Girls Don't Know Jack

Second Worst Day of My Life

♫ You're On Your Own, Kid - Taylor Swift

Taking the small plastic square number 27, I rejoin Jack at the booth, waiting on my food to arrive.

"So, you're like good at this stuff?" Jack says once I take my seat. I raise one eyebrow at him, unsure what he means. "Writing reports? You're smart, right?"

Jack Moody thinks I'm smart. But, I should probably break it to him.

"Oh, no. I'm a solid C student," I admit with a sheepish smile. "At best."

"Damn. I guess I just assumed," he says with a shrug.

That's so sweet. I think.

"Why would you think that?" I inquire, leaning forward with an arched brow.

He avoids my eyes, dropping his head a bit so his hair falls in front of his perfect brown eyes. "Oh, uh. I don't know. You're just kind of...I mean you don't run with the popular crowd, so I just assumed you were like smart or something."

"Oh," I say slumping into the seat. "Nope, guess I'm just dumb and a loser."

Jack frowns at me and then mutters under his breath, "That's not what I meant."

I should probably be offended by his observation, but honestly all I can think about is that he noticed me at all. Jack knows I'm not popular; He had to of taken notes for that.

A smug smile twists onto my lips, just as an employee approaches with a blue tray full of food. We both grab ours off and she leaves us.

"Aw man, they forgot my fries," I whine.

"Here, you can have mine," Jack mutters pushing the blue and white striped carton towards me.

"Really?" I squeak with wide eyes. This is like our meet cute.

We share a carton of fries, our hands graze, the electricity permeates through our bodies and I get butterflies and then I—throw up?

No, I think I might actually throw up.

"So, we have the 1920's. Any women you want to write about?" Jack asks me, but all I can focus on is choking down this rising sensation to vomit everywhere.

I shake my head at him.

"Well, can you like spitball some names or something?" he grumbles. "I got nothing."

My hands lace in a thick clammy sweat. Oh, is that why I've been so sweaty all day. Am I sick?

"Hello, Molly?" Jack calls to me waving a hand in front of my face, which must be green in color by the way I am feeling right now.

With a few slow blinks, I look past him to locate the bathrooms. They are so far away. It's like a mirage in the distance.

My legs suddenly feel like a couple of anchors, and my body is leaving a pool of sweat in the pleather cushion of this booth.

I can't get up. I can't move. I'm going to die here.

This cannot be happening.

"Are you okay?" Jack asks with a grimace, leaning away from me as if distance will save him.

Trying to bring saliva back to my dry mouth, I croak, "Water?"

He points to the large drink in front of me and I shake my head. "No, I need water."

"Well, go get it then?" he says in a question. Unable to muster the energy to explain, I merely shake my head prompting a huff from the boy. "Oh-kay...Guess I'll go get you water."