Jacqueline || BWWM

Chapter Twenty Two

Jacqueline got  #87 in Chicklit today! I'm so happy! Thank you all SOO much for your support. This book is useless without you all:)
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The drive to school is a short and easy five minutes, with the exception of stopping at Starbucks for Jace's frappuccino.

The guy is question parks his car right at the front, between two other little cars. "I know you don't like chaos, so I'm gonna drop you off here. The main entrance is on the other side."

I grasp a firm hold on my backpack in one hand, and the door handle in the other. "This is where you'll pick me up too?"

I want to make it clear that walking home isn't my favorite option straight away.

"Sure," He gives a careless shrug. "But it'll be at two twenty-five."

The school must end at two twenty then: Jace and Jaylin-well mostly Jaylin- already explained to me in outrageous detail how they share this overwhelming popularity at school. She also elaborated that with such fame, comes many hard responsibilities such as getting to school at a fashionably late time and staying a few minutes after to talk to fans.

"Works for me." I unlock the car and start walking in the direction I was told to. Jace meanwhile backs the car to the front of the building.

Adele's song, He won't go, stays trapped in my closed mouth as I continue my walk to the main entrance.

The school is huge, way bigger than most high schools I've been to in the past few years, so it takes a few minutes to find the five doors leading inside. Another minute is spent looking for the one unlocked door.

What's the point of having five entrances, if you are only going to open one?!

Shaking my head at the uanessacry situation, I pull the door open and walk the few steps leading into the office. Behind the marble counter seats a huge Mexican woman. She types away at the computer in front of her, her thick fingers moving up and down in a fast, steady pace. Her oval face twists and scrunches in what looks to be deep concentration. A small stream of sweat steadily trickles down the side of her face and into the grey blouse that clings to her tan upper body like a second skin. She seems so withdrawn from the world, that I'm kinda scared of what her reaction to interruption will be.

Here goes nothing.

"Excuse me?"

Imagine the voice of a scared little four-year-old, times that by four, the answer is how my weak voice sounds. I'm also pretty sure that if my arms weren't tightly wrapped around my body, I'd be shaking to death.

The lady looks up from the computer with one eye-seriously, only one eye looks up at me, she somehow manages to keep the other on the screen- and sighs, "Yes. I can change your schedule. No. I can't do it before first period."

She speaks her short words at a fast pace. Combine that with the thick accent that frosts every word, and you get a confused Jacqueline.

Breathe. Talk like a normal person.

"Pardon?"

"Sugarplum, I'm sorry. Truly, but I just can't. There are a hundred or so people in front of you."

"I'm, ah, I'm not here for that."

At least I really hope I'm not: I honest to God don't know what she's talking about. My apparently very slow brain only managed to understand something about a schedule, and another about a sugar plum.

"Thank the gods!" She mumbles somewhat quietly, perhaps in hopes of keeping her words to herself. "What you do you need then, Apple pie?"

"A schedule. I-I'm new."