Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 822(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 548(@300wpm)
Everyone at the round table giggled—everyone except me.
Yes, most of the students at our school had wealthy parents. Most of us lived in gated communities, but there was a small part of Fox River that I knew Drake resided in.
He lived in a trailer home with his father. He was automatically included in our school district zone because he was only a few blocks away from the school.
He didn’t fit in, but that didn’t give any of the kids at our table the right to make fun of him.
I looked at each of my giggling classmates. “That is really mean to say, you guys. My brother always told me not to judge anyone because of his or her appearance. He told me you never know what anyone is going through so never judge unless you know for sure, and even if you know, still try not to judge.”
The entire table stopped laughing—well, everyone except Parker Hastings. “Oh, shut up, Jenny! Your stupid brother isn’t even alive anymore so who cares what he had to say!”
I gasped, staring wide-eyed at him. Parker’s words stung my heart, his taunt like salt being rubbed into a deep wound. My eyes went hot and prickly. Mrs. Pots appeared right behind me as soon as Parker let out his rude remark.
“Parker Hastings! Meet me outside the classroom. Now!”
I dropped my head as everyone oohh’d and sniggered while Parker groaned, shoving his chair back and stomping to the door. When I glanced back, I was surprised to see Drake standing at Mrs. Pots’ desk.
He watched Mrs. Pots crossly follow Parker out and after he dropped the yellow bathroom pass on her desk, he tipped his head to look at me.
His eyes were softer than they were less than five minutes ago. He walked my way and sat down in the short blue chair beside me.
I didn’t look up. One: because what Parker said about my brother Mitchell was still eating me up inside, and two: because I didn’t want Drake to pick on me too.
So I picked up my markers and finished my fractions coloring sheet.
Drake continued his with dry markers that were most likely from his previous school year. I silently slid a few of my markers his way, letting it be known that he could use them if he wanted.
I felt him looking at me. I still didn’t bother meeting his eyes.
When everyone around our table focused on their papers while talking about other things—things like field day and summer break—Drake finally spoke.
“I heard what you told them.” He paused on coloring and I glanced aside, but his eyes weren’t on me. He was focused on his paper. “Thanks… I guess.”
That was the first time I had ever heard Drake Davenport’s gratitude. It was the first time I ever heard him give anyone credit, period.
After that day, Drake’s attitude towards me changed. He didn’t say much, but he did small gestures for me, like picking up my pencil if it rolled off the desk, or taking my worksheets up whenever he was going to turn his papers in.
He was really smart.
He aced every test, but for some reason he tried to hide it. I saw his grades, the red A+ along with the smiley face stickers poking out of the corners of his folders.
Whenever Mrs. Pots handed our tests back, he’d hurriedly stuff his in his backpack, side-eyeing me and everyone else at the table.
Of course, no one really paid attention to what he did but me.
I wanted to ask why he was so ashamed but I decided it was best to keep my questions to myself. I didn’t want him to switch up on me again. I liked the nicer side of Drake—the side he only revealed with me.
During recess, Drake normally sat in the corner right by the door. He’d sit in the same spot everyday, waiting for Mrs. Pots to blow her whistle so he could go back inside.
He hated recess. It seemed he hated fun in general.
But one day he actually decided to come out and play. I usually did some jump roping, swinging, or walked with Melissa Gills around the playground. I wanted to walk that day, but Melissa was absent, so I sat on the swing.
It was a hot, sticky day. My head hung down as I picked at my nails, focusing on the tip, where a smidgen of sparkly blue nail polish stubbornly remained.
I heard the crunch of footsteps along the red mulch and looked up. Drake was walking my way with an uneasy demeanor. He ran his hand through his dark, tangled curls, glancing over at the group of girls gossiping as they drew with chalk.
He frowned at them when he noticed they were watching, and they all looked away, but not without giggling first.
I watched him as he came in my direction, his steps slow and measured, his face giving away his uneasiness.