Jacket
It’s about fifteen hundred degrees in my room, despite the only window (no more than three inches; orders of Mom, apparently in case a gang of former circus acrobats turned burglers start breaking into suburban second story windows). School shouldn’t start when it’s obviously still summer. So far seventh grade sucks as much as I’d expected. And it’s not the same with Kate. We’ve always been close friends, but we both grew a lot this summer, and there’s something new in the way.
Kate.
I reach for the box of tiss–
Wait, the prompt is "jacket?"
Can I start over?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment