A paper airplane hit the back of my head. Spit balls and papers were being launched around the classroom. It was 4th hour, right before lunch, and the teacher was out of the classroom. I looked to see who threw the piece of paper, and saw a smiling Ashton banging two pencils on the desk.
I focused my vision to the front of the classroom, where the teacher walked in and began the lesson.
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I sat at the lunch table, and pulled my lunch out of the brown paper bag grammy had packed it in. The usual: peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Doritos, and Gatorade.
I felt a presence beside me, and glanced over at Ashton Irwin. What was he doing here?
We sat in silence the whole lunch hour, me picking at my sandwich, him scarfing his down, and us exchanging awkward looks.
YOU ARE READING
Don't Cry ➳ a.i
أدب الهواة❝don't cry.❞ he whispered, lifting up a shaking hand to my face and wiping the tears that were rapidly falling down my face.
