Mr. Badboy, We Meet Again [ON HOLD]

Homecoming

“Jasmine, I don’t know how to tell you this, but we’re moving…” my mom said to me one morning. She was looking at me as if I would be devastated by the news and break down any second.

“Okay,” I shrugged.

“Okay?” my mom asked confused.

“Yep, I’ll start packing my bags. When do we leave?”

“Early next week,” she informed still dazed by my reaction. I don’t know why she’s so surprised, we’ve moved around so many times that I know not to get too attached to a place (and people) anymore. Unfortunately, I learned that the hard way, but that’s another story for another time.

“Oh, I forgot to ask, where are we going this time?” I asked, not really caring.

“We’re going back home! For good this time!” she squealed as I looked back blankly.

“Home? I don’t even know where ‘home’ is anymore,” I told her truthfully.

A hurt expression flashed across her face before she turned happy again. “We’re going back to New Jersey!”

“No!” I complained. “Why there out of all the placed we’ve ever lived?”

“I though you’d be happy! You get to go back to all your friends!”

“Mom, I had no friends.”

“Well then you get to make friends!”

“Everyone hated me.”

“People change! But we even get to live in the same house as before, right next to the Richardson’s!”

“Kill me now,” I muttered under my breath. Mrs. Richardson has been my mother’s best friend since elementary school. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a very nice lady…it’s her son, Zane, that’s the problem. He’s loud, obnoxious, and straight up mean—at least to me anyway. He and his best friend were the ones that made my life hell, constantly making fun of me by calling me fat and ugly.

Shortly after my 12th birthday my family moved for the first time. I was so happy to escape the wrath of Zane Richardson, but now I’m being forced to go back. I know that it’s ridiculous to hold a grudge against someone for almost five years, but I couldn’t help it. Thankfully I was no longer a fat, twelve year old with greasy hair and braces, so he’d have no reason to make fun of me. I finally grew into my body, grew out my wavy brown hair, and got my braces removed, leaving my pearly white teeth perfectly straight.

Now, I’m not saying I’m drop dead gorgeous or anything, but I know I’m pretty. I’ve been asked out by several guys and I’ve even said yes to a few, but nothing serious—for the most part.

That being said, I’m still nervous about moving back and digging up everything I had managed to bury in the past. Let’s just hope I’m prepared.