Jasmine
Jason was waiting by the courtyard steps when I came out of my nine o’clock class. The sight of him leaning against the railing, arms crossed, sunglasses pushed up into his hair like he was posing for something, made my whole morning sour before it had even properly started.
“Jas.” He pushed off the railing the second he spotted me. “Do you have a minute?”
“No,” I responded, not sparing him a glance.
“Come on. Thirty seconds,” he said, falling into step beside me, anyway. “I just want us to talk.”
“We’ve talked, Jason—multiple times, in fact—and it always ends the same way.”
“Because you won’t actually listen.” There was an edge creeping into his voice now. “You used to give me a chance to explain myself. Now you just walk away like I’m nothing.”
I stopped walking and turned
