C20 The great Gatsby

Maria is still not talking to me.

On Tuesday, I endured it, hoping her mood swing would pass but she didn’t say a word to me. Even now, as we are strolling to our lockers, she’s quiet. Too quiet and unlike herself. I poke her, she raises a perfectly tweezed brow at me but keeps mute. My shoulders deflate, I clasp my hands and muster my best puppy eyes. In reply