The Biography of January Jansen
"It takes a long time to become young." –Pablo Picasso
Chapter Two
Fate.
We all imagine ourselves to be agents of our destiny; capable of determining our own fate with the decisions we make. We are taught that we are all unique individuals. Different and special. But what are the chances of that? Perhaps someone out there is facing the exact same set of problems you have, and metaphorically—sharing your shoes. We like to think there's something inside of us that make us extraordinary and that we make our own life. We pave our own path and brand our footsteps into history.
But who are we to play God?
Do we truly have any choice in when we rise? Or when we fall? Or does a force larger than ourselves lead us? Do we fall in love with someone because we choose to? Or is it fate stepping in and telling us this is whom we need to be with? Do we love without inhibition? Should we? Maybe you love someone because you are meant to. Or maybe it's science that points our way, giving us a feeling that this person will provide you completeness.
Or is it God who intervenes, choosing our love, keeping us safe?
January Jansen hated leading grace. It was such a monumentally awkward thing for her to do and she had not a clue how to do it properly. So she often finds herself stumbling through the mandatory thanks while daddy prompted her on and April snickered from the opposite seat.
"Lord, bless the food and drink for which we are about the receive. Um," She peeked open one gray eye to find Jude looking back at her with a sly, knowing smirk. Daddy and mama have their heads bowed low in prayer so she continues clumsily, "I-uh, thank the Lord for my family and for, the..." April is shifting impatiently and it was distracting her. She clears her throat nervously, "May every meal be as bountiful as this one. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen." She hastens to finish.
The clattering of silverware against china is welcomed by January as she cut eagerly into her chicken and swirled it in gravy. Twin is inhaling everything in sight and mama is scolding him about his shaggy hair, which he responds by giving her a sloppy smile filled with specks of olives. All was going well until she got into her second helping of mashed potatoes and daddy rolled back his shoulders, setting his steely gaze tight on her.
"Jan," He addresses casually. And her spine went rigid. Whenever daddy spoke like this, it usually resulted in grounding. Of course, Jude will try to help and wiggle her out of her punishment, but that usually ends with both of them being confined to their room. "Your grades came in today."
Fuck. January doesn't typically swear much but really, just fuck.
She twirls her fork and chew on her lower lip. Shrinking lower into the chair, she asks tentatively, "And? Were they not satisfactory?" Oh God. She fucking knew they were not satisfactory. Technically though, she would like to protest that it was not entirely her fault, and that the stupid counselors sticking Pretty Peter Plaything in almost every one of her classes were out to get her because it was very, very distracting.
She tried to focus, she really did! But just exactly what was she expected to pay attention to? Hamlet or Pretty Peter? Or Pretty Peter reenacting Hamlet? She thinks it's the latter. Even when her sad little Plaything stood in the front of the classroom and recited, "Fragility! Thy name is woman," all she was capable of comprehending was his cute floppy hair and breathless voice.
Oh yes. She definitely learned a lot that day.
"If you found them to be satisfactory, January, then we'll truly have a problem." Daddy answers coldly, his disapproving glare burning a hole through the side of her head. She squirms uneasily. Daddy scolds, "Always running around and playing, your head up in the clouds. That is not how you get into college." Blah, blah, blah. January rolled her eyes skyward. "Spend all your time smiling and flirting with that boy with the long hair. What's his name? Percy?"
April Jansen raises a sharp brow, "Maybe if you were smart, Jan, you'd stop seeing him." On that note, she tosses her long blonde hair behind her shoulder and took a dainty swallow of her soup.
She had no idea how April was related to her. Even when she was little, she used to pray for somebody to come and tell her that April was not her real sister and take her away to Jupiter or Vulcan or whatever Galaxy that was far, far away. April. Gorgeous April with her sunkissed hair and bright smile. She used to imagine what it feels like to shave her bald.
There were many things January wanted to say, although none of them appropriate for the ears of her parents, so she heatedly rants, stumbling along the way, "Who are you to talk, Miss oh-yeah-daddy-I'm-going-to-the-library-wearing-this-big-ole-raincoat-because-I'm-not-hiding-anything-at-all-beneath-it!" April's face paled and January almost smiled with satisfaction. "What, afraid that you're gonna get raped in the library?!"
"Shut up, January!" April's long legs—a family trait, she thinks, found hers under the table and kicked hard. If she bruises, she was going to strangle Gorgeous April. "Don't think I didn't see you throwing yourself all over Jude's little buddy the other day."
During this point, Twin cuts in, "Hey. Let's not bring my buddy into this, all right?" He casts her an annoyed stare, his fingers tightening on his fork, "And don't talk to my sister that way."
"I am your sister, Jude!" April sounds exasperated, "Tell me, honest to God, that you didn't see her basically stripping herself in front of your friend. I mean, Jan," She chuckles disdainfully, "Really. At least the boy's got some honor, having practically peeled you off him."
She flushed and stood, nearly knocking over her chair. She knows that Jude's hand is at her arm, tugging her back, and she tries to shrug it off. "You're just bitter because you spent all those fucking years trying to seduce him and Peter didn't give you a second look!"
"That's bullshit, January Jansen, and you know it!" April denies hotly, although her cheeks were crimson and from the looks of it, she had struck a sore spot. Well...good!"Don't blame it on me when you're the one shamelessly whoring yourself out to him!"
"April!" Jude roars; not so much as an angry bellow than a frustrated snarl. He didn't like taking sides, and she was forcing him to. And they both know which one he'll pick. "Goddamn it, April!" In the back of Jan's mind, she can hear daddy trying to gain control of the situation. 'No cursing at the dinner table' he reprimands. But daddy was ignored as the only son in the family runs a hand through his golden hair, yanking a few strands out when his fingers plowed through way too fast. "You push too far," He hisses, "And you forget your place, sis."
If January Jansen was in any mood for humor, she'd almost say that this seems like some medieval soap opera. She can imagine the Boleyns having this conversation about King Henry.
Gorgeous April frowns at Heroic Jude. She narrows her gunmetal eyes, "Speaking of places, you'll do well to remember that you are the youngest. And you have no right to interfere."
Angry Jan tries to lunge across the table. And it's mama who steps in.
"That's enough!" Summer Hil-Jansen snaps, her knife smashed onto the wooden table with a deafening crack. Mama was not someone you wanted to make mad. Although daddy addressed all matters, it was mama that held the whip and it was mama that made sure if you were grounded; you stay grounded. Mama did the spanking. And she left marks.
"I have half a mind to ground all three of ya'll." Daddy rubs his eyes tiredly, dinner forgotten and arms folded in front of him.
"You can't!" January widened her dove gray eyes. "Daddy! The first game of the season's tonight! I have to be there! You have to let me go!" She didn't care that she was whining. Oh, she had promised Pretty Peter. And he was coming to see her! What was he to do if she weren't there?
Daddy scowls and announces, "I don't have to do anything. And the only thing you have to do is get your grades up, missy!" He makes a face, "And I don't like the sound of this Percy character." January scowls right back and resists the urge to tell him that he's known Peter for 10 years now.
Jan can feel her entire face distort indignantly, and she bit her tongue as she chewed her green beans with just a touch too much vigor. How dare he! How dare he, how dare he! She would not be ordered around like some toy soldier. She loves Pretty Peter and he would not stop her from grinning and charming him!
"Peter," She corrects daddy with an edge of hysteria, "His name is Peter!" Oh, she knew he was just doing it on purpose and it aggravated her.
Daddy sighs tiredly, "Peter." He repeats after her dutifully. "Jan, you will have plenty of time to go on dates and do all those things girls love so much once you're in college, when you're more mature and responsible..." January wanted to die.
Jude saves her, "Ugh, please dad. Not another bees and flowers talk." Yes, they have had many of those over the years. Jan and Jude, being the youngest, have heard it a thousand times since their oldest sister, June turned 13. "Especially not at the dinner table."
"...and you know what happens when girls start dating too soon?" Daddy's speaking louder now and Jan's face feels like it's on fire. He inclines forward, "You know what happens?"
Jan spits the words out as to avoid any more embarrassment, "They get their hearts broken." She knows, she knows.
"Yes." Daddy looks mildly satisfied with her response. "That and they get pregnant." He spends the next few moments chewing and thinking over his Parmesan chicken. "But we're going to have to do something about this Pre-Calc situation, Jan. Maybe you can start going to those tutorials they have after school?"
January gagged. She would rather do bleacher runs with the football team than spend her free time with Mrs. Johnston. She couldn't learn in that class. What makes daddy think that she'll be able to learn when everybody else she knows is out having fun?
Jude perks up from next to her, flashing daddy a wide dazzling beam, and reassures sweetly, "Peter will tutor her."
"I wish you wouldn't antagonize your sister like that." Mama murmurs, a sly smile pulling at her lips. Her fingers are woven into January's onyx tress, expertly lacing the strands together into a neat French braid, threading that lovely red ribbon through her inky locks. She keeps a steady rhythm, plaiting and lightly tugging.
"I wish April wouldn't antagonize me like that." She retorts, pulling the long-sleeve of her scarlet uniform over her knuckles. Nervously, she worries her lip between her teeth and she tugs on the hem of the too-short skirt. Everybody buys their skirts a size too small but January thinks that hers shrunk in the wash.
Mama tilts her head, concentrating on Jan's hair, but she tells her, "I haven't seen you get that angry in a long time, January." She peers at her daughter's reflection in the vanity mirror. Her daughter, whose dark brows are drawn together and red lips twisted into a frown. "Peter must be very important to you."
"He is," She assures in a crisp chime. And she can't help but beam. She was going to be seeing Pretty Peter tonight. Pretty Peter had promised to look for her. Pretty Peter with his tousled hair and poetic eyes. Such a beautiful Plaything. Oh, she would do anything for him.
Mama finishes up with a cute bow at the end of her hair and smoothes her hand over the top of her head. "You be nice to him," She warns, "That Peter is such a sweet boy." Peter used to take piano and cello lessons with mama when he was younger. She misses having him around the house. Nowadays, he only comes over to play with Jude. And it makes her sad.
"I'm always nice to Peter." She responds confidently.
Mama corrects her, "You're nice to Peter now." Mama gives her a pointed look that seems to pierce straight through her skull. January blinks, bewildered by the warning. "Don't give me that look, Jan. I know you. Hm, you're nice to him now when he's some shiny teddy bear you can't have. But once you have him, you'll grow bored and—"
"I won't, I won't!" She defends; both her and Peter. "Peter is different. He's special to me. He's the one. He's the one for me. The only one, mama." She loves him, she just knows it. And she knows, deep down inside, he feels the same way. He just doesn't want to give in to her because she's all smiles and touches. But January knows that he's the only boy she wants in the whole wide world.
And so she thrust her socked feet into pearly white tennis shoes and grab her pom-poms. She flails them around and whirls down the stairs in a blur of jet-black hair and scarlet glitter, where daddy proceeds to fuss over her. Yes daddy, they're suppose to be that short. Yes, everyone's is like that. Mm-hmm, mama did it. Yes, that is suppose to be showing.
Jude grabs both of their duffle bags and slings them over his shoulder before trekking out the front door, calling back unceremoniously, "Bye ma. Bye pops. Game's at 8. Don't forget and don't be late!" And he swings over the driver's seat of the older than old convertible Mustang.
January hesitates at the door. She asks mama, "Do you think he'll like me?" Mama seems perplexed so she clarifies in a conspired whisper, "Peter."
Summer Hil-Jansen has raised four girls in her lifetime. But it was her youngest daughter, elfin January with girlishly long hair that she can never bring herself to cut, and expressive silver eyes that won her heart. She was so childish and beautiful and so incredibly typical—youthful, shining, and perfect. So she just smiles a knowing smile and presses a tender kiss to her forehead.
She doesn't tell January that she knows Peter Petrelli is madly in love with her. And she doesn't tell January about the letters she saw on the ends of the ribbon. P on the right, then J on the left. So that when she wounds them together; they're joined in a never-ending loop.
The Riverside High School cheerleaders are doing warm-up stretches on the football field. The players themselves are all in lock-up, kept inside the locker room by the coaches and giving each other pep talks. The sun is high in the sky and it's warm; spilling over the green grass and asphalt track.
January Jansen is helping Emma Lee with her tumbling, watching as her friend raised herself onto her hands and giggled as her joints all popped. Emma, face red from the sustained handstand, is complaining about how the boy she liked, Lacrosse Jimmy Carter, still hasn't asked her out to the Homecoming dance yet. Then she smiles, her smile looking like some deranged frown from Jan's position, "But you know, I heard a rumor that Nate Winston is going to ask you."
January blinks. Nate? Football Nate? Emma gives her a pointed look, finally landing back onto her feet and raises a brow, as if waiting for some kind of response. January blinks some more. Should she squeal? What was the expected reaction? She blurts, "But I always go with Jude."
Emma brushes that comment away like a piece of lint on her uniform, "And now you can have Nate."
Jan wrinkled her nose involuntarily. It wasn't that she didn't like Football Nate. Because she did. He was very nice to her and his blonde hair is always parted just right and his eyes are really really green and—he was a senior, for God's sake! But...it just didn't feel right to her. So she tries to laugh it off and escaped Emma's incriminating stare with a tight cartwheel.
She rights herself to the most wonderful sight. Pretty Peter Plaything sitting in the bleachers. And she excuses herself and runs up the columns to greet him.
Her legs pumped and she had to dodge two teachers and a kissing couple to get to him. And when she finally does, she's a little breathless, and she's pretty sure that her carefully orchestrated French braid is in shambles. "Peter!" She beams nevertheless.
He was talking to some guy in thick specs but he shoots up from his seat when he sees her. His dark hair is so boyishly cute and neater than usual and...oh, how he took her breath away. "Jan." He flashes her that lopsided grin he seems to have saved just for her. He's wearing the school t-shirt and he's got a red bear-paw painted on his left cheek for spirit.
January Jansen, her heart thundering, jogs in front of him and demurely clasps her hands behind her back. Her mouth is curving on their own accord and she plays coy, "Did you miss me?"
He raises a prim brow. "Since I saw you this afternoon in English?" She couldn't contain her beam and she couldn't contain her touches and she fidgets with the round collar of his Bears are Beasts shirt. His creamy skin, smooth and hot, blazed against her fingertips. She smiles wider, and nods.
Then she tugs him over to the railings overlooking the football field and twists all her fingers together. "So," She glances at him shyly through her lashes, watching with mild amusement as Pretty Peter's throat bobbed. "I don't know if you know this but...I'm not doing so hot in Math right now." She doesn't tell him that the reason is because he was so goddamn pretty all the time. "And daddy says that I need to find myself a tutor or else he's not going to let me cheer anymore."
She tries to look sad, jutting her lips into a pitiful pout for emphasis. But the truth was, she's giddy with joy due to his close proximity. Her Plaything was so close. So very close that she can see that he has not a single blemish on his handsome face. So close that she can count all the green in his cocoa eyes. So close that every inhale she took consisted of his naturally woodsy scent and the freshness of his aftershave. She'll admit, she was getting a little light-headed.
"Oh, I'm sorry." Pretty Peter shifts from one foot to the other. She was looking at him, waiting. He furrows his brow, not quite sure what to say, and asks, "Is there anything I can do to help?"
He thinks it was the right question to ask because her pretty face broke into an even prettier grin and she loops her arm around his neck, "Yes. As a matter of fact, there is. You can tutor me." She tilts her head and runs her hand through his hair. She didn't like it like that. All nice and combed. He's got such dark, thick hair. Why would he style it like that? She twirls that funny piece of bang with her finger.
"Tutor you?" He squirms, but he doesn't go as far as to actually trying to disentangle himself from her, and the thought makes her smile. He isn't sure so he stares at the ground, then the sky, and at everything but her. She found him so endearing, how he's trying so hard to resist her advances. She wounds her long fingers around his pretty ears. His breath hitched. Then, "I-I'd—I'd love to."
And she laughs and hugs him and beams. He was so very good at making her happy.
Her back is pressed against the railings and she tugs him just a tad closer, so that their chests touched. And she runs her hands down his arm and intertwines their fingers together. He shudders. She purrs. He was so deliciously warm, it made her delirious.
"You'll do it, then?" She notices his gaze is buried in her long hair, trained on the ribbons woven there.
He doesn't say anything, just nods in agreement. His lip fell open crookedly and he blushed viciously, but he's trying hard to suppress it by pulling his brows together and shaking his head to clear his foggy head.
She finds herself wishing he would kiss her. Even if just once. Because her heart aches every time she gives him the chance and he just won't take it. She wonders what it's like; being kissed by Pretty Peter Plaything. She imagines it to be wondrous and delightful and magical. She imagines what it's like to finally get her hands on that velveteen bear.
Such a tragically beautiful Plaything.
Someone is calling January Jansen, hollering that the game is about to start and that she needed to do her laps. And so she reluctantly separates herself from Peter. Peter with his now-tousled hair and long lashes. Peter with his enchanting, lingering gaze.
She sprints down the steps once more, ignoring the jests and talk already beginning. She sees people whooping and making cat-calls at Pretty Peter, who simply said nothing and blushed fiercely. And they teased and pestered him about snagging a cheerleader. She sees his buddy thumping him in the back, and she sees that soft, endearing smile of his make its way in her direction as she glanced back.
And she grins to herself. And she wishes that he would fall hopeless in love with her. Because she was already in too deep.
End Note:
Thanks to those who read and reviewed for the last two chapters and I thank you once more for reading THIS chapter. The plot is really starting to pick up and it's just so great to see those of you who are on board.
Question of the day: What's your favorite line? What do you think about January's way of narration as opposed to Jacob's in MWFW?
Feedback is always appreciated. Love you!
