Wilcrest Girls Academy is an all-girls private school - or it was, until Jack Moody entered the halls.
8:35 the first bell rings.
8:47 Molly Clark stumbles in late to class
9:00 Jack Moody enters the room
9:01 Molly falls head over heels
Molly's ne...
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♫ Super Rich Kids - Frank Ocean, Earl Sweatshirt
You know, I've never had any qualms with Wilcrest's 'no hats in the building' policy—until today.
Because today would be a really great day to sport a hat.
Speed walking to class, I lower my head, sulking as I try to make it to class before the bell sounds. Having waited until the last possible second to enter the building, I'm now pressed for time.
But, I figured, I'd rather be late than allow any of Wilcrest to comment on the monstrosity atop my head.
After an hour of sobbing into my shower while Naila attempted to comb out the knots, my mom finally came home to my rescue.
She wrapped me up and consoled me while we dumped an entire bottle of conditioner onto my head. Five hair masks later, we managed to salvage most of it.
Although, the texture is that of coarse hay—and the color still piss yellow.
The classroom door of first period comes into view like a saving grace just as snickers begin to flood down the hall.
Stepping in front of me, I look up to see none other than Emma McKinney—a big wide smile plastered across her face. Shaking her head she says, "Wow. You really want to be me that badly?"
Ignoring her friends' giggles, I run a hand over my crunchy hair, wishing I could just wipe it away. My eyes dart to the side to avoid her face as I mumble, "No, I don't."
But that is a lie, isn't it? Emma McKinney and her stupid perfect blonde head is the reason I'm in this mess. It only makes me hate her more.
In a huff, I brush past her and storm into first period.
................
Hours later and the burning sensation in my scalp has come back with a vengeance. Slumped into the back row of Algebra, I whack a hand against my head trying to relieve some of the heat and itch.
It becomes unbearable; my hand shoots up into the air. "Mr. Fisher? Can I use the restroom."
The elderly man looks over his glasses at me before giving a quick nod.
Like The Flash, I shoot up from my chair darting out of the room and down the hall. The only thing on my mind is sticking my entire head under the bathroom sink faucet, try to alleviate some of this burning.
Rounding the corner, a slender body catches my attention—stopping me in my tracks.
Jack Moody, dressed in dark pants and a blue hoodie, glances over his left shoulder before throwing open the exit door. Bright light from outside floods in before he disappears out behind it.
Where is he going?
My curiosity overrides the pain in my scalp, so my legs change course, carrying me over to follow the mysterious boy.
