(FEATURED)
It's been months since the unceremonious fall of Kimie Sato's older sister. The whole of Ridgerock High knows it, and by now, the majority have moved on. But Kimie still watches those who had a hand in it continue to walk free, and the mo...
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I thought Eliza meant we needed to talk really soon. As in, after-I-took-a-bath-and-changed-into-clothes-that-smelled-like-me soon. But she didn't come back. I wasn't completely sure how long I waited, my mind wandering from topic to topic, but the quietness of the house told me that the person I was expecting wasn't here anymore.
I kept my promise and texted Tybalt, and he replied before I could look away from my phone.
I couldn't sleep that night. No matter how tight I shut my eyes and stopped thinking about everything bothering me, I just couldn't fall asleep. Something told me that I wasn't the only one in that state, that maybe a few streets away, West was also restless, staring up at his ceiling. The thought gave me a little peace, and at one point, I scrolled to his name on my contact list. My thumb hovered over it as I prepared to confirm my suspicion, but I chickened out at the last second and put my phone off. It was one thirty in the morning then.
I consoled myself with the fact that I'd see him in less than eight hours, and finally convinced myself to get some sleep. Only yesterday, I was ignoring him, and today, I couldn't wait to "accidentally" bump into him at school.
My emotions were all over the place, and I could hardly concentrate in my first two classes. It was weird how West always seemed to disappear when I needed him.
I was standing in front of my open locker after second period, one eye on my phone, and the other on the books I was arranging, when a girl ran from the direction of the principal's office and literally slammed into her friend. I wasn't planning on listening to whatever she had to say—anything that made a female Rigderock student run that fast couldn't be more than gossip—but when the first words she produced reached my ears, I paused.
"Someone finally spoke up!" she said, out of breath.
I turned to them just in time to see her friend's eyebrows raise in confusion, her hands still tightly wrapped around her arms to keep her up. "What?"
"Smooches," the girl responded, triggering my panic. "Someone finally reported it to the police."
It was like a play button was suddenly pushed, because a good number of students moved to her at the sound of that, circling around her and asking questions. Some asked how she knew, some said she was joking.
"My sister overheard them in the principal's office and sent me a text." She pulled out her phone and proceeded to show them the text as proof. She didn't know that she didn't need proof when talking about Smooches and the cops. They'd believe her either way.
I subconsciously pressed my palm into the edge of one of my hardback textbooks as I stared unblinking at them. It was over. It was all over. Everything I'd been planning for months was tumbling to the floor, and I stood in the rubble, clueless about what to do.
For a while, I just remained where I was, watching the other students, but I eventually looked away when I realized that my breathing was a little unsteady.
