Rosa Linwood
Wednesday, 3:21pm, September 12, 2025
I had been waiting all day for this.
Wednesday felt like it had been circled in red ink on my calendar for months, not just days. Every class crawled by like it was mocking me, especially Algebra, where the clock somehow ticked slower every time I glanced up.
By the time the final bell rang, I felt like I was vibrating with nerves.
Jessica had agreed to drop me off. She was already waiting outside the school in our dented silver Camry, sunglasses on, chewing gum like it had personally offended her.
"Took you long enough," she said as I slid into the passenger seat.
"I literally ran."
She glanced at me sideways. "You sure about this hangout?"
I shrugged, tugging at the hem of my shirt. "It's just the group. Elijah invited everyone."
Jessica snorted. "Right. 'Just the group.' You mean the boy you've been writing secret poems about for the past years."
I rolled my eyes, blushing. "Jess—"
"I'm not judging," she interrupted. "I think it's cute. Just... be careful, okay? Sometimes the people you think know you best are the ones who surprise you the worst."
Her tone was too serious, and I wondered for a second if she was thinking about Mr. Beckett again. But before I could ask, she turned the volume up and changed the subject.
"I still think you should've worn the green top. It brings out your eyes."
"This one's fine."
"It's boring."
"It's me."
Jessica smiled like that was a good enough answer and pulled into the parking lot near the woods where we used to play tag when we were kids. The old stone wall was still there, a little worn, a little crooked—the entrance to our secret spot.
As I opened the door, she leaned over. "Hey. Don't forget to breathe, poetry girl."
I stepped out, heart pounding, trying not to look like I was scanning the area for him.
But I was.
Because today wasn't just Wednesday. It was our Wednesday.
And I had no idea what would happen next.