In An Instant
Chapter 1: In An Instant
GENRES: Drama, Romance, Humor, Tragedy, Angst, ...pretty much everything. So...gen?
MILD CHARACTERIZATION SPOILERS for Chris Colfer's Struck By Lightning!
WARNINGS: lots of mentions of Sex and a shit ton of snark. Also, sexual tension. As if that wasn't already obvious.
PAIRING: Jesse St. James and Carson Phillips AKA Jarson AKA St. Phillips AKA Jarson St. Phillips. There may be mentions of other pairings down the line, especially ones from GLEE.
WORD COUNT: 10711
"You know nobody reads this stupid paper," Claire said slowly as she pushed away the one she'd been glancing at with clear, mocking disinterest, her perfect nose wrinkling a bit with derision.
Carson rolled his eyes.
"I read it," he said firmly, snatching the issue from her general vicinity and smoothing it back out. "Ms. Tetter and Ms. Crail read it."
Remy giggled across from him, making no real move to smother the sound, but he ignored her.
"Dude, aren't those the librarians?"
Carson didn't bat an eye.
"Mr. Sanders does too."
"Carson, let's be honest- Does Mr. Sanders or do the class gerbils?" Claire asked snidely, a simper twisting her thin, pink lips.
"He reeeeeads it first…ssssooooometimes," Malerie drawled, her attempt at support falling clearly flat.
"I'm sorry, are you even a member of this council?" Remy snapped.
"Nooooo…I'm helping Carsoooon distribuutee the paapers."
Carson paid them no mind, instead continuing on:
"And Mrs. Hearst promised she'd get a full stack of the Chronicle this week."
"Okay, as amusing as your denial is Carson, we do have business to attend to today," Claire sighed.
"Wait, wait," Remy exclaimed. "Mrs. Hearst is the debate teacher, isn't she?"
"Oh, good, you can remember a teacher's name that you haven't slept with," Carson muttered.
The cheerleader shot him a glare, straightening in her chair.
"I'm not a carpet muncher," she retorted with a look of disgust. "I just remembered Claire saying earlier that they were covering bad journalism and bad sources and stuff for arguments this week. That's right, isn't it Claire?"
"Yes, I was," Claire replied irritably. "Now, if we can just get back to business, we do have a budget to discuss for this coming dance, people. And a theme."
The last word was spoken as though it were an enticement and Carson groaned loudly.
He was surrounded by idiots.
He just had to hold onto the hope that their low IQ wouldn't ultimately lower his own, no matter how often he felt as though he were losing brain power just listening to his peers' superficial blathering, and keep praying he would live to tell his tale. Preferably in a best-selling novel.
Working title: Idiocracy, and other things that Completely Suck.
"We do need to discuss the copy machines first, though," he reminded Claire, not bothering to keep the undertone of contempt from his voice.
"You mean the ones you keep overworking for the stupid paper," the girl returned indignantly.
"Ingenious, 'underappreciated-because-it-actually-contains-articles-with-some-margin-of-depth' paper that will give my college applications the necessary extra edge to get out of here, while all of you remain to become farmers and housewives and eventually alcoholics drowning in booze as a metaphor for your small-town misery, you mean? That paper?"
"How are you talking that fast and not on something?" Justin asked, staring open-mouthed.
Remy tittered a bit in her seat, while Claire simply looked annoyed, though she was obviously trying to keep her countenance smooth and upbeat.
"Enough. The point is- you're given a limit for a reason."
"It's not even the good copy machine you're using," Nicholas informed him drolly. "Not worth the fight. I wouldn't lift a dime, nor would my father…"
"I wouldn't want you to," Carson retorted. "Besides, I heard they just got new ink in-"
"Oh, don't you dare," Claire hissed, horrified. "You are not messing with the good photocopy machine in the teacher's staff-room for the thrice-damned Chronicle again, Carson Phillips."
Carson formed a gun in his lap with his hand and considered miming shooting himself.
"The art-teacher's got enough paper-Mache supplies anyway," Remy tacked on.
Carson remained unmoved.
"The teachers can always repair it again if it goes haywire," he said nonchalantly.
Beneath her transparent simper, Claire's irritation shone through plainly.
"Carson, when your articles generate even a little buzz in this school, then maybe we can talk about it further. Until then-" she clapped her hands forcefully. "Back to the dance!"
He rolled his eyes, but didn't bother arguing the point further. After all, he'd had this sort of debate enough times before to recognize when his effort were futile. And he wasn't the sort to waste time.
Well, more time, at least. There was only so much bullshit one could take without imploding, anyway.
"Now, I was thinking we go classic for the Fall Fling and have a Halloween theme. Cliché, maybe…bear with me though: I'm thinking we make this a special Halloween. Like a romantics-oriented one perhaps?"
Remy let out a loud squeak of excitement, and Carson winced, leaning forward to slump against the table. It wasn't like he ever even went to the dances, so he knew, really, the vapid inanity around him shouldn't be as bothersome as it was. But it was one thing to be cliché and realize it; it was quite another to actually think you were being original whilst being as far from it as you could possibly get.
More like frustrating and depressing.
"Is that actually the best you can come up with?" he grumbled into the table.
"Will you please just shut up?" Remy snapped from her place across from him, hazel eyes narrowed and stabbing.
Carson rolled his head straight and then up, their gazes connecting, and gave her an impertinent simper, one hand raising to make a mocking locking motion over his lips.
She scowled and tossed her head, eyes rolling, and a small smirk twisted the false smile from his face.
He existed, after all, in beads of sweat, ink on page, and these such rare moments of pride, typically the fruit of either his hard work or the sarcasm in which he found refuge.
Carson didn't need anyone's approval; he was fine just the way he was. And he'd found what he frequently was, or became around his peers, was an ass- which was completely fine with him. He liked himself the way he was. And he couldn't possibly want the approval of the ridiculous people around him, either way. He was bold and different and going somewhere, and his newspaper, very much not stupidly, was going to help him get there. And they'd see someday. He was sure.
Although maybe, just maybe, the tiniest part of him wanted them to see just a little sooner. That'd be nice. Just to see their expressions, really.
After all, their faces when they realized just how much he was meant to make it and be more than them, and this stupid town… That alone was reason enough to maybe push himself just a little further…Maybe.
He'd like to prove to them that his paper was more than what they thought, and he knew he could. Perhaps he could go the extra mile for an article for the next issue? It would certainly be good for his journalistic experience, wouldn't it? A win, no matter what happened. He could do that.
The bell signaling students to start heading to class ground its way from the loudspeakers, shrilling in all their ears, and Carson heaved himself up from the chair, quickly beginning to gather his books and head for the door, Malerie at his heels like an overeager puppy-dog.
They had first period together, then second was journalism, again, together, and he'd asked her help getting the papers put out before they got to class. Of course, at the time he'd forgotten the council meeting that morning; otherwise he would have just sucked it up and done it himself. No need to drag her with him everywhere; contrary to the common conclusion that "losers" sticking together would work to keep snickering and verbal assaults a bit more at bay, it just made the both of them bigger targets.
Of course, this was something that Malerie hadn't actually quite caught on to just yet.
"Mrs. Hearst?" he asked, rapping his knuckle once against the open door.
The debate teacher turned to him and gave a strained sort of smile.
"Carson," she replied with a nod. "You brought by the papers?"
"Yeah," he nodded shortly and stepped into the room, motioning once quickly at Malerie who he spotted standing uneasily outside of Ms. Gill's freshman english class to go in and do her own job just before.
He ignored a few mocking or bored gazes from early students, striding purposefully toward the teacher.
Carson handed her the stack, which she took gratefully, and then turned to leave, not willing to wait around, but paused before he could fully retreat and returned to her.
Her gaze was curious, but also impatient, so he just came out with it. Neither of them were really the type for dawdling.
"Are you really using The Chronicle for examples of bad journalism and sourcing?"
Mrs. Hearst's forehead wrinkled.
"Who told you that?"
"Claire Matthews. Well, her and Remy Baker. Student council this morning."
"Right," the teacher sighed. "Well, it's not entirely a fallacy."
"Of course it's not," Carson muttered, a scowl insistently pulling at his mouth. "I shouldn't be surprised."
"They weren't entirely correct though," Mrs. Hearst said, and her voice was a strange mixture of pitying, no-nonsense, and impatient.
"It's fine," Carson told her shortly, not caring to be bull-shitted anymore. He was already at maximum capacity for the day, thank you very much, and the annoyingly amused looks of some of the entering debate students were only putting him more on edge.
The pity evaporated from the teacher's expression quick as a blink, and Carson was about to move towards the door once more when she spoke tersely:
"I'm not making anything up for your benefit," she informed him. "I am using The Chronicle for an assignment that may not cast the best light, but we're reviewing amateur press and comparing sourcing, as well as arguments, between various papers."
"I was just curious," he told her, working an undertone of contrition into his voice.
"Well, then you might want to get to class or finish distributing your papers," she replied, rebuke in her steady voice and he nodded in both agreement and farewell, with her returning the gesture, before hurrying from the room, glaring at the three or so jocks laughing at him as he left.
Journalism third period was both his favorite and least favorite class.
Carson took to the front of the room, calling out roll as per usual to a round of rousing crickets chirping silence after every name.
Not that it mattered much, seeing as there were only four other students in the class.
Vicki, Dwayne, and Emile were all present and accounted for, the first and last looking bored, while Dwayne was spaced out, probably high. Again, the usual.
Just as the customary minute wait was about to be up, Malerie rushed in, huffing, and took her seat, throwing him an apologetic look.
Carson quickly scratched a "P" for present into the attendance book next to her name, then check-marked tardy in the notations, and closed it, clearing his throat.
"Alright, good, looks like we're all here. Since printing took place last night and I did it almost entirely by myself again I'd like to start looking at assignments early for this bi-weekly period. Vicki, you're still on weather, though as penalty for not reporting once this week I think you should do a little more. Maybe a column of gender vs. gender reviews for various new movies in the theater, along with Dwayne this time. Help him pick up the slack."
"You're kidding me," Vicki scowled, giving a childish purple-lipstick-ed pout that looked strange with her gothic facade.
"Can't I at least do something cool in this hellhole? What about a concert review?"
"How about on top of what I already said you interview the Sunday school teacher at Brighter Baptist Church about what she thinks of your Satanic style?" Carson snarked. "She's your mom, isn't she? So I take it she'd have a most interesting perspective."
The girl humph-ed at him, arms crossing over her chest, but didn't press the matter further, and Carson took that as his cue to go on.
It was a shame though.
That might actually have been an interesting assignment, seeing as Carson was pretty sure Vicki's mom actually had no clue about all the goth and satan-related garb and make-up her daughter wore. Family drama did often bring in audiences…
"Moving on."
As class began to drag towards a close, Carson found himself meditating more and more on the comments from the student government meeting that morning, as well as those of the debate teacher.
He hated to admit it, but they really weren't completely incorrect about the paper's popularity and typical content…He'd never sell out or lower himself to "who's hotter?" polls or any of that nonsense, but, again, maybe he could stretch himself a little more somehow. There had to be something he could do. If the paper remained as it was, it wouldn't be seen anywhere near as admirably as it deserved to be, and he was sure he'd end up working himself into an early grave (not that that would really necessarily be the worst thing, but he wasn't about to give his peers the satisfaction of dropping dead, not before he'd proved every one of them wrong).
If he did, it would have to be something he was legitimately intrigued by, though. Something worth his time, and the extra effort and such.
Carson groaned inwardly.
Well, okay. It was decided.
One more thing he'd have to work on tonight.
Looked like he'd be giving up his lunch hour to do some research on the library computers again. He could do that. The cafeteria was never really all that pleasant a place to be, anyway, and Carson had higher priorities than food.
He'd just find a way to have something during the mandatory phys. ed. class, which he tended to blow off to the best of his ability, while still maintaining a good grade.
Carson quickly figured out that he'd need to search for events in the larger Fresno area, and those surrounding, most prominently Los Angeles.
He'd narrowed down the subjects of his events quickly from there.
He was thinking something that involved either music or television/film at this point, but something not just anyone would be able to get into or would know about…
He'd been contemplating a concert, but quickly decided the fit from Vicky wouldn't be worth it. Film festivals were of interest to him, but he ultimately put them on the back burner; knowing his classmates, that was unlikely to raise the general interest, and it was too close to the scheme of Vicky and Dwayne's assignments.
He was liking the film idea, though, if only because of all the different angles you could go on, and, on a whim, he searched to see if there was anything filming that required extras. Preferably something low-key enough that people like Nicholas and Scott wouldn't know of it or want to be there, but big enough that his presence would actually hold some weight.
There were four things with open-extra events coming up.
The first was a high-school romance called "Too Young to Love", and, sorry, no. That was just not going to happen. Carson loved the paper and the opportunity to get out and be on a movie set was definitely intriguing and all, but that was just too much.
He very nearly just clicked the back button when he saw the second option.
It said "romance" and "coming of age"…but the summary made it beyond clear that they were just making a glorified sex tape, and, again, no. Seriously; what the hell was wrong with people these days?
The title of the apparently collegiate film was "Horny Days". And here Carson had thought he had no faith in humanity left to lose…
Just before he exited in disappointed disgust, though, the third one on the list caught his eye.
He read the summary twice, frowning critically.
…It didn't actually sound completely horrible…
IN AN INSTANT
Open Call - Unpaid Extras Needed - Contact: Ava Meledez avamelendez_ Open only to those 18 and over, PREFERED: students at UCLA Campus- also placement of filming. First Come, first serve.
In An Instant: A stirring drama wherein a teacher receives fatal injury in front of the student body at an assembly, and teaches those students who bore witness a more valuable lesson than any other- All it takes is one instant, one chance tempting of fate, and everything can be over. A tale of grief, growing up, and the way we all must adapt and change to the harsher realities of life as they hit. Or, perhaps, as they strike, all in an instant.
The summary was cheesy and redundant. It would almost definitely be a flop…
But they were filming at a school campus…a school he'd been considering applying to next year. He'd been looking for an excuse to visit, hadn't he?
And he could interview students attending…
But would it be enough of a hook?
A quick google search revealed that the recent heartthrob Effron of High School Musical infamy would be involved, and Carson couldn't be sure whether to smirk or grimace in distaste.
Well…as long as the pretty boy didn't sing or ramble about how popular he was and how hard the charmed life could be…
Carson allowed the smirk.
He had his hook; his personal reward; now all he needed was a way to get in…
A glance to the time revealed that there were two minutes to the bell. Carson quickly printed the information he'd gathered and logged out, grabbing his stuff.
If he hurried, he could probably catch Dwayne smoking up under the bleachers before gym started.
He hastened outside and around to the stands next to the football field, ducking beneath them, only barely flinching away from the strong stench of marijuana clinging to the chilled air around him.
Dwayne was standing around with four other guys and three girls, while another guy and girl were making out on the ground a few feet away, and another two girls were kissing heavily, occasionally pulling away to drag at what he guessed were pot-cigarettes.
The coach was just a few yards away, talking to Dwayne's older brother Jordan. They were very plainly making some sort of drug deal.
Carson rolled his eyes, a little less sure of his decision now that he was here.
He really didn't want to talk to these guys. He definitely wasn't digging the thought of drawing all of their attention.
Of course, if he didn't, chances were the couple making out would proceed to full on coitus right in front of him.
No thank you.
"Dwayne," he called out.
A few of the kids glanced vaguely over at him, but Dwayne was not one of them.
The coach, however, was.
"Oh, uh, Carson Phillips," the coach exclaimed, twitching slightly as he backed swiftly from where he'd stood with Jordan Michaels, who was holding a baggie close to his person and looking incredibly annoyed. "I was just giving detentions and reporting…"
"I don't care," Carson cut him short. "I just need to talk to Dwayne. It's about the paper."
Dwayne's eyes had finally drifted to him and he let out a loud groan.
"No," the boy complained loudly. "Didn't I, like, just get away from you man? And how are there so many of you? No way you clone that fast…Not fair."
"You're high and there's only one of me, and that one needs to talk to you," Carson informed him impatiently.
"So…if there's four of you, but really one, doesn't that make there really four of me?"
"Woah, man, that's deep," the guy next to Dwayne said, looking completely awed. There were a few murmurs of agreement, and Dwayne nodded.
"I don't even know. I was just thinking it and it came out…"
"Woah…"
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Carson snapped. "Dwayne, I need to make a deal with you, okay?"
That got their attention.
"What kind of deal?"
It wasn't Dwayne but Jordan that spoke, though Dwayne nodded heavily in agreement.
No going back now.
Carson shrugged stiffly.
"I'd prefer not to go into this out here," he said pointedly.
A guttural moan broke into the air and Carson grimaced.
It seemed the couple was now completing their home run.
"Please," he forced out.
"Fine," Jordan again spoke for Dwayne.
He gestured to a spot about six yards from where he currently stood, in a collection of trees, and Carson forced himself to follow the brothers, as well as Dwayne's admiring friend, Nick-something, he was pretty sure, past the group of stoners, many of whom had followed the fornicating couple's example and begun pairing up.
Carson was pretty sure he'd never been less interested in having relations of his own- and generally that was a subject he found far less alluring than he knew he was meant to in the first place.
Not that he didn't have urges of a sexual nature, or anything like that. His biology was perfectly intact. But he had many things far higher on his list of priorities, and with the way his fellow students acted about it, it had started to hold a certain level of…distaste…for him. Besides, there weren't actually any possibilities for relations in those around him, logically speaking, anyway. There were only a few people that didn't annoy the hell out of him, and towards those he was generally indifferent or simply unaware. So, why bother?
"So, what kind of deal?" Jordan asked again as they reached the clump of forestry towards the foot of a small hill at the back of the bleachers.
Carson wasted no time cutting to the chase.
He'd made his decision already, so there was no place for falter now. He mostly just wanted it done.
"ID's. One that says I'm legal, another a student ID for UCLA."
Jordan barked out a laugh, and the other two followed his lead, lapsing into giggles.
Carson scowled.
"What?" he snapped.
"Do you have any idea what you're asking, kid?" Jordan sneered.
Carson straightened up.
"Yeah. I do."
"Okay, and how you gonna pay for that?"
Plan one…
Without missing a beat, Carson replied, "I'm not."
"Excuse me?"
Each of the guys had straightened with him and now they'd stepped forward, pressing him back against a tree.
Even Dwayne, ever chill, looked a bit pissed, or at least uneasy.
Jordan looked furious.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Jordan hissed.
Carson held his ground, choosing to ignore the five or so inches and at least fifty pounds the senior had over him.
"I've been recording all of this," he informed them quietly. "I have evidence. I can turn you guys in. So, I need ID's. I get them? The footage's gone."
It was actually only half a bluff, too. He'd taken one of his audio recorders for journalism along with him.
But he was sort of counting on not needing to whip anything out, nonetheless.
Jordan barreled into him, slamming him back hard against the tree, and Carson was unable to restrain a hard gasp as the air fled from his lungs.
"You can't do shit if you're dead," he menaced against Carson's ear.
Carson managed to roll his eyes.
"Kill me and you'll just have a bigger problem on your hands," he informed the older boy. "This goes back to a live feed at my house, on my personal computer, and is being saved as it goes along to a usb port."
Carson pulled on his best poker face.
He was pretty sure if he was one to play either that or bullshit he'd make a complete killing.
No pun intended.
"Jordan, man, he's crazy smart," Dwayne muttered to his brother. "And with his clones, no way we'll be able to beat him."
"There are no clones, dumbass," Jordan retorted, irritation plain. "Fine, freak. But I want at least some compensation, do you read me? Your stupid blackmail isn't enough for that much work, kid."
Carson winced inwardly.
He didn't actually have much money to spare…He'd sort of been depending on his bluffed blackmail to be his ace in the hole.
"We'll see. What do you want?"
Jordan paused to scrutinize him, and Carson puffed out impertinently under his cold glare.
"You're smart… useful, probably. So- three favors," he said finally. "No questions asked. They can be anything."
"No murder unless it's one of the annoying cheerleaders or football players. Or Claire Mathews."
Jordan laughed again, the sound hard but amused.
"No murder."
"Nothing jail-sentence worthy, actually," Carson continued to stipulate. "I'm doing all this to get a good future. You might as well kill me now if I'm not going to get there anyway."
"Whatever," Jordan said, shrugging away from him. "Three favors. And if you piss me off, it'll be more. And I can kick your ass. This is a verbal contract, and if you're really recording it…"
"Yeah, I got it," Carson grumbled. He didn't like it, but he was smart enough to know this was the best deal he'd get. He could always do some recon later.
"When do you need them ready by?" It was the Nick guy who asked this, and Carson noticed he was tapping something out in his phone. Probably going to text all of them an overview of the deal to keep business straight.
Well, shit. He'd apparently underestimated them.
Not that it changed anything. They were smarter than expected, but not more so than him.
"Three weeks. September 13th. At the latest." The shoot was September 14th.
"I'd say we're good," Dwayne grinned. Jordan nodded firmly, eyes still narrowed at him.
Carson returned the gesture.
"I'll be in touch," he muttered, turning quickly away and making his escape.
He'd already missed more than half of gym, he realized. But that was fine.
He was already blackmailing at least three peers. Why not add the Coach to the list as well?
He might even get a bit more time to work on his hands, if he played his cards right.
Which, he thought as he fingered the recorder in his pocket, according to his calculations, he always did.
"Jesse! I need you to be my wingman!"
Naomi was grinning disarmingly wide at him.
Jesse groaned, not bothering to look up.
"Last time I did that Lucas pitched a fit and nearly locked me out of the dorm. What do you think of my drawing? It's good, right?"
Naomi waved a hand dismissively, throwing herself onto the rec room couch beside him.
"Yes, sure. You're perfect at everything, Jesse. All the deities worship you as their most incredible creation, blah blah. Lucas threatens to lock you out every other week. Besides! He'll hopefully be there too!"
Jesse did look up at that, quickly, his brow ever so slightly furrowed, lips quirked with amusement.
"You want me to help hook you up with someone other than your boyfriend while he's watching? Is this some new fetish kink deal because I thought I made it clear after last time that I don't want to be involved anymore."
"Well, I did tell him there was a possibility of a threesome to make the offer more appealing…"
"And he agreed?"
"Only under the condition that the person's a girl," Naomi sighed. "Which- you know- I'm cool with that. I dig the pussy, especially with a nice side of weiner schnitzel."
"My ears are forever scarred," Jesse murmured, and Naomi chortled in response.
"Seth wants us all to go with him to the movie scene shoot or whatever they're doing on Campus in September. Apparently your theater director recommended it."
"Seth is far too prone to suggestion," Jesse scoffed, eyes glued to the ears of the cat he was doodling.
"True. But he's also very excited about putting it on his resume or whatever. His enthusiasm is highly infectious and highly frightening," she observed wryly, twisting a strand of hair around her finger.
Jesse laughed shortly, still focused on shading with his pencil around the cat's ears, head, and tail.
"He's intense. And that's coming from me."
"Yeah, but you're not truly intense anyway," she said, reaching over to pat vaguely at his shoulder as though trying to comfort him. He smirked at her.
"I'm not going."
Naomi frowned.
"No, you have to! You have to wingman for me!"
"Why do you even need a wingman again?" he asked distractedly, growing a bit bored and not bothering to hide the fact.
"I don't," Naomi replied honestly. "But it makes it so much more fun. And you know you love seeing Lucas's expressions."
"I took pictures of them last time, so I don't actually need to risk my room to see him pissed off anymore."
"Oh, Come on. You know it's better live action. It's always better live action."
Jesse groaned.
"Me wingmanning isn't your only motivation here, is it?"
"Not really," Naomi shrugged. "But it is a part!"
Jesse shook his head, amusement returning to him.
"Of course it is. I'm a killer wingman. Now, what's the rest?"
"Seth," Naomi said shortly, flapping her arms lazily as if to express some intangible frustration. "He's adorable and interesting and everything, not to mention very good at the schmoozing which is a feature I happen to appreciate, but he'll drive Luke and I crazy… You're the only person who really understands half his theatre-talk anyway. And he wants you to come. And I told him yes…and you know, if you're not there, seeing him after will be hell. And you'll feel like shit, since he has a way of making everyone feel guilty without ever trying."
"So my reward is supposed to be that I get less clueless guilting… for a while?"
"And you'll be saving me from a serious case of lady-blue-balls."
Jesse rolled his eyes.
"You know, I'm really starting to think you're some sort of nympho."
Naomi tossed her head to the side so she could face him as she grinned.
"I wish I was. Then I'd have an excuse to do it all the time."
"Well, I bet the new amateur porn tapes would sell at least as well as the old ones," he mused, and she laughed loudly.
"Please. If you'd sold any of our sex tapes you'd have earned millions. Besides, your video camera is still broken from when you forgot to put it away before bringing your date in to make out and Amy Sussten completely spazzed thinking you were recording her…Anywho. So you'll come right?"
"…nah. I'd really rather not," Jesse shrugged, eyeing his drawing again.
"Oh God," Naomi moaned. "You're gonna kill me, Jesse. Just you wait. I'll sic Lucas on you."
Jesse didn't bother to turn away from the doodled cat in front of him.
"Oh please. He always fails miserably when I allow a musical throwdown."
Naomi facepalmed beside him.
"Okay, okay. Texting in the big guns now. Don't say I didn't give you a chance though. And wipe that smirk of your face, Jesse St. James!"
"What smirk?" Jesse asked, still smirking broadly. "Don't you like my cat? I should totally make a museum for all my cat drawings. The exhibit could be called 'Jesse's Cat-pictures through the years'. So at least one from as many years as I've been drawing them. I've been a bit of a prodigy my whole life, if you can't tell. Even more so than the ex back home in Lima I told you about."
Naomi ignored him, humming a bar of Queen's "We are the Champions" under her breath as she stretched out on the couch, letting her bare feet flex against the side of Jesse's jean-clad thigh.
"Jesse! Naomi said you wanted to talk to me."
"No," Jesse complained quietly to Naomi, who shot him a smug look.
"Hey Seth," Naomi called out and Jesse reluctantly raised his eyes to greet the other boy with a nod.
Seth nodded his curly head, solemn eyes positively gleaming.
He meandered over to them and sank into the armchair to Jesse's right.
"What's going on?"
Jesse opted to ignore the other in favor of extracting another paper from his folder and a new pencil, tapping the tip against his jaw as he considered what type of cat to draw next.
There was a silence during which Jesse stubbornly brought his pencil to the paper, only to pull it back indecisively.
He just couldn't make up his mind as to whether to continue with domestic cats or go onto more exotic, jungle breeds.
"Jesse? I thought you wanted to talk to me…"
"Hm? Oh yes…" Jesse held up his drawing. "What do you think of my cat? And what kind of cat should I draw next?"
Seth sat forward, eyeing the drawing.
"Well, if that's what you really want to talk about, I wouldn't say throw away music for cat-art, but that is actually really good! It's like…an attitude cat! You should make those, Jesse. And get someone in the art department maybe to do coloring and getting it into posters and stickers- you could actually turn that into a thing! Like those Jesus bumper stickers. I'd buy one! And…I'd say you should diversify on the next one, just to mix it up."
Jesse smirked.
"Brilliant. That's exactly what I was thinking."
"Oh for heaven's sake," Naomi muttered. "Seth, we were actually just talking about the shoot."
Seth frowned.
"Oh…okay," his smile returned, though it was a little less honest now. "You're coming then, right? All of you guys? It's going to be awesome. Think- an actual movie."
"We'd just be unpaid extras," Jesse reminded him, a tiny bit of guilt beginning to surface, which was completely unfair. Jesse St. James was not prone to feeling bad, and he didn't like it. If he wasn't guilty about his sister's bulimia and his brother's huffing addiction, he really shouldn't feel bad for not wanting to go be bored for hours in the bleachers with no real payoff. This movie was going to be a complete dud, anyway.
Seth looked upset.
"Yeah, but in a real movie, Jesse! We can put this on our resumes. You can probably even build it up on paper if you want! And it'll be so much fun!"
Jesse looked at his paper.
"Do you think a jungle cat design would be good?"
"Yeah, fine, whatever," Seth sighed, his tone one of stifled injury. "I've got to head to fundamentals anyway. I wanted to talk to Shapiro before class. Naomi, I'll see you after in Advanced right?"
"Yeah, I'll see you then," Naomi informed. "Remember to save my seat? That Sharon bitch keeps trying to take it just to piss me off."
Seth nodded, standing quickly, at smiled goodbye before turning heel and heading for his class.
"You're heartless," Naomi informed Jesse. "You know how happy it'll make him if you show up."
"Things have been awkward since that party," Jesse shrugged. "And I don't do tension unless it actually goes somewhere. Like sex. Or a sing-off."
Naomi sighed.
"Please, Jesse. Hell, if you go maybe you can also wingman for him. And hook-up with someone, too. If he sees you actively looking at other people and going home with someone or something, then he'll probably realize it really didn't mean anything."
Jesse groaned. He was still feeling guilty, too.
"Okay, okay. Fine. I'll do it. I'm agreeing. Now can you help me out with this cat?"
"Yes," Naomi exclaimed, beaming. "Jesse, I swear you won't regret this. I'll get you a new scarf or something too. We'll have so much fun."
"I'm counting on that," Jesse said blandly. "Now cat?"
"Do a lion motif," Naomi tossed out with a grin. "I'm gonna go find Lucas and tell him that now he has to go."
"He's in drafting right now," Jesse complained.
Naomi laughed, heaving herself up.
"Yes, but Rose is awesome and loves both me and Lucas, so I can get away with it. I'll see you later. Good luck with your drawing!"
Jesse rolled his eyes, not bothering to return the sentiment as Naomi loped happily from the commons.
He turned his attentions back to the paper, and began with the long, swishing tail.
The two and a half weeks until the shoot passed too quickly for Jesse's taste, and he was admittedly in a rather crappy mood as he met with the others at the fence around the field and showed his student ID to the amusingly chill guy at the front.
They were ushered in by a separate individual, a decent group following them, and another in the stands.
Supposedly, Zac Effron was in this, so Jesse wasn't completely surprised.
When he was famous, though, he'd be able to get so many more if he did something like this. Jesse was pretty sure he was at least as attractive, and far more talented. Though he wouldn't actually be involved in an open extra thing if he could avoid it…
"This is so cool," Seth breathed excitedly, and Jesse nodded vaguely at him.
He was just glad he'd brought both his iPod and a pad of paper and pencils.
"What do you think Lucas? See anyone of interest yet?" he heard Naomi ask excitedly, and Jesse smirked over at his roommate.
Lucas's ears had reddened at being put on the spot.
"Well…" Lucas glanced around at those assembled as they seated themselves. "That chick over there is pretty hot."
He pointed to a girl a few rows up and to the left of them.
Jesse and Naomi both looked obligingly.
"Very understated," Jesse observed.
"Which means not hot enough," Naomi added, and both she and Jessie turned back to Lucas with almost identical smirks.
His brow furrowed.
"I thought she was hot, babe."
"Fine," Naomi said, rolling her eyes. "We'll put her in the maybe's. Ohhh, I like that girl, the one next to…how old is that kid?"
Jesse snickered.
"He looks even younger than Seth."
Seth glared at them.
"That's completely unfair. I'm older than most of you. Only Naomi is ahead of me."
"Okay," Naomi said quietly. "You wingman me with the girl, and I'll wingman you with the youngling."
Jesse chortled.
"You want me to hook up with him?"
"He looks fun," Naomi retorted. "So intense and nervous. I bet he snuck in. Come on."
Jesse shrugged.
"Hell. Might as well start working my way in. He's my first challenge then I guess."
"I doubt he'll be a challenge," Seth muttered resentfully. "Look, they're setting up the equipment! I wonder what type of lens they're using for that camera…"
"Twenty bucks you spend the whole night trying to get him to go out with you."
"You're kidding me," Jesse said, snorting at Lucas's wager, and Naomi laughed loudly.
"I'll go twenty-five he gets shot down by Mr. Masculine."
"Thirty if the kid ignores him," Lucas added. "Or threatens him. He looks really into whatever he's doing. And straight. Probably one of those uptight guys with a stick so far up their ass the thought of them wanting anything else up there just pisses them off."
"You're totally one of those guys," Naomi reminded him through gales of continuing laughter.
Lucas scoffed.
"I'm not pissed off by it! Otherwise I would be freaking out about Jesse. I'm just completely Kinsey zero, or one at most."
"You screw what you want to screw," Jesse commented sagely. "Sex is sex. And limits get you nowhere in the business I'm interested in, anyway."
"Yes, we know your philosophy very well," Seth sighed churlishly. "We'll be starting soon, I think…"
"Come on, let's go," Naomi said, grabbing Jesse's elbow and dragging him up.
"Fine, okay. Guys, watch my stuff," Jesse called out as he was pulled away.
They approached the girl first, the guy having moved away momentarily with a notebook and recorder in hand and determined expression on his face.
Carson wasn't having as much luck as he'd hoped.
It turned out a lot of the people here were Effron fangirls, so that the few interviews he'd managed to get had mostly involved long-winded rambles about the guy's abs and hair. All the rest seemed to be wannabe self-obsessed actors who only wanted to talk about auditions and resumes and how much star-potential they had, and how much show business both sucked and was completely amazing, "I swear I saw Jennifer Anniston yesterday".
He had a feeling he'd be on the verge of going all psycho Columbine on these idiots by the time this was over.
Hell, he was already on the verge.
"I asked whether or not you thought opportunities like this are more about vanity and ego-boosting than a lack of funds…"
"Seriously? Are you saying Zac Effron's a narcissist?" a girl he was interviewing named Ellena asked irritably. "Just because he's super hot?"
"Zac Effron's not the only one involved in this movie, and he's definitely not running publicity or casting or producing or anything relevant to my question," Carson sighed, exasperated. "I don't think he's even here."
The girl glowered.
"You don't know that."
"That's why I said think," Carson reminded her acidly.
"Whatever. I don't think I want to be interviewed by you anymore," the girl said truculently.
Carson rolled his eyes.
"Good. Trying to interview you was killing off my brain cells anyway. They were all trying to jump ship when they realized how empty your head must be, and how lonely the few neurons you have working are. Have fun listening to your Justin Bieber music."
"You're insulting the Biebs too?" The girl called after him, sounding outraged. "Jackass!"
Carson stalked back towards where he'd been, hoping Tiffany was willing to act like she was someone else and be interviewed again.
She was the first even semi-tolerable and semi-intellectual person he'd found here.
"Tiffany-"
She smiled at him brightly and held up a finger.
"Hold on!"
Then turned back to the girl and guy in front of her, an excited looking latina and a smirking, self-satisfied guy with curly hair that absolutely reeked of condescension.
Carson frowned. The guy was now staring at him, very oddly.
Maybe he wanted to be interviewed too?
Carson hadn't interviewed many guys yet. Just one or two. Although he wasn't sure he wanted to with this one…
"Yeah, we'll talk, for sure," he heard Tiffany finishing up with them. "You have my number now. Oh! Hold on, before you go, this is my new friend Carson! Carson, this is Naomi," she gestured to the girl and Carson flashed the latina a wary glance, "and this is Jesse."
The guy immediately took a step forward and held out his hand.
"Jesse St. James," he said, almost primly, eyes still frighteningly dark and focused.
Carson slowly reached forward to shake his hand.
Jesse's grip was strong and firm, and Carson instantly tightened his own grip, subconsciously asserting himself.
The other boy's smirk grew even more pronounced.
"What's your name?"
Carson frowned. Jesse had yet to release his hand.
"It's Carson, as she said," he reminded him pointedly. "Carson Phillips."
"Right," Jesse said calmly, still not letting go. "Sorry I just looked in your eyes and instantly got caught up in the lyrics of 'It Only Takes a Moment' from the classic Broadway musical Hello Dolly. Of course, much of it is largely derivative, but it so suits this connection between us, I think."
Carson paused, bewildered and more than a little annoyed.
"What connection? Look, I was just going to ask if you'd do an interview for me for my paper, but-"
"We'd love to," the girl, Naomi, interrupted.
Carson nodded.
"Uh-huh. Well, I don't think it's really all that good an idea anymore and…oh, for fuck's sake! Will you let go of my hand already?"
"I can sing for you," Jesse offered with a smarmy smile.
Carson glowered at him.
"No thanks," he said irritably. "I don't really want to deal with every local dog in a ten mile radius beginning to howl."
"Oh, trust me. I'm incredibly talented. I'd even be willing to be the subject of your article with only minimal compensation."
Carson groaned at him.
"Your ego is beginning to suffocate me. I'm pretty sure a recording of it would work like the cursed videotape from The Ring. And I'm not up for dying in seven days, so...Fuck it. Just let me go before your incessant narcissism makes me actually kill you, alright?"
Jesse let go, but quickly reached over and grabbed the recorder from Carson's hand before he could stop him.
"What the hell? Give me my tape deck back! I need that for journalism!"
Jesse frowned.
"What school do you even go to? You do realize this is an arts school?"
"Yeah, I got that," Carson said through gritted teeth. "Do you want to be punched?"
Jesse and Naomi both laughed loudly, while Tiffany tittered on the bench, not bothering to suppress her smile.
Carson was already miles less fond of her.
"Tape deck. Now."
Jesse rolled his eyes, still wearing the same smarmy smile.
"You wanted an interview, right? I'll give you one. And in exchange you can give me your number."
Carson's scowl turned incredulous.
"Seriously? You want my number? …You're legitimately attempting to pick me up. Wow…"
"I know. I am."
"Oh God, you didn't realize, did you?" Naomi asked, laughter resurfacing.
Jesse's smile became somehow smarmier still.
"How cute. Well, now that we're on the same page-"
"Cute," Carson repeated, sounding both dumbfounded and more irritated than ever. "Are you insane?"
"Your self-esteem's low. Let me build it up. With song and sex we can rule the world."
"…Okay. So you're fucking with me then. Fantastic. Give me my goddamn tape deck back, asshole."
"You're special Casper. Why don't you see that?"
Carson's eyes narrowed.
"It's Carson," he replied deadpan.
Naomi and Tiffany both were beside themselves, and Carson mentally added them to his list of people he'd have beheaded for whatever flimsy excuse he could if he were Henry the eighth.
"Sorry, I was thinking of how much you resemble the friendly ghost."
"Well if we're calling people by what they resemble, then I guess I should be referring to you as ass."
"Look, sorry to interject, but weren't you already?" Naomi asked.
Carson groaned again.
"I just want my tapedeck back. That's it."
Jesse's eyes glinted and he held out the tapedeck.
"This old thing?"
Carson batted angrily at it and Jesse grinned, snatching it back.
"You know, Carson, I was wrong. You don't remind me of a friendly ghost at all! You remind me of a cat!"
"I'm going to murder you, and it will be slow, and it will be painful."
"Oh my God, he totally does," Naomi guffawed, and Tiffany exclaimed in agreement, giggling like mad.
"And this tape deck? It's your cat nip," Jesse went on, stuffing Carson's recorder into his jeans with a cheeky grin. "So, then, how about you come over here and try to get it like any good cat would, and I'll maybe even let you have a taste later on."
Carson's jaw worked for a long moment, his fists clenched at his sides, and then, abruptly, every muscle every so minutely began to unlock.
"Fine," he said, tone somehow both heavy and buoyant.
Naomi and Jesse were both smirking again as Carson swiftly drew himself over, pressing himself ever closer to Jesse, refreshed, relaxed determination giving his jaw a whole new set.
Carson closed in, fitting himself against Jesse's side.
Jesse's breath caught blink-and-miss as, face blank, Carson smoothly reached around and nonchalantly slid his hand into the other's pants, easily locating his recorder and removing it with a smirk of his own.
"Satisfied?" he murmured against Jesse's stubbled chin, before pulling back. "Jackass."
"Hey guys! One minute to filming! Get in your places, make sure not to talk loudly. Remember, you're high-school kids. Be in character!"
Carson pointedly gathered his things and moved away from the group of people staring at him, towards the opposite end of the bleachers.
Hopefully he'd have better luck on this side. At least, he figured, he was away from that smarmy, smug jerk.
"The champs return," Lucas grinned as Jesse sat down, Naomi and Tiffany close behind.
"Champ," Naomi corrected.
Lucas and Seth both frowned, obviously confused.
"Who…?"
Seth's look of hope just about sent Jesse over the edge; fortunately, he was already entering his show-zone.
"Me," Naomi informed the guys, sounding proud but a little disappointed.
A beat of awkward silence hung between them.
"Much as I want my money, seriously? It looked like he publicly gave you a handjob."
"Jesse put the kids recorder thing in his pants and the kid got it, then called him a jackass."
"Oh, damn," Lucas exclaimed quietly, mindful of the cameras on them. "Jesse got burned by an infant! I do believe you owe me fifty bucks then man!"
Jesse scowled at him, quickly pulling his wallet from his back-pocket and yanking a fifty dollar bill out.
"Whatever. I still managed to get him in my pants, didn't I?"
"So you're done with it now right?" Seth asked a little too loudly, eyes virtually glowing under the ray of sunshine beating down on him.
Jesse paused.
"Well, he was annoying, but I did get a kick out of the drama. It was all so 10 Things I Hate About You…"
The newest chick to their group, Tiffany stopped snickering with the rest of them to ask, "Wait, but are you Patrick Verona or Joey Donner?"
"He's a total Patrick," Seth said quietly. "Now, can we talk about something else? Look- that's the guy who's playing the teacher…"
Feeling the familiar Seth-guilt starting in, Jesse shrugged his agreement, automatically making a comment about Broadway and actor prestige, and the others followed his lead.
Three hours and approximately two five minute breaks later found them on their first break of thirty, and found Jesse bored out of his mind.
He was becoming more and more tempted to make a break for it, honestly, and was beginning to consider switching career paths as well.
This was more dull and annoying than Grease 2.
"I was talking to the set guys about the equipment and you wouldn't believe…"
Jesse nodded as many times he could along with Seth's excited storytelling, unable to shake his desire to get away.
"So then I took it and I think he might actually be able to get Lucas and me a job some time. Like, this is a real connection in the industry."
"I'm so proud," Naomi declared happily. "My babies all grown up."
"You know, it's kind of creepy you're calling me that since we've had sex three hundred and four times," Lucas said quietly against Naomi's neck and her eyes flashed.
"You know, we could always scratch sex in a public bathroom off our list again, bump that up to three hundred and five. Baby."
Tiffany looked awkwardly away, turning to Jesse.
"Are they always like this?"
"Yep," Jesse replied flatly. He was still feeling that itching to get out of here.
Giving in, he stood quickly to go, though he wasn't quite sure where just yet.
Naomi and Lucas both stared at him in bemusement.
"Are you joining us?" Naomi asked, her tone heavily sarcastic.
Jesse rolled his eyes.
"Nope. Just thirsty. Going to go grab some water."
"I'll come with," Seth offered, and Jesse winced inwardly.
"I'm fine."
"Well, be careful. Lots of middle schoolers waiting to break your heart out there," Lucas sniggered.
Jesse scowled at him.
"I'll be back."
"Yeah, you better," Lucas said seriously. "You know I always come back with the best stories and you're the only real audience I've got to regale with them, man. Only one who can handle the mature content."
Jesse smirked.
"Yeah, whatever. Where would I go?"
He sauntered away, not bothering to wait for an answer.
He was on his way back from the student store at the back of the field, a bottle of water in the hand, when he spotted the kid from earlier standing at the edge of the stands.
Carson Phillips.
Jesse doubted he'd forget the name now.
The kid was talking, or trying to, one hand gripping the wrist on the other side tightly, pressed hard into his chest like a physical restraint.
He almost looked a little scared.
Definitely angry. And flustered, too.
Rightfully so. Jesse could vaguely hear the security guard's heated accusations all the way where he stood, at least fifteen yards away.
Well, might as well enjoy it right?
Smirking, Jesse moved closer to listen in.
The guard wasn't really giving Carson a chance to talk, readily interrupting every excuse. It was a different guy from the lax officer of when they'd first entered, this one clearly trying to compensate for his peers' relaxed attitudes by being a hardass.
The overcompensation was also definitely working.
Carson desperately held out an ID, it looked like, as Jesse came closer, but the guy was having none of it. He wanted to get someone in trouble, Jesse was sure, and he'd already fixated on this target.
But he'd let him go if he was cornered somehow…
Maybe Jesse could still win that bet…
Before he could talk himself out of it, or any more into it, Jesse moved swiftly towards the pair.
"I have another ID too, if you'd just let me-"
"Another fake one," the guard declared. "I'm sure. Come on. We're done talking about this."
"No! We're not! I have to just finish a few things-"
"Kid, if you keep going, I can arrest you for being insubordinate, do you understand that?"
Time to step in.
"There you are," Jesse called out, moving fast forward towards them.
Both had lifted their heads and turned to stare at them, Carson twitching when he saw who it was, a look of mingled disgust, horror, and resignation passing over his features.
"We're late for rehearsal! It's not canceled anymore, and we need you to stand in!"
"Wait…so, he does go here?"
"Of course he does," Jesse snapped. "And we can't start without him. So if you'll excuse us."
"Uh, sure."
Jesse grabbed Carson's elbow and started to drag him away, when-
"Wait! Let me see your ID then."
Jesse could hear the smirk in the other man's voice. He thought he'd just caught another one.
Well then.
"Sure," Jesse sighed out, making sure the impatience in his tone was near tangible.
He pulled out his ID, shoving it at the guard, and quietly tsk'ing as the man stared at it.
"It looks good," the officer said at last, handing it back to him. "Sorry I held you guys up. I guess I was seeing things."
"I guess you were too," Carson snapped from Jesse's side, and Jesse restrained a smirk.
Carson's snark was a lot funnier when you weren't the target.
Jesse dragged the other boy from the stadium, only letting him go when they reached the parking lot.
They stared at each other for a few moments before Carson sighed.
"Thank you," he said begrudgingly. "I guess even skeezeball liars have their uses. I did appreciate you putting your skills up for my benefit."
Jesse's mind was racing. He couldn't help finding this guy more than a little fascinating.
And he was obviously intelligent, too. If Jesse could be on his good side, he'd probably be a great ally. And, well, Jesse had just rescued him…
"You owe me."
"What?" Carson was staring at him, eyes hard.
"You owe me," Jesse said again. "Now let's have a little chat. I know a quaint place nearby. Starbucks? Maybe you've heard of it. It's a coffee shop."
"I owe you what exactly?" Carson asked angrily.
"Just come on. I want to discuss our future together."
Carson gaped at him.
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
"You owe me," Jesse reiterated simply. "I saved your ass. So I want you to help me with some stuff. How good are you at Math and Scientific? English and history? Outside of music, theatre, and show choir, that is. I have those down."
Carson looked to be at a complete loss.
"Obviously better than you are," he muttered.
Jesse smiled.
"Great! Let's go. I'll drive."
"…fine. Whatever."
Jesse smirked and led the other boy to his car, sending a quick text before he got in.
To: Ames, Naomi (3102551613)
Going out with Carson. Tell your boyfriend he owes me fifty dollars.
~Stars aren't just born they're created~
A/N- Every time someone reviews Carson fondles Jesse to get back his tape deck. Of course Jesse keeps stealing it...these boys. ;)