Chapter 15

Chapter 15

I was doodling in the margins of my paper during seventh period when the door swung open and the rose crew walked in. I barely glanced up, bracing myself for the horrible poem that I'd already heard six times today. It was way worse than mine. They rhymed freesia with please ya.

Back on my paper, I saw that I had been drawing hearts. They stretched from the top of my page to the bottom.

"It was a mistake." The voice had my eyes darting back to the front of the room.

Jack stood there, holding a rose and staring at me, reciting a poem. He was tall and handsome. His hair was extra voluminous today, and he was wearing new glasses that brought out his hazel eyes. His cheeks were pink from embarrassment and yet he kept speaking.

I made a lot of them.

When it came to me and you.

I expected you to read my mind,

Like you always did.

It was unfair and unaware and underhanded.

I often was

When it came to me and you.

You expected me to be brave;

I never was.

You were incessant and invincible and infectious

You often were

When it came to me and you.

We expected to never spend time apart,

But we did.

It was excruciating and exhausting and extreme.

It sometimes was,

When it came to me and you.

I expect that in the end

It will always come back to me and you.

I hope it always does.

I was biting the inside of my cheeks. I didn't realize this until a metallic taste filled my mouth. I released the grip and blinked several times because my eyes were stinging as well.

Jack walked to my desk and placed the rose in front of me. The poem attached to it was in his handwriting. I wanted to say something. Like it was supposed to be a terrible poem. Or I don't believe you read that in front of the whole class. But my lips wouldn't move. My face was numb and my limbs were frozen.

The guy in the seat next to me broke the silence with "That was way better than the other poem."

"I'm sorry," Jack said in a barely audible voice.

"Me too," I said.

And then he was gone. When the door shut, I shot out of my seat.

"Sit down, Miss Landry," Mr. Collins said. "I have a class to teach. There have already been entirely too many interruptions."

And because I didn't want to have to stay after school for detention, I sat down. I could talk to Jack in forty-five minutes. I picked up the rose on my desk and brought it to my nose. Never in my life would I have thought a school-bought rose would mean this much to me, but it did.

I saw what Laney meant about declaring my intentions though. Because even though Jack's poem was beautiful, I had no idea if he was asking for our friendship back or for something more. And after hearing what Troy and Laney had to say today about what Jack knew and when he knew it, I wasn't sure what I wanted, either. But we owed each other a talk, at the very least.

After school, I searched for Jack. He was nowhere. I pulled out my phone to text him and was distracted by our last set of texts from Valentine's Day a year ago. Texts I'd read many times over the last twelve months.

Jack:I nearly died of embarrassment first period. They rhymed brown with around town.

Me:Maybe it's harder to write good poetry than we realize.

Jack:The problem is they're not writing the poem to anyone in particular. They're writing it to the faceless masses. There's nothing personal about it. There's no emotion. Poetry only works when driven by emotion.

Me:I didn't realize you were a poetry critic.

Jack:It's just common sense.

Me:I don't think it is. I'm going to nominate you to write next year's poem.

Jack:And then I will never speak to you again.

It had been a joke—the never speaking to me again thing. I knew it when I'd read it the first time. But the hundred times I'd read it after that had stung. After, it felt like foreshadowing, a sign. Now, the rest of the exchange was sinking in. Poetry only works when driven by emotion, he'd said. He was obviously feeling something today.

Where did you go?I texted now. I want to talk.

Me too,he texted back almost immediately. I had to go home to let the puppy out of the crate. I promised my mom I would.

You got a puppy? Why did that revelation make me want to cry? What else had I missed in his life? It felt like everything.

My dad bought it for my mom for Valentine's Day. Crazy, right? You know my parents.

I wanted to type: Can't we talk now? Don't you want to see me now?

I just typed: Crazy.

He returned with: You're going to Troy's party tonight?

Yes.

Me too.

So that was the plan? To see each other tonight? It felt like torture. But I'd waited a year, I could wait a few more hours.

"What is that?" Laney asked as I approached her car in the parking lot. I was digging my keys out of my pocket to unlock my car door.

She was standing at the trunk, throwing in her backpack.

I smiled and pretended to hug the rose. "My very first school-bought Valentine's rose."

"From who?" she asked as I joined her at her trunk. It was full of Christmas decorations we had used in the school musical.

"You still haven't cleaned out your trunk?"

"Don't rush me," she said. "It gives me a hit of dopamine every time I open it and see this festive display." She shut her trunk and pulled my hand holding the rose toward her nose, taking a long inhale.

I flipped the card attached to it, revealing the poem.

"Don't make me read that terrible poem for the seventh time today."

"No, it's not the school poem."

Her eyes scanned the card, reading each line. "Oh," she said when she was done. "That's actually..."

"Amazing," I said.

"Very," she agreed. "Jack?"

I nodded.

"He wrote that?"

"I mean, unless he had AI do it or something, but I'm pretty sure he wrote it."

"That boy loves you so much."

"Does he? Is this a love poem or a friendship poem?"

"You didn't talk to him after?" she asked, as frustrated as I felt.

"He left, and you know Mr. Collins. We're talking tonight."

"What are you going to say?"

"Everything... I hope."