Jessa

The final bell might as well have been a starting gun. Everyone bolted for the exits like they were racing for freedom, voices echoing off the metal lockers and sneakers squeaking against the linoleum.

Normally, I’d be part of the rush too — keeping my head down, clutching my books like a shield, pretending not to care that no one ever waited for me. But today I just stood there, staring at my locker like it might open itself.

I was exhausted.

Not the kind of tired that a ...