I walk down the hall. “I’ll be in my room.”
“Wait! I set this up so we could have a jam sesh together.”
“I’ve got homework,” I yell over my shoulder, then step into my room and shut my door—which, by the way, does nothing to muffle the whiny sounds emanating from his guitar.
Joy. At least he’s in a good mood, which serves me well, because I’m going to have to tell him tutoring didn’t go as planned.
Sighing, I change out of my uniform and tug an oversized lemon-yellow sweater over my head, following this by pulling on my softest jeans before collapsing belly first on my bed. I check my phone. No new messages. Blergh. I was hoping Rose would text me back.
I’d wandered over to the bulletin board after Oliver bailed on me earlier, because I’d been determined to dosomethingright. Which is why I grabbed Rose’s number from the Newspaper Club sign-up sheet and then texted her to ask if it was too late to submit a sample article.
I wonder if she looked at my text, laughed, and ignored it. She probably doesn’t think I’d write a good enough article for her club. Maybe I should have texted Joe’s number instead—it was right there on the bulletin board next to Rose’s. Shedidput him in charge of applications, after all, and he seems like the type who’d respond to a text.
But no—I can’t even summon the courage to talk to him over a screen.
Ugh, do I even have time for Newspaper Club right now? Maybe Subwayboy was right. Whataremy priorities? I should text him and apologize. Say we should meet for tutoring tomorrow. There—math! That’s one priority down. And if I do that, then Dad doesn’t even need to know how spectacularly bad tutoring was today.
I sit up, grab my phone, and type a message to Oliver.
Sara: Hey, sorry about today. Can we meet after school tomorrow?
My message says Delivered. Okay, that wasn’t so hard, was it? In fact, it’s simpler than speaking face-to-face. At least I don’t have to witness him staring at me like my eyebrows have morphed into caterpillars before his very eyes.
Bzzt, bzzt.Another text.
Oliver: Okay
A mysterious boy of few words. Well, great. At least that’s done.
Maybe I shouldn’t join Newspaper Club. I need to be responsible with my time. If I keep my grades high, it means I have to focus less on scrambling to catch up, which leaves room for me to focus on other things. Like my first kiss. And Joe, maybe. At the very least, I can continue to work up the courage to get to know him.
That’s it! If Rose texts me back—and she probably won’t—I’ll tell her my excuse. I don’t have time.
I press my cheek against my pillow and close my eyes. An urge to vent tickles through me, but I have to stop myself from grabbing my laptop and blogging about my day. Because blogging isn’t a priority, is it? But it’s a release. I always feel better when I get stuff off my chest and out in the open.
My phone buzzes. Adrenaline shoots up my spine as I pick up my phone, but it’s only Patrick.
Patrick: Yo!!
Patrick: Did you finish my homework?
Ugh. I almost forgot about the double homework. For a second, I got excited because I thought Rose was texting me.
Is that a sign I should join Newspaper Club?
Sara: Sure bruh. Just finished
Patrick: I don’t believe you
Patrick: Do you even know what it is??
Sara: What is it?
Patrick: O___o
Patrick: 300-word essay for English. Topic: my favorite vacation
Sara: lol you want me to make up a random vacation for you?
