𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐋𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐍 her back, staring up at the ceiling and trying not to fall asleep. All around her, her friends looked to be in the same state as her.
It had been a rough weekend, to say the least.
"Hey, guys."
When she heard Jack's voice, Kim looked up and saw him walk into the dojo with his duffle bag. "Oh, hey, Jack. How was your family reunion?"
"Good." He paused abruptly on his way to the locker room. Veronica raised her eyebrows as he turned to his friends. "What's going on?" he asked, furrowing his brows.
She looked around the room at her friends. Rudy was dressed like a stereotypical theater director—complete with fake glasses and a newsboy hat that made him look like he belonged in Newsies; Eddie was dressed like a mattress; Kim was leaning her head on Veronica's shoulder while the brunette appeared to have soot on her face; Jerry was wearing an orange jumpsuit; and Milton looked like Abraham Lincoln. Bobby and Joan both looked like Romeo and Juliet after their deaths.
"What do you mean?" she asked with a shrug as everybody began talking over each other. "I think this is the least weird thing you've seen here."
"Guys. Stop. Hey, stop!" Jack shouted over the noise. "Talk to me, Lincoln."
Milton let out a small sigh and stood up. "Well... It all started when Jerry got his new locker..."
four days earlier.
"Hey, did you hear that Jerry got locker 138?"
Veronica tore her gaze away from her notebook at Jack, who sat down beside her on the bench. "You mean the lockers right next to mine and Kim's?" she replied with a nod. "Where, and I quote, 'the prettiest girls in school have their lockers'? Yeah. He called me like he won the lottery. I've already met the man in his locker. He seems very nice."
"What are you doing?" he asked, his eyes shifting to the computer on her lap. "Did we have an essay due in English? Because if we did... then I'm screwed."
She chuckled softly. "No, don't freak out. Well—we do have one due in a week, so you may want to get on that." He bit his bottom lip while she patted him on the shoulder. "No, this is—The local library is having a short story competition and I sort of... signed up for it."
"You like to write? I didn't know that."
She shrugged. "It's not something I mention very often," she said, biting the inside of her cheek. "I always used to write little stories in my mom's notebooks that she would then find when she went to work. I don't know, it's silly."
