AND WHAT NOW? JESSE WONDERS
Jesse Pinkman walked by his high school. Where he'd met Mr. White, who he honestly believed was a little bit of Satan, even if Mr. White did save Jesse at the end. What do I do now? Jesse wondered.
He knew how to do so little. He'd worked once, for three weeks of a summer vacation at Zayre's, selling air conditioners or some shit. But all he really knew how to do was make and sell meth. There was a little money left at his aunt's house—most of it had been thrown in the front yards of poor people around town…
Jesse thought of Andrea, of the other girl, his punk rock landlady…all that grief he'd caused. To know Jesse was trouble. And poor little Brock. But Brock was with his grandparents now, and the best thing Jesse could do was just stay the fuck away.
Could Jesse go back to school? Community college? It wasn't much of an option, yo. Jesse wasn't much of a reader. 'Course he could take chemistry courses.
Jesse watched a kid limping across the parking lot—oh yeah. That was Walter White's son, who had changed his name from Walter Junior to Flynn. Lots of shame being the meth dealer's son. And having to depend on crutches because you have cerebral fibrosis or palsy or some shit.
"Hey…Jesse" A girl with pink hair was smiling at him, probably a junior. Jesse vaguely remembered that she'd been at one or two of the parties he'd given, when he was trying to forget what an asshole he was, and what his world had become.
"Yeah, hey…yo." Jesus, he hoped he didn't have to talk to her long. He knew what she wanted.
"Is there any blue around?" Bingo.
"No, I'm not into that anymore. I don't make, buy or sell." Jesse paused. "I'm…I'm a goddamn fuckin' born-again Christian. Find Jesus, yo."
Jesse spun on his heel and walked the other way. Maybe Zayre's was hiring again. He could sell goddamned air conditioners.