Wilcrest Girls Academy is an all-girls private school - or it was, until Jack Moody entered the halls.
8:35 the first bell rings.
8:47 Molly Clark stumbles in late to class
9:00 Jack Moody enters the room
9:01 Molly falls head over heels
Molly's ne...
"Then, what about Jack Moody? I think he hates me too," I explain, hoping she can fix that problem as well.
She smiles softly. "And why would he hate you?"
"Because I may have played a part in getting him kicked out of Wilcrest," I mutter. And then more quietly, I add, "And now he might have to move away from his mom...who's sick."
Tears burn at my tired eyes once more and I chomp down on my cheek trying to push down the guilt.
"Oh honey," she soothes placing a hand over my own. "I didn't know. But if you care about him, you should let him know. It sounds like he could use a friend right now."
Ashamed, I sink back into my mother, who strokes my messy bed-head as I cry into her and allow the guilt to wash over me a while longer.
......
After a good breakdown, I've decided to take my mother's advice. Jack may hate me, but that doesn't mean I can't show him I'm still here for him—if only as a friend.
Approaching his small white house, I dump my bike back into the ditch like I had done before and then storm up the rotting porch.
Knocking firmly on the rusted door, it doesn't take long before it swings open, revealing Jack Moody dripped in black track pants and a hoodie.
He frowns at me. "Molly, you can't just show up here—"
Trying to slam the door in my face, I press my hand against the smooth surface, stopping it.
"I just came to apologize," I rush out to explain.
Annoyed, the boy rolls his eyes, looking over his shoulder before joining me out on the porch. He crosses his arms with a scowl.
"Look—I know I had no right to say those things to Emma," I begin. "It's not like we were together. It's none of my business what you two were doing together."
He shakes his messy hair, wrinkling his nose at me as he groans. "There was nothing going on between us—"
Shame burns at my cheeks as I stare at my feet. "No, I know—that's what I said. I misread everything..."
"No," he butts in. "There was nothing between me and Emma."
Confused, I stare up at him. "But you two were alone together after we danced."
Jack sighs looking up at the blue sky above us. Ironically not a cloud in sight—although my day feels more like a gray sky.
"I pulled her out to talk," he explains. "To tell her I wasn't interested in her like that—I gave her the wrong idea by agreeing to be her date."
They weren't hooking up in a closet after all?
"But then you had to go all GI Jane on her and attack her," he huffs with a frown.
"No, I know," I begin. "And I'm sorry for that—"
Again, he shakes his head at me before rubbing a hand over his face. "But that's just what you do, isn't it?" His voice is loud and harsh. "You're like a tornado, destroying anything that gets in your way—and you never stop to think how it might affect anyone around you."
Hurt, I open my mouth to apologize but he keeps going.
"Because you don't really care about anyone other than yourself," he says in an exhausted tone. "You're selfish and immature and I can't be around it anymore."
His words bite at me causing my throat to burn as tears threaten to form yet again today.
"Jack—I'm sorry," I mutter. "I didn't mean for you to get hurt."
"Yeah, but now thanks to you, I'm out of options," he says throwing his arms up. "They're going to expel me. And my mom will find out and send me away from her."
His dark eyes grow heavy as his face falls, sending my heart rupturing into a thousand tiny pieces.
"And the worst part—I didn't even start that stupid rumor."
The sincerity in his voice catches my interest. "Rumor? What—" I stammer.
The boy sighs turning away from me, back to his rusted front door.
"Nothing ever happened between me and Emma McKinney," he huffs again. "I don't know who started that, but it's all bullshit."
His hand grips onto the silver doorknob, giving it a turn before creaking open the front door, disappearing behind it. He leaves me stunned and alone on the dilapidated front porch.
Tired feet carry me back towards my mustard-colored bike; I stand it up from where it lies in the ditch.
It was all just a silly rumor?
But who would start such a thing—my breathing hitches. Pieces suddenly falling into place as I realize where all Wilcrest gossip seems to grow legs.
Tina Parker.
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