In Jackson's world, "later" seems to mean the exact minute school ends, because there he is, propped against the doorframe of my last class. I spot him through the little window and for a second, I consider hiding inside until he leaves.
The last student walks out. I follow. Jackson's whole face lights up as he takes my backpack from my shoulder. It should feel nice, but right now it just feels heavy.
"You have rehearsal, right?" he asks.
We start down the noisy hallway, his arm slipping easily around my waist. I try to nudge it away, but it always finds its way back. Why does he not get it? Where is Rose? I need a rescue.
"Yes, I do."
"Good. I will walk you."
I stop walking. "You do not have to."
