The next morning I was woken to pounding on the door. I grunted, rolling over and shoving my hair out of my mouth. It was fluffy, freshly washed with proper water and soap fluffy, and I wasn’t used to it. Stream water didn’t make my hair this fluffy. I sat up and groaned, pulling on my pants and opening the door. Jem was standing there, staring at me. I blushed, realizing how haphazard I looked, and straightened my blouse, buttoning a few buttons and brushed my fingers through my hair. I raised my eyebrow at him, making him look away. What? There’s no way he was perfect in the morning either. “What is it?” I said, glaring at him. I was still frustrated over last night, his hand on her waist, it kept flashing through my dreams, through my mind. Why was it bothering me so much?
Jem
