Numero-freaking Twelve

66 9 17

Journal Entry #4
January 17, the new year (and I'm getting tired of it already)

Bored in English. It's "quiet time" because Tom went and ticked off the teacher.

Haven't seen Carla all day, nor have I seen Jax. Maybe they're both leaving me alone and keeping the drama away from me. Either way, I'm not ready to talk to them yet.

They're both so stupid.


I set my pencil down and lay my head on the desk. My stomach grumbles; I'd skipped breakfast.

A selfish part of me hopes Carla doesn't get contacts. I've always thought that maybe I was a little bit prettier than her because I dress up and whatnot, but if she loses her glasses and starts changing stuff like she's Anne Hathaway in The Princess Diaries, I think I'm going to scream.

That being said, I honestly don't think she's ugly. Maybe a bit underweight, but she can't help it. She eats like a bird and almost never exercises. Even then, why can't she just be happy how she is? At least she doesn't look like me.

"Psst, hey, Kelly."

The voice jolts me out of my thoughts, snickering following the words. I turn to see the guy sitting three seats back with a mischievous grin on his face. I frown.


He bobs his head once and bites his lip like h'es cool or something. "Don't listen when people tell you you're fat. I'd still hit it."

Gritting my teeth, I turn forward as some people laugh around him.

Stand up for yourself, I hear my brain tell me. Don't let them push you around like that.

But my confidence withers away.

Swallowing hard, I place my journal in my bag and stand up, heading for the door. Right as I go to push it open, my teacher decides to come back in, eyeing me. She's a strict teacher, always reminds us that she gets paid whether we pass or fail, always blunt and harsh with her words. Acts like she hates her job and we never learn anything important.

And now she's staring at me like a starving vulture watching a dying buffalo.

"What are you doing?"

"I feel sick, I'm going to—"

"You don't look sick," she snaps, pointing at my desk. "Go sit back down."

"But Mrs.—"

"Sit. Or I'll send you to the principal's office, too."

I feel my face heat with embarrassment and water fill my bottom lash line as I turn around with my head low, the laughing from the boys growing louder.

"Cry all you want, Kelly. It won't change the fact that you want to fake sick to get out of my class." She sighs as I sit down, nearly missing my chair and making the guys laugh more. "Hey!" She chastises. "I want silence for the rest of class. Because of your classmate Tom's behavior, you can say hello to a pop quiz."

Groans seep through the strange air in the classroom as I sink into my chair, hiding my face with my hair so no one sees the tears I struggle to keep inside.


I don't think I answered a question right on the quiz. The guy, who's name is Landon, by the way, woofs at me on our way out, his friends joining in as I make my way to my locker, a dog paw print drawn in sharpie on the door. I take a steady breath in, pressing my palm against my forehead to get control over my emotions.

I slowly open my locker, pulling that picture that had fallen out when Caden asked me to the party. It's a picture of him kissing me on the cheek when we were in middle school.

Wth a tight chest, I place it in my pocket and grab what I need for my next class, really wishing I ate breakfast this morning.

But I'm trying something new.

Cayla's supposed to be in my next class. Her seat is empty. My heart sinks, my phone feeling heavy in my pockets. Maybe she got that appointment for contacts. Maybe she's learning to use makeup properly. Maybe she's throwing out all her own clothes and getting new ones.

I haven't heard anything from her today and it's making me worry.

I feel so selfish.


Somehow, I avoid Jax. I see him in Spanish class, but we're given a test that takes the whole period to complete, and I slip out before I can talk to him, secretly wanting him to come follow me or find me. But he heads off in the other direction without a glance back at me, seeming like he's in a rush.

It makes me curious, but I don't follow, not wanting to be late for class.

At the end of the day, I get a text, startling me. It's just before the last bell rings, and I'm in the back of the class, so it's easy to slip my phone out and sneak a peek. The message confuses me as I make my way to my locker, attempting to block out conversations that are sparked by my passing.

Jax: You're welcome.

I open the message, debating on if I want to text him back as I reach for the dial on my locker, something white catching my eye.

On the corner of my locker, covering where the paw had been drawn is a sticker of a drawn camera.

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