Disclaimer: I do not own Kickin' It.
{illusory correlation}: seeing relationships between two things when in reality no such relationship exists
"I do not have a crush on Jack!" Kim shouts to her sort-of friends on the cheerleading squad.
Five minutes later in class, she's doodling his name with hearts wrapped around it.
(shut up shut up shut up) There's nothing else to do in class, anyway. Sometimes she forgets to even go.
She lies in bed and listens to "Sk8er Boi." When the song ends, she sighs and hits replay. It's embarrassing, really.
Good falafel doesn't require more than a few ingredients:
1. Vegetables
2. Beans
3. Chickpeas
4. Spices, to taste
Kim has a list she keeps in her room, tucked hidden between the pages of her favorite book. It contains, in curly purple script, a number of things that she knows Jack loves. Karate is there, of course, and hair product. Country accent is marked with a line scratched through its middle (she had tested this one out and knew for sure it did not charm him).
There were people on the list, too. Jerry and Rudy and Milton and a drawing of a kid with strange eyebrows whose name she couldn't remember. His parents. Tony Hawk.
Kim thought about writing her own name there once.
Anyway, the point was: Kim knew what Jack liked, and Kim knew Jack liked falafel. If Kim could make him a really good falafel ball, it would make Jack really happy. Grateful. Maybe he'd even give her a firm handshake, to thank her. Or a hug. Or…
Kim blushes.
She has never done much baking before; her mom is still against her using any of the real kitchen equipment (too "dangerous"). But Kim once cooked a cake with a light bulb oven when she was seven, so she pretty much qualifies as a professional chef. Besides, how hard could it be?
Two hours later, her house is on fire. Panicked, Kim runs into her room and slams the door shut, twisting the lock for good measure. She knows this won't keep the flames out, but perhaps it will slow them down. She can't quite think logically at the moment.
She scrambles quickly backwards towards the window, glancing outward. Her stomach drops. It's too far of a jump. Trapped, she closes her eyes and slides onto the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees.
In her mind, she hears her mother's voice. Who do you call in emergencies, Kim?
Her eyes burst open. Filled with newfound hope, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out her cellular phone. As smoke slowly begins to slip in through the crack under her door, Kim coughs and dials Jack's number.
Jack bursts through the door not more than ten minutes after they hang up. He's slick and sweaty from the heat. His body does not appear otherwise harmed, though his clothes were not so lucky. Somehow in his trek through her house from the front entrance the sleeves of his shirt were burned off, leaving the fabric in the shape of a loose tank top. It reminds her of the forest-green adventure shirt he'd worn in her zombie dream.
"How'd you get through the flames?" she asks him, curious
"Karate," he replies, smirking. He raises a fist and punches through a cloud of smoke aggregating before him. It dissolves.
It's not the first time Jack has saved her life. The mall they frequent has a frankly alarming amount of crime—if you get to one shop and only witness two robberies or attempted murders, it's a good day, so he's definitely helped her out in a pinch before. Honestly, it's lucky Jack spends at least 90% of his time at the dojo and is always around to put criminals in their place. Though his vigilantism may have resulted in some cops being laid-off, the important thing is that Jack is amazing.
They end up escaping through the window. Kim wonders briefly why they can't just go out the way Jack came in, but when Jack tells her to hop on him piggyback style, she can't find it in herself to argue. He scales down the bricks on the side of the house slowly, each finger placed with care.
His hair tickles her face where it rests on his shoulder. When they finally reach the ground, Kim drops back onto her feet and they both turn to survey the house. It's still on fire. It looks… really bad.
"Maybe we should call the fire department now," Kim suggests tentatively.
Jack laughs. "Please, Kim—there's no need." He steps closer to the blaze. "Fee-fi-fo-fum!"
"Isn't that from Jack and the Beanstalk?" Kim wonders if he's delusional from smoke inhalation. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"No, no," protests Jack, "I'm the wolf from the Three Little Pigs!"
"The quote you used was from Jack and Beanstalk! The wolf in the Three Little Pigs says 'I'll huff, and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in'!"
"Just watch and get ready to make a wish! It's time to d-d-d-d-d-d-d-duel!" Jack sucks in a deep breath.
He huffs and he puffs and… he blows her house down. It makes an extremely loud noise as it collapses. Kim hopes it doesn't wake her neighbors. On the bright side, she can't see flames anymore. She looks at Jack, temporarily lost for words.
He says, "Told you I could put the fire out."
They spend a good amount of time shifting through the wreckage. Kim wonders how she's going to explain this to her parents. She could probably blame Rudy. They wouldn't be surprised.
"Hey," Jack's voice interrupts her thoughts, "I found some food!"
She glances backwards to see what he's talking about. There, clutched in his hands, is none other than her falafel balls.
He pops one into his mouth. "Hey, these are pretty good!"
Kim's stomach flips. "I-I made them for you," she stammers.
"Really?" Jack steps closer. "For me?"
"Yeah," Kim swallows. Jack is really, really close.
"Well," says Jack, "I guess I'm going to have to thank you."
He leans in and kisses her.
Wrapped in Jack's bare arms amongst the ruined remains of everything she owns, smelling strongly of ash, the moon lighting up the space around them and her neighbors' screams of concern playing in her ears like music, Kim cannot imagine a more romantic moment. And that's how Jack becomes her boyfriend.
Kim has a list she keeps in her room, tucked hidden between the pages of her favorite book. It contains, in curly purple script, a number of things that she knows Jack loves.
It's been a few months since she's thought about it, and so when Jack asks to borrow that book, she doesn't think to remove the list before lending it to him. In fact, she doesn't even realize what she's done until he gives it back to her later. The paper falls out as she's putting the book back on the shelf.
For a second, she's mortified. She would not be more embarrassed if her parents saw her naked kissing a raccoon underneath a table and writing a Guy Fieri poem. But something catches her eye—there's a new word at the bottom of the list, in big bold letters. Jack's handwriting.
It says "Kim."