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“Kaitlyn, let’s just go. Matt’s waiting for me anyway.” Makayla tries to reason with Kaitlyn.
Finally, a sensible suggestion.
“You’ve been warned,” Kaitlyn states as she finally leaves with Makayla.
I mutter under my breath, and in my state of annoyance, unconsciously reach beside me to Mason’s abandoned unwrapped sandwich and take a bite. I realize what I just did as a foul taste overwhelms my taste buds. I spit it out and glare at the innocent sandwich. Distantly, over the sound of my growling stomach, I can almost hear what’s left of Kaitlyn’s minimal composure shattering.
7
Today is quickly turning into one of the worst days of my life. To top everything off, I just got my period. Getting my period isn’t what makes this day suck (although it certainly doesn’t make it better)—it’s that I don’t have any tampons. I usually keep some in my bag for times like these, but yesterday when I was in the washroom, a random girl asked me if I had any so I gave her my last one. It honestly doesn’t matter who the girl is or how you feel about her. If she needs a tampon, you give her a tampon.
I’m about to text Charlotte, but then I remember that she has the calculus test this period with Chase, so her phone is in the basket at the front of the room. Annalisa’s phone is off, but she’s long gone from school by now, judging by what happened at lunch. I don’t have any other girl’s number, and it’s not like I can ask one of the Boys. Since I’m in the middle of my spare period, no one else is in the bathroom to ask for help.
Making a quick run to the convenience store down the road, I buy the only box they have in stock—a giant, hulking package of fifty—and make it back to school and out of the bathroom just as the bell rings.
I hate being late, but since starting here, it seems like it’s an everyday occurrence. Abandoning going to my locker, I shove the open box of tampons into my shoulder bag and head to sociology class—the one I share with Mason, Noah, and Aiden. Oh, and Kaitlyn and Makayla.
I get there before the bell and sit down beside Mason. Aiden sits behind us, an empty chair beside him where Noah would be.
“I miss him.” I look longingly at the empty chair.
“Class is definitely going to be less enjoyable without being able to laugh at his stupid comments,” Mason agrees.
“I’ll text him to come get ice cream with us after school today.”
Mason shakes his head at me. “The kid’s at home with a concussion.”
“A mild concussion,” I correct him. “He won’t pass up an opportunity for free ice cream.”
“Especially if Mason’s paying,” Aiden adds.
Aiden’s being weird today. Contributing to normal conversations? He could barely even look at me without a scowl on his face last week. He even smirked at me today. Multiple times! Maybe I’m wearing down his gruff exterior and he’s starting to like me, or at least feel more comfortable around me. It’s just a theory.
Mason mumbles about us being lucky he doesn’t back out of promises when Kaitlyn walks by, glaring at me the whole time. She sends Aiden a wink, but other than that, she doesn’t cause any trouble. Near the end of class, Mr. Rogers calls me up to the front to collect my homework from last week.
I place my bag on my desk and head to the front to grab my paper. On my way back, just before I get to my desk, one of Kaitlyn’s friend’s shoots her leg out into my path. I narrowly dodge her leg, and look back at her with a triumphant smile. Ha! Take that!
But my victory is short lived—as soon as I look back at her, I slam right into my desk. My open bag goes flying to the floor, and I steady myself, narrowly avoiding tumbling over the desk.
The whole class is looking at me, some with stunned faces, and some trying not to laugh. I hear a gasp and suddenly some giggles. Soon most of the class is trying to hide their amusement or looking embarrassed for me.
I’m confused. What’s embarrassing about stumbling? I do it all the time. Mason’s quietly chuckling, and even Aiden’s usually stormy gray eyes are light with amusement.
Kaitlyn shouts, “God, Amelia, do you need any more tampons?”
Oh.
My open bag is sprawled out on the floor, and laying a few feet away from it, clear for everyone to see, is the open tampon box that puked out forty-nine tampons, scattered everywhere.
Totally the worst day ever.
Twenty-four hours later, my bad luck’s continuing. I’m late getting to school because of traffic and the majority of the parking spaces are all filled up.
“Yes! You’re all mine, baby,” I say to the open spot in a prime location right near the front door. But when I’m about to pull in, a blur of bright red speeds past me, cutting me off. Slamming the breaks, my seat belt locks, preventing my head from going through the windshield.
“What the actual hell?!”
A cherry-colored convertible Porsche just parked in my spot. The owner gets out, and all my questions are answered. Kaitlyn throws her hair over her shoulder and wiggles her fingers at me in a taunting wave. Her malicious eyes shine with victory as she slams the driver’s-side door, struts up the stairs, and goes through the front doors.
