Violetta (Violet) Jackson has big dreams. None of which happen to include sitting in detention for a week straight for a lab disaster that wasn't even her fault. That's all thanks to Will Hawthorne, his friends (one of whom she unfortunately used to...
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Will still didn't text or call.
It was stupid of me to expect him to, especially when I hadn't called or texted him since the disaster with his mom a few days ago. But something still ached in my heart, wishing that he would reach out, wishing that he wouldn't hate me as he probably did, wishing I could reverse everything that had happened.
I get plenty of other calls and texts, mostly from Danny, Olivia, and Ryder. By the time I woke up on Wednesday, fifteen missed calls and thirty texts jumped out at me when I reached for my phone. Danny, Olivia, and Ryder all messaged me individually.
Wednesday 8:08am
Danny: *sent you an attachment*
Danny: I got this email addressed to you from Berklee regarding our withdrawal from the battle of the bands.
8:20am
Danny: Violet, pick up your phone.
Danny: You need to explain to us what the hell is going on.
Wednesday 8:15am
Olivia: How could you withdraw us from the battle of the bands without even telling us???
9:05am
Olivia: So basically, we went through all that for nothing.
Olivia: And you don't even care enough to tell us why.
Wednesday 9:20am
Ryder: straight up ghosting us isn't gonna help
Ryder: why did u make this decision on ur own? u didn't even say anything to us...
Reading their texts made the tears start to stream down my face again, so I tossed my phone to the side and buried my face back into the pillows, shutting everything out.
I didn't go to school that day, either. The calls and texts continued all day and into the next until they gradually stopped altogether, and all I got was radio silence.
☼ ☼ ☼
On Friday, as I lay on my floor with my record player playing The Rolling Stones' Out of Our Heads, I heard the distinct sound of the apartment door opening and shutting. I didn't know what time it was — days were just slipping by and beginning to blur into each other meaninglessly — but there was still light out, and when Evelyn's figure appeared in my doorway, I almost started.
She had traded her red streaks in favor of purple, and they fell in waves around her face. She still had her work clothes on — dress pants and a tucked-in, collared shirt and belt — but she had taken her shoes off, leaving only mismatched white and pink socks on each foot.
