Tender (Book 1 - Complete)

Chapter 8 - Lynn

I've got my windows rolled down, the wind a welcome distraction from the doom fluttering around my mind like a sanity-eating tornado. I feel just on the verge of a mental breakdown. I can't believe I actually did that. I'd made sure not to put too much thought into my actions all day, and then the moment those letters passed from my fingers to Jamie's, I wondered if I'd made the worst mistake of my life.

Once he's read all twelve entries, I have a horrible feeling that everything will change. He'll either understand me in a way he never could have before, or he'll avoid me like a snot-covered child.

I come to a stop at a red light, dropping my head against the window as I stare ahead. It's only now that I begin to ponder what it is I'm really doing and why. We've got two months left before Jamie is out of my life—probably for good—so, what is all this effort really for? Especially when he'd undoubtedly rather ignore me for the rest of the year like he's already done so well.

I have a sick feeling in my gut the rest of the evening and even into the morning. I glance at myself in the mirror the next morning, dreading the day and it's barely even started. At least it's Friday, so after today, I won't have to see his face for an entire weekend. What a relief.

I twist my straight locks into a long braid that wraps around the back of my head, settling over my left shoulder and down my chest. I brighten my cheeks with a little blush, and a couple flicks of mascara before I make my way downstairs.

My mom's in the kitchen, scooping blueberry muffins out of a tin and setting them decoratively on a ceramic platter.

"Morning," she greets, setting the muffin tin into the sink and swiveling towards the fridge. "Drink?"

"Coffee," I mutter, dropping myself into one of the island stools and grabbing a muffin from the tray. A smack of flesh against flesh sends a sting through my hand and I drop my breakfast.

"Patience," My mom says, her narrowed eyes scolding me for attempting to eat without her. Then she's returning to the open fridge and rummaging around inside. A moment later she pulls out a carton and holds it up so I can read it. "Orange juice," she says, pulling two glasses from the cupboard.

"Coffee..." I moan, my voice, eyes, and lips all begging for the caffeine.

Instead, she just shakes her head, "Nope."

She hurries to place the food and drinks on the table, her eyes glancing up at the clock above the sink as she realizes how rushed we are. We eat in silence, though there's nothing tense or abnormal about it. If anyone ever doubted my relation to my mother, they'd only have to see our interactions with each other in the morning. I swear, getting more than three words out of either of us is classified as a miracle.

I help her clear the table once we're done, and snag my backpack off the floor as I hurry out to my car. I holler a 'love ya' over my shoulder as the door shuts behind me and then I'm hopping into my vehicle and hightailing it to school. Though, let's be honest, my version of 'hightailing it' means going five over the speed limit. Yes, I'm quite the daredevil (much sarcasm intended). Just another reason Jamie and I would never work out.

This thought only dampens my spirits further and I'm grateful when I arrive at school the moment the bell rings. I'm in no mood to socialize, and I know that Justine would call me out on my bad mood, which would only result in my bad mood worsening. There's just something so irritating about people pointing out the obvious. Like, I'm already aware that I'm cranky; no need to rub my nose in the fact.

It would be impossible for the day to pass any slower. But as it continues forward, I'm somehow able to leave my bad attitude behind me. It's not until the period before lunch that I realize what today actually is. I can't even fathom how I'd forgotten. With the level of obsession I have for Jamie, you'd think he'd be on my mind constantly. I guess I've just been so busy trying to avoid the guy today, that I forgot to think about him.