Withered (Westwood High Book 1), page 14
I try to change the topic and turn the spotlight from me to Kristy. “So, what’s up with you and Tyler?”
“We are just friends,” she states. Ha, you are not getting away.
“Just friends? I was expecting more,” I say it with a smirk of my own.
“Tyler wants to take it slow, and I don’t mind,” she speaks. I am glad she isn’t rushing into anything.
Suddenly, she turns her whole body towards me, an unknown shine in her eyes that I never saw until now.
“He is really sweet, Rose. I just like to be with him.”
I just like to be with you. Jake also said the same thing to me.
Kristy goes on praising Tyler, but I barely listen to any of it. My mind drifts back to the night when he asked me to stay. Ugh, I need to stop thinking about him. Ignore.
Nancy wakes me up by knocking on the door. I freshen up, brush my teeth, and silently approach the sleeping beauty and scream in her ear.
Kristy falls off the edge of the bed, and I roll around on the top of the bed laughing.
“Why, Rose?” She says it in a drowsy tone.
Her hair is sticking up in all directions, and drool has dried on the corner of her mouth. That makes me laugh even more.
“Rise and shine. Time for breakfast,” I say it in a sing-song voice.
She gets up and flops on the bed again. “Five minutes more, please.”
“No way!” I get up on the bed, bend down to grab her arms, and forcefully pull her up. Her eyes remain closed as her head hangs. She’s a big girl for someone who only eats salads.
“Come on, wake up now,” I say.
She finally opens her eyes and says, “I’m up, alright.”
As she drags herself to the bathroom, I give Mom a call. We talk for a couple of minutes, and I was going to hang up when she stops me. “Wait, Rose.”
“Yeah?” I ask her.
“Jake stopped by yesterday,” she informs me, and I instantly freeze.
A warm sensation spreads throughout my body. I feel bad for yelling at him. I’m so stupid.
You are, indeed. The voice in the back of my mind speaks.
“What did he say?” I ask her.
“He asked about you and said he needed help with some project,” she tells me before hanging up.
Project? Really? That jerk didn’t even have a good reason.
After having breakfast with Kristy, I return home. It’s Sunday, and I don’t want to be a third wheel between her and her friend, who is coming to visit her.
Mom and Dad are both in the living room, and I talk to them before going upstairs. My windows are shut. I take a step forward to open them, but the idiot voice in my head tells me to stop, so I come to a halt in the middle.
Turning around, I leave my belongings on the bed and take a relaxing shower. Once I’m freshened up, I grab a new book from my shelf and start reading it, laying down on my bed, my head leaning against the headboard, my feet stretched out in front of me.
Every minute, my gaze wanders to the window. I try to ignore it once…twice… Finally, I groan and make my way downstairs with my book.
“Mom, is it okay if I go to the park or Starbucks?” I ask her. Please say yes. Please say yes. I chant.
“You only got home an hour ago, and you were gone all day yesterday,” she says.
“I know, please just this time?” I ask, hoping she would let me.
Unlike Mom, if it had been Dad, he would have let me. But this is my mother; I have to ask her.
“All right, go. Do you not want to eat?”
“I’m not hungry,” I shout as I start climbing the stairs to my room.
I grab my phone and wallet and run two steps down at a time. I grab my book, say a short bye, and leave the house. Luckily, the nearest Starbucks is only five minutes away.
I stride down the sidewalk, my eyes taking in the sunlight as the pavement gleams. It’s busier than usual, with kids running, couples walking hand in hand, and parents strolling their children.
A ball comes to a halt near my foot, and a boy sprints towards me. I lean down to pick it up and grin at him; he smiles back, mumbles a brief thanks, and runs away.
When I arrive at Starbucks, the familiar aroma of freshly made coffee fills me up. The store is packed; the queue is long, and most of the tables are taken. It’s unusually quiet, content, and relaxed for the number of people present. The atmosphere is warm and inviting, reminding me of Esme’s café.
I walk up to the counter and order a vanilla latte, my mouth watering at the sight of the desserts on the shelf. I pay for my drink and search for a solo table or chair. All of those are taken, so I take a seat at the smaller table for two by the window.
I start reading the book, sipping on my latte, savoring its taste, and hoping everything goes well today. Whenever someone walks in, I get distracted and lift my head to look at them. When I finish a few more pages, the door swings open, revealing a familiar face.
Professor Caleb walks in, going straight to the counter. He’s dressed in a white shirt, a red jacket, and black jeans. I still can’t believe he’s my professor. My eyes follow his every move. He orders a drink, turns around, and heads to the door when he spots me watching him.
I resume my reading. Bad move. I hear footsteps approaching and stopping near me. I lift my head and notice Professor Caleb is looking down at me while he sips his drink.
“Yeah?” I ask.
He removes his earplugs and asks, puzzled, “I’m sorry, but have we met before? You look familiar.”
I swallow the laugh threatening to escape and answer, “I am in one of your classes, professor.”
“Oh. Okay.” He nods and then asks, “May I?” He points at the empty chair across from me.
“Sure,” I reply. Because I have no idea what I’m doing. You can’t say ‘no’ to your professor, can you? Especially when your professor is this attractive.
His hair was curly the last time I saw him in class, but it is now neatly set except for the front, which looks messy as he rakes his fingers through it. Jake does the same; his messy hair is the best. He doesn’t even try, and he always looks perfect. Why am I thinking about him?
“Can I ask you something?” I ask him.
“Yes?” He replies.
“You look very young for a professor,” I say, posing the question I’ve been itching to ask.
He chuckles. “I’ve been told. I am a college sophomore with an English major. One of my professors is buddies with Westwood High’s principal. They were seeking an English teacher, and I needed a part-time job. So here I am,” he explains.
I nod and take another sip of my latte. Today is going far better than I expected.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Caleb speaks.
I mentally slap myself, my blush spreading across my cheeks.
“Sorry. I am Rose.” I extend my hand for a handshake.
From the corner of my eye, I see a car stop outside and two boys get out. Oh no. Just when I think, ‘No trouble,’ it shows up itself.
Professor Caleb shakes it, regaining my attention, and then stops abruptly, as if he recalls something. “Wait, you are Rose? As in Rose Evans?”
“Yeah,” I say, a little confused. The boys walk up to the counter. Luckily, Caleb is sitting across from me, so I try to shield myself.
“I’ve heard great things about you. Student of the year,” he praises. I’m no longer paying attention to him because Jake and Tyler are only a few feet away.
I merely shrug my shoulders and smile at him, fidgeting in my seat. I was never the type to brag about myself. When they both turn around and leave, I breathe a sigh of relief, but my breath gets caught when Jake stops and mumbles something to Tyler. Tyler nods and walks away as Jake approaches me.
There is no way he could have seen me, is there? I try to hide as much as possible and focus on Professor Caleb, but it’s useless. Jake stands near our table, his hands tucked in his pockets.
Kristy told me to ignore him. She didn’t say how. How should I ignore him if he shows up everywhere I go?
“Hi, Rose. Fancy seeing you here.” He smirks. Yeah, fancy.
I keep calm and greet him. “Hi, Jake.”
“We need to talk,” he says it, getting straight to the point.
“I am a little occupied. Later, perhaps?” I gesture at Professor Caleb, who is looking from me to Jake.
Jake stares at Professor Caleb for the first time since he got here. He looks at me, then back at the professor again, and asks, “Who are you?” There is an unmistakable edge to his voice.
Professor Caleb extends his hand and says, “I’m Caleb.” Oblivious to Jake’s tone.
Jake takes it and responds, “Jake.”
I give him a pointed look, hoping to convey manners, but he is busy glaring at Professor Caleb instead. What is his problem?
“Jake, this is Professor Caleb. He teaches at our school,” I tell him in a tight voice, emphasizing the word ‘professor,’ hoping he gets my point and tries to behave.
“Please, just call me Caleb,” he says.
Jake raises an eyebrow, throwing daggers my way, and I feel goosebumps rising on my skin. What the hell did I do?
I give Professor Caleb a tight smile. Talk about awkwardness. At the same time, the professor’s phone rings. “I have to go,” he says after checking it. “Rose, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
When he walks away, I mumble "Bye." Staying here now that Jake is here is pointless.
I grab my things in a hurry to leave, and Jake asks, “Where are you going?”
“Back to my house.” I start walking when he catches my wrist. He pulls me back and pushes me down on my seat.
“What the hell?” I grit my teeth in annoyance.
He rolls his eyes and asks, “Who was that guy?”
“Are you deaf? Weren’t you listening?”
“Don’t call me that. I was certainly paying attention.” He narrows his eyes.
“Then don’t call me a nerd or uptight.” I raise my voice, anger rising inside me again. Jake loves to bring out the one emotion in me that I detest the most.
“Is this all about that?” He asks.
“What?”
“You left me in my mum’s café because I said that stuff to you.”
“Yes,” I say.
“So what? Isn’t that what people call you?” He states.
“Yeah, so?” I ask.
“Then why only shout at me?”
Although I have overheard people call me a nerd, I never felt anything. Why only him? Did my words just backfire on me?
“Because I proved it to you. Not to them,” I stammer, irritated with myself. This entire conversation is useless. Why do we always fight?
I pick up my latte and drink it, hoping the caffeine will calm my nerves. When I’m near him, I can’t think clearly. He has this powerful aura around him that destroys my brain cells.
He is looking away from me and down under the table, but I can’t see because I am short.
“Are you done?” He is amused.
I hum in response.
“Let’s get you home,” he says this, standing up.
I stand up and state, “I can go by myself.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, walking towards the door.
I follow him and walk past him in powerful strides.
“Oh, not happening.” I hear him say it behind me.
He snakes an arm around my waist so quickly that I lose my balance, but he steadies me. When I gaze at him, his face is so close that my eye level is almost at his lips.
“Are you okay?” He asks, glancing into my eyes, and I nod.
He doesn’t let go of my hand, and he walks me to his car. His palm is so warm that the heat sweeps through me, clouding my thoughts.
He drops my hand to open the door for me, and I immediately miss the warmth. I don’t do anything but watch him.
He tilts his head and gestures for me to get in, but I blankly stare at him.
“I just told you, I can go by myself,” I tell him, narrowing my eyes.
“I am not in the mood for a fight. Just get in the car.”
Neither am I. I frown at him and enter quietly.
He shuts the door and climbs into the driver’s seat. I should ignore him, but here I am, sitting in his car, following his order. What is wrong with me?
A grunt leaves my mouth, and he chuckles as if he won. Well, he did succeed in getting me inside the car.
In two minutes, we're back at my place. I mumble a quick thanks and exit the moment he turns off the engine. But he is quick because he stands in front of me as I walk out. I walk around him and towards the door.
“Rose,” he calls.
“What?” I ask, turning around.
“You are forgetting something,” he speaks, leaning against his car, and god, why does he have to look like a freaking model with his legs stretched, arms folded, and his biceps?
“I’m not,” I state.
He smirks, meaning I got caught checking him out.
He takes something from his pocket. I check my pockets and my wallet and ask, “How did you get my phone?”
I walk to him and say, “Give it back.”
He stands up straight, waving my phone in front of my face. He holds it out to me, but before I take it, he raises it far above me. I try to jump but fail.
I had a feeling he’d do it, so I do the first thing that comes to mind. I step on his foot. He certainly wasn’t expecting that. As he yells, groans, and bends, I quickly grab my phone.
“What the fuck?” He shouts. Oh no.
He starts walking towards me, and I slowly back away. “It’s all your fault. You should have given it, and I wouldn’t have done that.”
“Oh yeah?” He scoffs.
“Y-yes. You never listen,” I say.
“And you do? You just get mad and leave, and I don’t get to fucking speak,” he yells.
His green eyes turn a shade darker. I should be scared, but I am more focused on his eyes; they look so scenic, like when the forest goes a shade darker after rain.
His words snap me out, and I retort, “Then stop calling me names.” This conversation is over.
I turn around and walk back to the door. He doesn’t stop me this time, and I don’t glance back.
When I go to the door, I turn the knob, but it’s locked. I look through my wallet for the spare key and search under the flower pot, where Mom sometimes keeps it, but it’s not there. I’m trapped outside my own house.
I turn around to find Jake gone. I go into the garden and sit on the grass. I call my mom to find out about her whereabouts, but the call goes to voicemail, so I leave a message asking her to call me back when she gets it.
After a minute, my phone pings with a message from Jake.
Jake: Don’t just sit there all day.
I look around wildly. How does he know this? Another message follows.
Jake: Why don’t you join me?
So, he not only had my phone but he also put his number in it. When did he do that? And how didn’t I notice? Something clicks in the back of my mind, the table. That’s what he was doing. He had my phone with him. That doesn’t explain how he has my number.
There is no way I’m joining him. I close my eyes for a second, blow out a breath…ignore it. That’s the plan. Rose, stick to it.
Jake: Are you coming or not? I will allow you to come either way.
The first part of the message is understandable but I don’t get the second one. Curiosity gets the best out of me. I get up and walk over to Jake’s house.
Jake opens the door, shirtless, might I add. I don’t wait for him to say anything; instead, I push him aside and let myself in.
“What the fuck?” He turns around, shutting the door. “Do you always barge into people’s houses without their permission, Evans?” He says it with a smirk.
I remember saying the same words to him. “Ha, ha. Very funny. I did not barge; you invited me here.”
I take a seat on the couch. “I thought you were mad at me.”
He shrugs. “I still am. But then I saw you, like a damsel in distress.”
“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” I ask him, my eyes traveling to his bare, ripped chest and down where his jeans are hung low on his hips.
“More like, why are you wearing a shirt?” He responds.
I roll my eyes. “How did you happen to have my phone number?” I ask him.
“For someone as smart as you, you sure are dumb.” He comes close and taps my nose.
He chuckles as I scrunch my nose. “The night we kissed.” I glare at him; he knows how much I hate it when he brings it up, “I called myself from your phone and deleted the history.” He tells me and moves to sit across from me. A table separates us.
“Delete it,” I order.
He clicks his tongue. “Nah. Not happening.”
“Whatever,” I say and get back to reading.
“Where’s Aria?” I ask by flipping pages.
“She’s with Mum, probably stuffing her face with some cake,” he answers.
An adorable image of Aria appears in my mind. Blue eyes, her ponytail, and cake on her face. I smile at that before I’m consumed again by the reason I came here.
I ask hesitantly, “Listen.”
“Yeah?” He lifts his brow.
“What exactly did you mean in your last text?” I wave my phone.
“I just asked you to come here,” he tells me, oblivious to what I am implying.
“Not that. What did that mean when you said either way?” I am completely confused.
His lips curl in a sly smirk. Oh no. I don’t like it when he smirks like that with mischief dancing in his eyes.
I cross my right leg over my left and sit straighter, squirming in my seat. Jake’s attention moves from my legs to my stomach, where my top has slid up, exposing some skin. I pull it down quickly, and Jake’s eyes meet mine.
The electric sparks that were missing since yesterday are back, and the air around us is thick with them. The look in Jake’s eyes is so strong that I feel something in the pit of my stomach, making me squeeze my legs tight. What is happening to me?
