Five Stolen Rings

Chapter 8

STELLA || SIXTEEN YEARS AGO

“Jack.”

I tap on his window, but there’s no response.

“Jack,” I say a little louder, cupping one hand to the window and speaking into it.

Still nothing.

His light is on. Why isn’t he answering?

I adjust my footing in the old tree, wrapping my arm more tightly around the branch I’m steadying myself with. It’s been a while since I climbed up—months, in fact—but Jack won’t answer my text messages or calls, so I have no choice.

Something empty and desolate yawns inside me, a gaping feeling I try desperately to hold together as I tap on Jack’s window once more. My nail polish is chipped, I notice, so I’m going to have to redo it.

The girls at my new school are mean. They’ re snobby and rich and scary. They care about things like nail polish. They care about money.

Not all of them—they’re not all like that. But a lot of them are, and I’m worried they’ll find out I’m a scholarship student and then talk about me behind my back—the way they talk about Jack.

Which is stupid, because Jack’s family is as rich as anyone’s. But his mom died, and he took it pretty hard. He skips class and hangs out with the kids who hide behind the dumpsters to smoke, and it’s not like his dad is around enough to ground him for any of it.

“Jack,” I say, finally giving up on my polite tapping and thumping my hand against his window instead. “Come on. Open the—oh.” I startle, almost losing my footing in the tree as the curtains fly open. A smile blooms on my face, but it quickly dies when I see Jack’s expression.

He’s…not happy to see me. His mouth is twisted into a scowl, and his usually warm eyes are narrowed at me.

“Hi,” I say uncertainly when he pushes the window open.

“Get down from there,” he says, his voice irritable. “You’re going to fall. You’re too old to be climbing trees anyway.” He pauses and then shakes his head. “Go home, Stella.”

Then, without another word, he slams the window shut.

I stare at him, my jaw slack, my eyes wide. But he doesn’t even look me in the eye; he just pulls the curtains closed, and a few seconds later, his bedroom light goes off.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” I say on the way home from school the next day. I have to hurry to keep up with him, and I swear he’s walking faster than usual.

“I already told you,” he says in a hard voice. “We shouldn’t be friends anymore.”

“But why not?” I say, still scrambling after him. I trip over a break in the sidewalk; Jack slows for just a second but then starts walking again. “Why not?”

“Just—because, Stella,” he says, finally coming to a stop. He whirls around. He’s taller than me now that he’s a sophomore, when for a long time I was the tall one. “Stop following me around. Go be friends with the cool kids.” He grips the strap of his backpack tighter, his knuckles turning white, and my eyes go to the bracelet around his wrist. It’s one I’ve never seen before, a thin black braid.

I swallow, turning my eyes back to his face. “I can be friends with them and you.”

But a horrible uncertainty fills me, writhing in the pit of my stomach. I want friends, more than just Jack. I want friends in my classes, friends I sit with at lunch. I want to show all these kids that I can be successful and fun and cool even though I don’t live in a mansion.

That’s the sort of thing that Jack sneers at. I’ve never told him I secretly want to fit in with those kids; how did he know?

“Leave me alone,” Jack says as he starts walking again. “Just leave me alone.”

He hurries off without me, and I look around, making sure there’s no one close by to see the tears welling up in my eyes.

But there isn’t. Just like Jack, I’m alone.