Jeremy leaned against the vending machine outside the gym, the envelope still tucked inside his jacket pocket.
He hadn't said a word since leaving the hallway and hadn't even laughed at the dumb jokes his friends kept tossing around.
His head buzzed, not with their voices, but with the memory of Jenny's face right before he walked off. The way her eyes flicked up at him, all nervous and unsure, like she was bracing herself for impact.
Why did he do that?
He looked down at the coffee candy in his hand, still turning it between his fingers. He didn't even like the stuff.
The wrapper crinkled sharply as he shoved it into his pocket and pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead. That whole moment—flicking the wrapper at her, tossing the candy bag back—what the hell was he thinking?
He wasn't. That was the problem.
The second he saw her rushing through the hallway like she was on some kind of mission, hair a little out of place, glasses slipping down her nose, he knew something was up.
Jeremy knew Ashley as a loud, flashy type. She was exactly the kind of girl people expected him to go for, but for some reasons he didn't like her.
And when Jenny said Ashley's name, something twisted in his stomach.
So, like a genius, he acted out. Cold. Dismissive. Weird. That stupid candy toss? He didn't even mean to do it like that. It just happened.
Now he just felt like a jackass.
But why is he feeling so bad, afterall Jenny's Ashley's friend I guess...he thought, so they should act alike.
He tugged the envelope out of his pocket and stared at it. It was light, thin—probably handwritten, probably filled with Ashley's usual hearts and sparkles.
But he hadn't opened it. Still didn't want to.
A part of him wondered if Jenny had written it? What if, for a second, the whole thing had been hers?
He scoffed at himself and stuffed it back into his jacket.
But he knew better. Jenny wasn't like that.
And yet… something about her stuck in his head like a song he didn't want to admit he liked.
Jeremy waited until he was alone before he pulled the envelope out again.
He was sitting on the bleachers behind the school, the kind of quiet spot people only found if they needed to skip class or brood.
Right now, he was doing a little of both. The afternoon sun cast long shadows over the field, and the faint sounds of a distant PE class drifted through the air.
There he was, just him and the letter.
He turned it over in his hands a few times. Little glitters, perfume, hearts carved out and drawn in red pen. And his name, written in bubbly cursive on the front.
Ashley's handwriting.
He sighed and ripped it open, unfolding the letter inside. The paper felt too smooth, too carefully chosen. He could already imagine the kind of stuff she wrote—things like "I've always noticed you," or "You're not like other guys." Cringe city.
Still, his eyes flicked to the first line.
> Hey Jeremy. I know this is kinda random, but… I like you. I've liked you for a while now, actually.
He squinted, his lips twisting. It was exactly what he expected. Predictable. Straight out of a teen drama script.
He read a few more lines, about how Ashley thought he was "so chill" and "mysterious" and how she admired the way he "didn't care what anyone thought." She even mentioned how she liked his "vibe," whatever that meant.
Jeremy snorted quietly and shook his head. It wasn't even a bad letter. It just didn't hit. It felt like a performance, like someone trying too hard to write the perfect confession.
Halfway through, he stopped. He folded the letter, not even bothering to finish it, and stared out across the empty field.
Why did he feel disappointed?
It wasn't like he wanted Ashley to write something deeper. But the part of him that had briefly stupidly wondered if it had been from Jenny?
That part was now painfully aware of how much he'd wanted it to be true.
He leaned back, resting his head against the top bleacher, and let the sun glare into his eyes.
His thoughts swirled with the image of Jenny, standing there in front of him, breathless and awkward, clutching that envelope like it was made of glass.
Why couldn't he get her out of his head?
The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch and the start of fourth period.
Jenny stepped out of the bathroom, her face composed, her shoulders squared like she hadn't just spent ten minutes willing herself not to cry in front of a mirror.
She barely made it five steps before a voice called out to her.
"Whoa.. Jenny!."
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