything from each other, and we practically sense each other. But today I can’t bring myself to tell her. I don’t know why. Maybe because I’m overthinking everything.

She scoffs. “Oh really? Fool someone else. Now, tell me what is wrong with you. Even on the voicemail, you sounded as if something was bugging you.”

This is exactly what I meant when I said we sense each other. Cons of knowing your best friend almost your entire life.

So that’s what I do. I tell her everything. Jake sneaking out, the Olivia thing, him being the topper, and that other girl. She patiently listens while I rant to her about my day. After I finish, she just laughs, and even I find it stupid.

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