Before you begin, I would like to apologise to any readers I may have for the delay in posting of this next chapter. You see, I poured tea onto my laptop- as you do- and so was unable to use it until I replaced my keyboard, which seemed to take forever and a day. So, I apologise if anyone was waiting the next instalment, although I doubt that there were many.
Also, thank you to all who emailed me their kind words and thoughts regarding this story. I deeply appreciate it. It's encouraging to keep writing, knowing there are some who enjoy what I have written- although, it does add on the pressure to deliver something new.
Thank you, and enjoy!
AMERICAN-ENGLISH
CHAPTER TWO.
JUST ANOTHER MANIC MONDAY.
I hated my alarm clock. Almost as much as I hated Monday mornings. Especially this Monday morning. I knew that Saturday evening's events would come back to bite me in the arse. Sorry, "ass". I guess it's pretty condescending the way I continue to correct my own speech to the Americanisms. Oh well.
Lying there in bed, I began to ponder what the appropriate response would be for the way I spoke to Estralita, Evander, Chrissie, Brady, Dylan, the twins Georgia and Gloria and, of course, Mr. Jockstrap himself- Clay. Boy did I piss the wrong people off.
I made my way to the shower, stopping to look in the bathroom mirror. I looked pretty shitty. My brown hair was a mess. I really needed to get it cut. I turned on the shower and stripped out of my shorts, giving myself a hearty scratch.
Leaning against the wall, I allowed the perfectly warm water to rain down on me, cleansing my body from the heavy state of weariness. Grabbing the soap, I rubbed the bar into my skin, washing away the tired dirt from my body.
An hour later I was standing outside the school gates, desperately trying to think of a plan to not have to walk through them. I began to feel like my presence was not going unnoticed by the students walking across the threshold to school sanctuary. Were they whispering about me? Or was I being paranoid? Just as I thought I saw a couple of girls giggle blushingly at me, the little procession of fabulous cars pulled into the car park. Before the engines had even stopped I stormed across the school grounds, past the pristine courtyard, past the numerous pairs of eyes and stupid fits of laughter. I headed for the administration building which housed the school library. Funnily enough, the room was completely empty. Boy, I must have looked like a right fool.
I roamed around the full shelves, taking comfort in the deserted room. I enjoyed the quiet of the library. I could just sit and think to myself without being disturbed by anyone. I found my way to one of the soft cushioned chairs and flumped myself into its arms. No sooner had I sat back did I hear someone open the door. Grabbing the closest book I could, I hid my face behind the cover. I could hear footsteps. Perhaps the librarian was doing her morning check? She hated loitering, her fierce eyes and penetrating stare always creeped me out.
"'Confessions of a...Shopaholic'? I err, hear that's a must-read..." came Clay's voice. I hadn't realised which book I had retrieved. I uncovered my face and rested the book in my hands, trying to maintain some posture.
"Yeah...I suppose," I dismissed casually. "It was just lying there, so I thought I'd give it a go," I turned back to the book and pretended to read, realising how stupid I must've looked with the bright pink cover resting in my hands. Clay just stood their silently, coming with hundreds of ridiculous mocking-jokes no doubt.
Feeling his stare on me and the book, I put it back on the table, defeated and sat back in my chair. "Bit weird, seeing you without your posse. Did they get lost?"
"Ouch!" he replied insincerely. "Actually I left them to their own devices. I think they can survive without me for a few minutes."
"You sure about that? I wouldn't bet on it. What will they do without Mr. Jockstrap to lead them?"
"Mr. Jockstrap? I like that. You're probably right, though. I can just see it now: all my buddies wondering aimlessly and calling my name idly. `Alas! Where is Clay? Clay? Return to us, for we are lost without you!'"
Did he just use the term "Alas"? I turned to face him as he finished his speech. A smile shone out as he ended his parody.
"What? Surprised by my above-average use of the English language?"
"Actually, yeah." I didn't get what was going on here; something didn't feel right. I knew this in my gut. But I couldn't stop the gentle laugh escape my lips.
"I see you're lightening up, Jay. Jacob- sorry... Jacob," he corrected, anticipating my response. He sat down in the chair opposite my own. "Look, I just wanted to come and apologise for what happened on Saturday. The guys were way out of line." I couldn't believe that Mr. Popular himself was apologising to me. "We shouldn't have bombarded you like that," he continued. "And I sure as hell didn't realise they were gonna do that to you. And then to do what they did with it...must've been real embarrassing."
Wait...what did he say?
"I just wanted you to know that I didn't have anything to do with that."
"To do with what?" He just stared at me, clueless. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"You know..." he paused.
"Well obviously I don't."
He began to fiddle with his pocket and pulled out his phone. He pushed a few buttons and then handed it to me.
I could have kicked something. Someone.
On the screen of his fancy and, I can only assume, expensive phone was a picture. Of me. On my porch. In my towel. Dripping wet. And a bulge in the towel of my flaccid penis that would have only been more obvious if it was circled with a red marker and an arrow, captioned: `This is Jacob Hylton's penis. Commence laughter now.'
"What the fuck...?"
"I'm guessing you didn't know..."
"What the fuck is this?"
"It's you."
"I can see that! What are you doing with it?"
"Well...after she took the picture, Lita uploaded it on..."
"Who?"
"Estralita. She took the picture of you on Saturday. I thought she had a thing for you. But then she uploaded it to her-"
"Don't say it"
"...and then she sent it to every-"
"Just stop!" I sat back in my chair, staring at the wall.
"I just wanted you to know that it had nothing to do with me." I continued to sit there, silently. "You alright, dude?"
"Am I alright? Fucking fantastic. I'm living in a different country where I have no friends, parents who are too busy living their own lives and you and your fucking group of friends who are determined to make my life a living hell."
"Look, it's not that bad. It could have been worse."
"How so?"
"Well you could be naked," he sniggered and stopped when he saw the look on my face.
"How many people did she send it to?"
He stared at me dumbfounded. "Err...it's Lita...she has everyone in her contact list."
"So what you're saying is that everyone in the school has seen the picture?"
"More than likely."
"Fucking bastards. The lot of you!"
"Well, that's a bit-"
"Shut the fuck up, Clay! You and your friends can go and fuck yourselves. Just leave me the fuck alone!" Grabbing my bag I crossed the library and stormed out the door, leaving Clay staring after me from his chair.
As soon as I stepped outside the admin building the laughter began; a crescendo of giggling girls and heckling jocks. Pulling up the hood of my sweater I walked across the grounds, not looking at anyone until I reached home room. I had hoped the room would be empty, but no such luck. A small congregation of girls had already arrived and seated themselves in the middle of the room. I headed for the back corner as the group broke out into lively whispers. I saw them pass a phone around. Two guesses what they were looking at.
The day surely couldn't get any worse...
"Mr. Hynd? Would you remove your hood please? Mr. Hynd? Mr Hynd?!"
I looked up and saw Mrs. James staring at me. She was an older woman with a sour face which complimented her squawky voice.
"Actually, it's Hyl-" I began, pulling my hood down.
"It's Hylton, Mrs. James. Jacob Hylton." One of the girls I didn't recognise piped up. She punctuated her statement with giddy snicker. Her group of girlfriends turned and stared at me.
The joyous students began to clamber in as the bell sounded. A haze of jackets, bags, chairs and desks filled the room, lively and friendly banter passing back and forth as the kids caught up with each other after the weekend. I tried to ignore them by staring out the window, getting lost in the vision of the school grounds. The sun shone down onto the benches and tables in the court yard, the parasols branching out across the area like strangely formed trees. The school was meticulously maintained; not a grass or hedge was out of shape. There wasn't even any litter outside...which was strange as there weren't that many bins.
The whispering laughter followed me as I wondered down the corridor to my first lesson.
"Mmm-mmm, is that what they're brewing in the mother land?"
"What, no towel today, Guv'nor?"
"...imagine what it's like hard."
I think one of the more embarrassing moments was when there was a debate of what my name was: Jesse, Jason, Jonathon, Joshua, Jamie, Jack, Jim... Harry, Chris, Martin, Sammy...
I had never been so thankful to step into a maths lesson in my life. I relished in my new sanctuary and found a seat in the back room. Estralita, Brady, Chrissie and Clay all walked in not long after me, the first three all laughing embarrassingly at me. Clay, however, offered me an apologetic expression as he followed his crew to their seats. I returned the favour with a scowl toward the lot of them and hid my head in my maths book as the teacher walked in.
The students parted like the red sea as I walked down the corridor to my locker after the lesson. My locker appeared on the other side of the taunting ocean of kids. As I approached it I saw it. Someone had produced a hard copy of the picture and pasted it on the door. And not just one, at least thirty pictures were posted all over the lockers and the surrounding wall.
I walked on, feeling my face turn a deep shade of red. I pulled the picture from my locker, opening the door.
SMACK.
Someone had forced far too many wet towels inside- they proceeded to enthusiastically escape their confinement. My books, work, spare jacket and other personal items had all been dampened by their presence. Feeling more heckling laughs from around me, I grabbed my now-wet book and slammed the door closed, revealing Clay standing behind it. He just gave me another apologetic smile, his brown eyes staring at me, a look which looked sincere. Ignoring this, I glowered back at him. I muttered to him as I turned and walked away.
"Fuck you, Clay."
This was too much now. It was everywhere. The whole freaking town was going to see that picture.
"Yo! Jake! Jacob! Come on, man!" Clay called after me, his voice drowning from the constant chortles.
I rounded the corner furiously, as his apology drowned in the sea of comics, and almost knocked over the Vice-Principal.
"Ah, Mr. Hylton. I've been meaning to talk to you. Can you come with me please?"
"I'm going be late for my next class..."
"That's alright, I'll write you a note for your teacher."
We headed to his office, passing more than a few copies of the picture. Walking through the glass panelled door, I sat down in the offered seat and looked around the large, blue office. Pictures of the V.P.'s family were neatly assembled on his desk and wall. A poster of the United States hung on the wall also while the famous flag was attached to a pole behind him. It was a very impressive room. I found it hard to believe it was for a Vice-Principal of a high school. I couldn't imagine what the Principal's office looked like. I wonder what I'd have to do to get an invite in there.
"So, how are you settling in? We haven't really had a chance to talk since I gave you your tour."
"Alright, I suppose," I lied. "It's different. But it's a school; as long as I'm learning something..."
He chuckled a little. "Well, very good. Nice positive attitude. Good to know. Your grades are looking impressive and your participation in class is acceptable."
I sensed a however coming on.
"However-"
Told you.
"- I do need to discuss some of your...out of school activities."
"OK..."
"I'm not really sure how to address this appropriately, so I'm just going to cut to the chase." I had a feeling I knew what was about to come.
"I don't know if you've noticed, but there appears to be a picture of you floating around the school." Imagine the most condescending tone of voice you can, and double it. That was what he sounded like. "It's become a cause for concern. Now I know that teenagers get up to all kinds of antics, which is fine, so long as it doesn't disrupt my school or the teaching. This, sadly, has."
He stopped and just stared at me, waiting for a response. I didn't know what else.
"Yes, sir."
He smiled widely, exposing everyone of his yellowing teeth.
"So, I need you to put an end to this debacle."
He stared again; I assumed waiting for an approval of his plan.
"Err, sir, how can I do that?"
"Remove all the pictures!" He bellowed obviously. "Stop all your friends from discussing it! And stop it from turning my school into a circus!"
What the fuck? Was he joking? This couldn't be for real...could it? I gawped at back at him, not knowing how to respond.
"Well?"
"Sir, I think there's been some misunderstanding..."
"Oh?" He was clearly a little narked that I would dare insinuate anything of the sort. "Do explain my `misunderstanding'."
Apparently all the pleasantries at the beginning were an act.
"Well, sir, I honestly didn't have anything to do with that picture. It was taken without my knowledge and it wasn't until I showed up for school this morning that I found out about it. This day has been a complete disaster. I can't do anything or go anywhere without being laughed at or pointed at or mocked or anything..." The face staring back at me made me draw my speech to a close. Obviously he wasn't concerned by this in anyway. He leant back in his chair, not taking his eyes off of me, and asked:
"Mr. Hylton, who is in the picture?"
Trick question? `Me, you patronising prick,' I thought.
"I am, sir," I sighed.
"Are you the only subject of the picture?"
"Yes, sir," I fought the urge to punch him.
"You are the focus of the picture. You yourself have just admitted it so. Therefore, it is your picture, meaning that it is your responsibility to stop all activities relating to the picture. I want it out of my school. I don't like having the school falling to pieces over a ridiculous prank like this. I don't know what they did with you over in merry old England, but here in the United States of America we do not allow scandalous pictures and gossip to overrun us. Do you understand me?"
I don't think he realised what he had just said. The twat.
"But sir-"
"Do-you-understand?" he restated.
"Yes, sir." I must have said it a little too sarcastically.
"I don't care for that attitude boy! Don't make me give you detention as well. Now, get out there and sort out this mess."
He crossed the room, held open the door and handed me a note to excuse my lateness to my next lesson. I headed out of the office for the corridor which had since become deserted. Thundering down the hall, I tore down and picked up every picture I could see, stuffing them into the nearest bin. Hundreds. Thousands. There were so many copies of my towel covered self...how did anyone have the time to print all of these?
I was furious beyond any rage I had ever felt. What reasonable logic would point the blame for this at me? What possible motive could I have for wanting to have this picture plastered all over the school? And detention?! I had never, ever received a detention in my life, and now I wasn't even responsible for my first one.
The classroom fell immediately silent when I walked in the door. Nearly thirty pairs of eyes stared up at me as I passed the note to the teacher. Pulling up the remaining chair, I tried to ignore the inaudible and unsubtle whispers of the class. My attempt to concentrate all of my thoughts on the assignment failed me; no one would be able to focus in this environment. My fury towards both the Vice Principal and the crowd of hungry vultures was boiling deep inside of me. I wanted to tear into Clay and his band of merry men for causing all of this anarchy.
A whisper from my left caught me off guard.
"Hey, Jacob," it said, huskily. I turned to face it. Clay looked back with another sympathetic expression on his face. I scoffed and returned to my book annoyed.
"Hey. Psst! Jacob?" he whispered at me.
Although I punching him in the face seemed like an appropriate and satisfying response, I decided to go with a different approach.
"What the hell do you want?" I muttered back.
I could see he wanted to respond, but Miss Stokes started speaking, preventing his rebuttal. Defeated, Clay sat back in his chair, only pretending to listen to what was being said.
As soon as the bell rang I headed for the door with my things and walked as far as I could to distance myself from the rest of the student body. I needed to get out of the way, from the staring and the laughing. Pushing my way into one of the lesser used bathrooms, I walked straight over to the sink, and splashed my face with the ice cold water. My dripping face reflected my stressful day; I looked weary and my eyes looked heavy. I felt my jaw clenching, my teeth grinding. With a burst of pure rage I began attacking the mirror wall, my red-raw fist beating at the plaster.
"I can't do this anymore!" I shouted at the wall. Without hesitation I punched the mirror, smashing my face, my anxiety, my rage...my self to the floor into a million pieces of shiny dust. I fell to the floor, sitting in the mess I made.
My knuckles were red. Blood washed all over them. A few shards of glass were embedded inside my skin.
I had only just finished washing the blood and mirror from my hand when the door opened and I was once again face-to-face with Clay.
"There you are. I've been look-" he stopped, realising the mess on the floor and what I had just done. "What the fuck...? Jake, what have you done? Are you alright?" He walked over and tried to grab my hand to examine it, but I pulled it away just in time.
"I'm fine. I have to go." I picked up my bag, but he blocked the door.
"You need to have that seen to...Jesus Christ, I can't believe you did that."
"Move, please," I said impolitely.
"What? No. We need to talk. This is going too far now. I have tried to apolo-"
I cut him off. "What part of leave me alone do you not fucking understand? I said move out of my way."
"Or what?" Clay's sympathetic tone disappeared completely, replaced with a more aggressive voice. Finally, I thought, something to attack.
"You'll find out what," I said as confidently as I could. I really was not the violent type, but right now all I wanted to do was knock him down hard.
He just stared at me, a cocky expression on his face. The look read `Try it. I dare you.' Sure, he was bigger than me, but I had all my angry adrenaline behind me. Before I knew what I was doing I stepped forward quickly and grabbed him by his shirt. He countered by going down and reaching for my left thigh. I pulled at his waist as he clung on. I knocked us both to the ground, a crunching sound broke the room as we hit the glass stained floor. We wrestled around on the diamond encrusted tiles until, eventually, Clay had me pinned to the ground. Tired, angry and hurt, I couldn't manage to pull him off me; he sat on me, smiling arrogantly. Unable to bear that face, I did the only thing I thought of and spat disgustingly right in his face.
"You fucking asshole!" He yelled, wiping it away from his eye and nose. I must've been smiling back now, because I didn't even see him swing his fist at me. My head rang so painfully I couldn't feel anything. I felt myself go momentarily deaf and blind for a split second after contact.
He hit me again. And again. It was only when my head started bleeding that he finally stopped his assault. His final fist, raised and ready, froze in it's place as he just stared at me as the blood from my hand, mouth and head began to paint the floor scarlet. His expression changed instantly and the apologetic Clay returned, his eyes soft natured and sorrowful. He looked traumatised by what he had done.
Climbing off of me, he reached for my good, trying to help me to my feet. I snatched it away quickly. Standing all alone, I walked to the sink and washed the blood from my skin. My head had never felt so painful; it took all my energy to stop myself crying, although a few tears still managed to escape. I saw Clay staring, stricken, at me through one of the other mirrors still attached to the wall. His lips were shaking horribly, as though he were trying to say something.
Good, I thought. I didn't want to hear him right now. It would have been easier if he would just run off triumphant. It would prove I was right about him. Was he just tormenting me further? It's difficult to focus all of one's contempt on a person who looks so regretful. The bastard.
A few minutes later, I was cleansed as best as I could be. A fat lip and a potential black eye. I would cause even more commotion tomorrow. Turning back to the communal area of the bathroom, I pulled up my bag and strolled out of the bathroom with as much dignity as I could muster. Clay didn't say anything to me, but I could have sworn I heard him mutter, "I'm sorry" as the door closed behind me.
Sore and limping a little, I continued out of the school building and off the grounds. Many of the students had already left, a few lagging still, sitting on the bonnets of their cars, chatting with their peers. I pulled up the hood on my sweater again. I did not want to be seen right now.
Thirty minutes later I walked in through my front door. My parents, surprisingly, weren't home. I headed up stairs and went straight for the shower. I could feel the blood still seeping from the cuts in my forehead and mouth. My hand was still aching too. The water was such a relief. Rejuvenating and refreshing, the warm shower eased my aching head and limbs.
My thoughts began drifting back to the fight; CJ's fist smacking me in the head over and over. Then, his face. His sorry, face. His eyes looked so sincere with regret. Did he nearly cry too? It annoyed me that I felt a little sorry for him. But I couldn't fight his face out of my head. It haunted my every thought.
"Arsehole," I said to myself as I stepped out of the shower.
My parents must have returned from another adventure as I made my newly cleansed self downstairs. The bleeding had stopped, but my lip was clearly swollen and there was a bump on my forehead. I wasn't sure how I was going to get around this one.
"Hello dear," my mother called to me from the kitchen. "Good day at school?"
"Awesome," I replied sarcastically.
"Aw, that's good." She doesn't get sarcasm.
I walked into the kitchen and headed for the fridge in dire need of some nourishment.
"Can I have one of these cakes?"
She turned to face me. "No, those are for our dinner guests this evening. I'm having some of the neighbours round tonight, and those cakes are for dessert." She turned back to her chores.
It seemed that I had managed to get around this little problem after all. Although, now I had the unfortunate prospect of having people around for dinner.
"Who's coming round?"
"Tommy and Mary-Sue who live down the road, and Richard and Jessica from up the street."
"I don't know these people?"
"No. You would have done had you come with us to one of their parties. You're so unsociable recently, Jacobean." An old pet name my mum had for me. She likes to crack it out now and then. "Anyway, I need you to go and set the table, help make the salads and go and put something a little more respectable on, please."
An hour and a half later I trudged upstairs and fell onto my bed exhausted. I really couldn't be bothered with a freaking dinner party, today of all days.
"Jacob!" Came mum's voice. "You had better be getting changed."
I groaned in response and started to change into a more presentable son. I didn't even know who these people were, why should I care about making an impression?
I returned to the kitchen fifteen minutes later in a shirt and tie my mother had very subtly hung on my closet door. "Oh, don't you look handsome," she cooed.
The doorbell rang while I headed for the dining room. Eight places? I had only set seven. I could hear mum greeting people at the door and exchanging the standard pleasantries; "That's a gorgeous outfit!", "Oh, what a lovely home you have," and "Mmm...something smells fantastic!"
"Well, let me lead you into the dining room," I heard my mum say. She sounded very posh in comparison to her new American friends.
In walked my mum, followed by two middle-aged coupes, one pair looking older than the other. And behind them? I couldn't believe my eyes. One of these pairings had obviously brought their son with them. Clay and his parents stepped to three of the seats, Clay keeping his head down to avoid my gaze.
"Jacob, I'd like you to meet Tommy and Jessica Clark," I shook the hands of the older couple with a polite, `Hello, how are you?' "And this is Tommy and Mary-Sue Jefferson-" I shook again "-and their son Clay. I think you two are both in the same year? Or grade, rather!" She chuckled to herself. "It's so difficult to change all of the little colloquialisms like that."
Clay looked up when his name had been mentioned and nodded in my direction. He still didn't look directly at me though. I nodded back.
"Kids today!" my mother tutted lightly at this different greeting, sending her off into a long winded discussion about the differences and challenges with today's youth.
The food was actually really good. My mum outdid herself again. She had never cooked such a meal; roast beef with all the trimmings. It was very homey and did make me think of England. There were even Yorkshire puddings. Very traditional. It's strange that the national dish of United Kingdom is actually a curry... Fish and chips would even seem more appropriate in comparison.
The conversation was peppy, filled with all kinds of anecdotes from the three parties, although Clay and I remained fairly silent unless asked a direct question. Tea and coffee were brought out for the women after dessert, while my dad led the gentleman to the patio for brandy and cigars, no doubt.
"Jacob, why don't you take Clay upstairs to you're room? You can show him your computer, hmm?" As if Clay didn't know what a computer looked liked. "We're just going to be chatting grown up stuff. We don't want to bore you," my mother added with a toothy smile.
"That sounds like a delightful plan," the richly smooth Texan accent of Mrs. Jefferson said. Her voice was very warm and humble. I didn't understand why the southern accent was frequently slated.
Clay and I looked at each other for the first time all night. Realising my lack of choice, I forced a smile and agreed. "Yeah sure. It's this way."
Our house in England was a shack compared to our new place. There were four bedrooms (two with an en-suite), a living room, dining room, a large kitchen with a breakfast bar, a study, a bathroom and a separate toilet, a swimming pool with a Jacuzzi, two nicely sized gardens with a drive... basically for the same price as the one we left. It was ridiculous. Not that I'm complaining. My room was on the top floor in the loft extension.
Clay followed me up the two flights of stairs and into my room. He looked around the space as I flopped onto my bed. I had no idea what to do now. There's the computer, I thought to myself as I had been instructed to show him. Clay grabbed my computer chair and began to swivel himself on it, both of us trying to ignore the awkward, deafening silence.
Grabbing the book on my bed-side table, I continued reading the chapter as Clay stared up at the ceiling and down at the floor. Noticing my impressive collection of CDs, he walked over to them and glanced over at the labels, selecting a few to read the track listings and returning them. What seemed like an hour lasted ten minutes. The pleasant banter from downstairs indicated that this could go on for a while.
Clay finally broke the silence. "How's your hand?" He asked turning to face me.
"Fine." I droned my reply.
He returned to the chair, still watching me. By this point I couldn't focus on the text. I was only pretending to read, his eyes burning a focused hole in my head.
"I'm sorry." I fought the urge to face him. "I... What I did was completely uncalled for. I just... I didn't mean for it to get out of control like that. I didn't want to hurt you. I... I'm really sorry, Jacob. For everything."
I froze with the book in my hands, staring at the blank words.
He paused before, "Aren't you going to say anything?" I didn't. "Fine. But you could at least make it look like you're pretending to read." He turned in the chair, facing the other side of the room.
I looked up at him, over the top of the book. His face was red; I couldn't tell if he was angry or upset. His eyes looked glossed over from tears from either of the emotions.
Arsehole, I said to myself. I hated that he made me feel bad, but his eyes made my gut churn with guilt. I put the book down on the side and sat up.
"I'm sorry too."
He turned to face me. I was surprised to see that he looked hurt. I didn't realise I had upset him so. Who'd have thought that a guy like Clay was sensitive? He always came across as the macho jock type. The alpha dog. Though he wasn't crying per se, his eyes were clearly teary, though he didn't surrender a single drop.
"I shouldn't have acted like that in the toilet," I went on. "I can't really believe I acted like that. I don't usually... I'm just not normally a violent person."
"You could have fooled me," we both laughed quietly.
It was strange, sitting in my room talking to CJ like this. I'd never have believed this would happen a week ago. Or even a few days ago. It was oddly pleasant. I watched as his eyes dried up and his red face eased. The tension in the air had disappeared.
"And about the picture, if I had known that she was taking it I would have stopped Lita. But I swear I had nothing to do with it."
Pausing for a few seconds, we continued to gaze at one another. Silently, I nodded in agreement and accepted his lack of involvement.
"So you believe me?"
I nodded again. His face broke out into a smile, relief etched into his chiselled face. My stomach tightened; his smile was so welcoming and friendly. This must have been the reason why so many people admired him, when he wasn't picking on him. That expression on his face was warm and kind. Any bad feelings I had towards him seemed to melt away momentarily. I couldn't help but smile back at him.
"Cool. Great. I'm glad we sorted this out."
"Just one thing though- why did you guys show up at my house on Saturday? I doubt it was to come out and play..."
"Look, I gotta explain something to you about my friends," he leant forward in the chair. I had the feeling he was about to reveal something that he never shared with anyone. "I'd never bad mouth them to anyone, so you and I never had this conversation. Seriously, I've never told anyone." He took a pausing-breath. "My friends? I love them all. I do. But they can be such shit heads at times. They like to mess with people's heads. A lot. They really buy into this whole "rule-the-school" shit. They wanna be liked, envied or loathed by everyone. And most people do. Too many are like you and hate us. I know what you're thinking: why do I hang with them if I don't like how they act? Well, to be honest it's a lot easier just being part of the group than splitting. But also, they can be really cool. They're my buddies and they always have my back. Just because I don't agree with what they do all the time. I try and stay out of all the messed up stuff they do. They like to get wasted all the time and even smoke a few joints, but I'm not into that shit." I scoffed, surprised at his revelation. "I know, right? Everyone thinks I act like them but I don't. It's one of the things I hate most about being associated with them. Like today, if I wasn't part of the group you might have believed my apology this morning. Would have been easier to understand that I had nothing to do with it. I dunno...it's all messed up, I guess. I'm probably just scared about what'll happen if I split with them all. I'd have to break up with Chrissie- she wouldn't leave their safe confines- and I really like her, man. Oh, god yeah she wouldn't leave them. She's too tight with them to walk away. She'd dump me before the gang," he had obviously anticipated my question from my puzzled look. "It's only another year I guess. Then college. Meet new people. Be myself more. I'm tired of the crazy shit they bring. I can't doubt they're fun to be around though. As I said, I like chilling with them and they'll always have my back and support me. I hope anyway..." he chuckled as he drifted off.
I sat staring at him, surprised by how much he had divulged. Something he had said, however, didn't seem right to me.
"You said you tried to keep out of all of the crap they do, right?" He nodded suspiciously. "Well, then why did you treat me like crap for the past couple of months? They weren't even there for some of the stuff you did. I mean, it was mostly you who pushed me around."
I thought he had reddened with anger. Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut, I thought. However, I realised I was wrong. He was blushing. Really blushing. His whole face had turned red. I'd never seen anyone turn that red from embarrassment. He was even sweating a little.
"I err, well..." Why was he so nervous? "Well, I... I thought it was kinda funny?" He wasn't convincing even himself with that lie. "I was pressured into it by the gang, I guess. Look, I'm sorry about it all. I didn't mean it to go that far, but yeah. I'm really sorry Jay. Jake. JACOB," he corrected himself. He spoke so quickly and anxiously I didn't want to press him any further. But I didn't buy it. Something was wrong with him.
"You got a nice room here," he stood up and walked over to the window. I accepted his change of subject, although I still felt weird about his fibs. "Cool view. You can see my house from here. Mine's that one up the street. That's actually my room at the back there. If you had a telescope you could look straight in! Ha, ha." Man he was acting strangely.
"Well, I don't have a telescope, so you don't have to worry about it." I smiled softly, turning away from the window.
"Yeah, probably for the best. Man, it's warm in here. Mind if I open the window?"
"No. Go for it."
He stuck his head out for air, his face relaxed some, the white tan returning. Pulling back into the room he looked up at a poster on my wall.
"Soccer fan then?"
"Yeah, kinda. I play a little. Follow the teams. Not fanatical like a lot of people though."
"Yeah, me neither. But I like the game. A lot. A.F.C.?"
"Arsenal Football Club. My team."
"Ah, yeah, I know these guys. Seen `em play a few times on TV. Pretty good."
"The best!" I corrected him. He laughed.
"Sorry, my bad. I don't really have a team. Don't follow it enough. I just like playing. I used to play all the time, but when the team got cut. Not enough interest. Shame." He'd picked up my football, throwing it in the air to himself.
"That sucks. I would have joined up. Not really into any other sports..."
"Yeah? Football is awesome. And baseball. I'm alright at basketball too."
"Well, I might get into it now that I'm here. But none of it beats football, mate."
"Soccer, you mean. You said it yourself! `Now that you're here'. So call it by the right name. Less confusion that way."
"Yeah, I'll do that!" I replied sarcastically. He laughed, picking up the ball and throwing it at me. "Hey!" I laughed back. "Arsehole!" I threw it at him, and he headed it back.
"CJ?!" the dulcet voice of Mrs. Jefferson rang up from downstairs. "CJ, we're headin' home now!"
"Looks like I gotta get going, buddy." He headed to the door. "I'm glad we sorted this mess out."
"Yeah, me too." We exchanged grins. My stomach tightened again. I must've eaten something that didn't agree with me, I thought, feeling the knot.
"And we should get together some time and have a little game of `football'," he tried putting on an English accent as he said it.
"Ha, yeah. Would be good. But, err, don't do that again."
We laughed and swapped goodbyes as he closed the door behind him.
Lying back on my bed, I smiled. Who'd have thought that I would have had a pleasant evening with Clay Jefferson? I sure as hell didn't. Heck, it was more than pleasant. For the first time since we had arrived in America I felt really happy.
What the fuck was going on...?
So, I hope that this chapter was worth the wait. Please, feel free to email me at mac_manap@msn.com. I do reply to all mail I receive eventually- I don't consider this a one way-system. While all responses are welcome, nasty criticism is just plain rude and I hope that you can respond aggressively by refusing to continue reading any further.
This is my first fictitious story (i.e. newly developed characters and plots) which is the result of some random thoughts I had one windy day. Anyone who chooses to copy or re-use this document should contact me first please to inform me beforehand.
As a few people asked me after the last instalment- yes, I do have another story on Nifty. I wrote it a few years ago under an assumed name and email address in the celebrity section. It's called "Usher's Justification". Guess who that's about... So if you're interested go and read it and let me know what you think... but reply to this email as I deleted the alias.
Also, for those who may be intrigued, there are a couple of other stories on Nifty which I wish to recommend:
Firstly, one called "Falling for a Straight Guy" which is located in the High School section. I am the current editor of the story, a role which is both difficult and interesting. It is a very good read and is a slow burner like my own with realistic and captivating characters, although it is fortunately not as long and rambled as my own. So check it out.
The other is my personal favourite story on the site (at least from what I have read). Located in the College section of the site is a story called "Operation: College Quarterback". It is a very real story with incredible characters, themes and issues that are relatable and- for those who want it- great sex scenes. However, it is not simply just a shag-and-go post. It's thought provoking and...well, read it for yourself. You may have to search for it a little as it's a couple of years old. I don't know if the author still replies to mail, but if anyone wants to discuss it, feel free to email me about it too.
Anyway, thanks again and I'm sorry for rambling...but it's my nature. I can't help it. I'm just enjoying the new keyboard.
Yes, I am a weirdo.
Later dooooods.