Page 25 of Withered

I see an unfamiliar expression cross his face, but he masks it away immediately. I wait for him to say something, anything, but only silence greets me until he speaks, “Well, then you shouldn’t talk to me.” With that said, he turns around and shuts his window with a loud thud.What just happened?

Anger is the only emotion that can describe me now. How dare he? He was the one who started the conversation, and he dares to tell me not to talk to him.

My phone pings, notifying me of a message. I pick it up to see a message from Tyler.

Tyler:Party tomorrow. My place. I told Jake to tell you as a reminder.

Seriously? A party in the middle of the week? I don’t reply and decide I won’t be going. Switching off my phone, I get on with my homework to distract myself.

By the time I finish everything, turn on my phone, and head downstairs, it’s already 6 p.m. Kristy calls as I reach the bottom of the last flight of stairs.

“Hey, Kristy.”

“Rose, did you hear from Tyler? About the party?” She asks, and I know where this is going.

“No. I am not coming. No way!” I state.

She whines, “But why?”

“Kristy, it’s a school night. I don’t want to go. Please don’t force me into this. I’m in no mood for any more parties.” I’m hoping she will understand.

“Okay then. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She cut the call before I could reply. Now she is mad at me.

Mom is sitting on the couch, sipping her coffee, and changing the channel. I sit next to her and say, “I made Kristy mad.”

“What now?” She looks at me.

“There is a party tomorrow, and I denied it,” I told her.

She puts her cup down, her eyes glued to the screen. “She’ll come around. Don’t worry.” Mom squeezes my hand, and I give her a tight smile.

How could I not worry? I cannot relax when Kristy, of all people, is mad at me.

As Mom gets busy with TV, I excuse myself to grab a glass of juice and go outside in the garden. It is not as big as Tyler’s but big enough to have Mom grow her favorite flowers, have a little barbecue, and most importantly, for me to lie down on the grass and look at the stars and the moon. And that’s what I do: I lie flat on the grass and stare at the clear sky. I stay here all night and never get bored.

My stargazing is disrupted when I hear some rustling. I ignore it, assuming it to be a cat or a squirrel, but I hear footsteps. Alarmed, I sit up only to see Jake leaving his house with his bag again.

I guess someone got a call or something.

The next day at school goes by surprisingly well. I don’t see Jake or Tyler, so I have the perfect time to catch up with Kristy. We make up. I know how to win her back, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I am going to that party.

Tyler and Kristy seem to be good friends now and hang out often. That was fast. As long as she is happy, I am good.

When I get back home, I start working on my homework right away. I sometimes stress a lot. Mom and Kristy often say I give so much into peer pressure, but if I skip even one day, I’ll lag, and the thought alone terrifies me. With good grades, it becomes more important to keep going. Hence, no parties, at least not during the weekdays.

Once I’m done, I go downstairs to eat. I heat the leftover chicken, eat my food in silence, clean up, and head back upstairs.

The first thing my eyes spot is Jake’s face—more like his side profile. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, shirtless, his chest on full display, and all I see are tattoos. I can’t make out clearly what the tattoos are, butholy mother of cheese balls, there are lots of them. He is busy typing on his phone, which means he hasn’t noticed me.

The white of his chest is hidden beneath the black ink. He turns his head suddenly, and I turn mine, looking around my room. My cheeks heat up because he surely caught me staring. I try to move or do something, but my feet won’t move, and I stare at the ground as if it’s the most fascinating thing I have ever seen.

“Take a picture. It will last longer.” I hear his voice.Huh, cocky?

I lift my gaze to find him now standing near his window, arms folded, which gives me a perfect show of his muscles. His black jeans are hung dangerously low on his hips, and I can see places I have no interest in looking at.

“I have seen better,” I say. I’ve no idea where this sudden confidence is coming from, but I’m relieved; I don’t want him to win. I fold my arms and lean against my desk for some support.

His green eyes bore into mine. They travel from my eyes down to my body and back up. I try to remain unfazed, but his gaze is making me fidget.

---