Chapter 2: Jennifer

She'd been beautiful, that first time he saw her. As always.

Colin was a freshman then, thrust into the madhouse of high school, and he felt a bit like he was going mad himself. He'd swear he heard vomiting from the girl's restroom, but when a gaggle of giggling girls, glittering with sparkling eye-shadow, came out the door, they acted as if nothing was wrong. He shook his head, amazed… these shallow plastics would do anything to attract the attention of equally shallow males.

Another freshman, a tiny girl, petite even to him, was crying in the hallway; sniffling, her red eyes screwed up, she looked as if she thought the world was coming to a close. Colin smiled at her in what he hoped was a comforting sort of way, but she didn't notice, and he was late to class… and, frankly, he felt a bit like the world was ending himself.

His classes were hectic; his classmates seemed certifiably insane; it was too damn loud; the hallways were a stampede; his backpack got heavier and heavier, weighing down on his back like his books were freaking bricks.

And then, suddenly, there she was, floating through the hallway as if the stress that was crushing him just rolled off of her, secure in her confidence. Her eyes were a strikingly brilliant blue, and seemed to radiate that same confidence. She wore her tight, trendy jeans and pink hoodie like a robe of royalty, the dark denim hugging her hips, the pink fabric caressing her soft breasts. Her full, glossy pink lips were curved in a small, knowing smile. Her bronzed skin seemed to glow.

The world seemed to slow down. She ran one hand through her shining, wavy black hair; he saw everything in minute detail, down to the bright magenta nail polish that covered her perfectly manicured nails, with that odd, somehow striking, black on the nail of her middle finger.

Jennifer—though of course he hadn't known that then.

The bell rang, and everything sped back up. Someone jostled his shoulder, muttered "Fuckin' emo;" the someone's girlfriend giggled. The teacher called for them to hurry up and get inside. Colin saw her talking to the pale blond by her side, whom he hadn't noticed before... unsurprisingly, given how quiet and unremarkable she was next to this high-school goddess. He heard the two exchange an incomprehensible farewell: "See ya, Monistat;" "Later, Vagisil." And then the tide of teenagers carried him into the classroom.

The next day, during English class, Colin found himself seated beside the girl's blond friend. She was skinny, with long curly hair tied back behind her head. Her light grey-green eyes were strangely expressive in her thin, pale face, in contrast to her quiet, unassuming demeanor. Those eyes were slightly magnified behind thick-rimmed nerd glasses that were very clearly worn for function, not style. She looked like Jan Brady. She also looked like the type of person who would be labeled "geek." What she did not look like was one of that perfect, confident female's inner circle. But hell, who was he to judge?

According to roll call, her name was Anita Lesnicki, but when she turned to him and introduced herself with a shy smile, it was as "Needy."

He couldn't help it. "Needy Lesnicki?"

"At least my last name isn't a color," she retorted. It was a lame comeback, sure… but she had spunk, despite her appearance, and he couldn't help but grin at her. She returned the smile.

She was a surprisingly good writer, he found over the next few weeks. That first day, they were told to write a paragraph and exchange it with a partner to proof-read. Needy and Colin exchanged papers. She had a good grasp of structure, and an engrossing writing style. When he finished her paragraph (written in long, loopy letters that were somehow as endearing as the content of her writing) he started: "You're—"

She cut him off. "That geeky girl who hangs out with the babe. Yes, I know." Her voice wasn't bitter; it was a statement of fact. At his shocked expression, she explained, "I saw you looking at her in the hall."

"Well, yeah," he admitted. "But I was actually gonna say you're an excellent writer." He looked at her steadily. Her face took on a vaguely surprised, pleased expression. They were friends from then on.

As time wore on, and Needy got a boyfriend, Chip, Colin thought that Chip might suspect they were more than friends. Sure, Needy was pretty, in a quiet sort of way, and certainly intelligent enough—but Colin never really looked at her beyond the bounds of friendship.

Weeks became years. Colin slowly began to understand the complex emotional maze of high school, to know when to shut up or get pounded, to adjust to the workload their teachers piled upon them. He made friends with a group not-so-fondly known around school as the Dead Kids. He became close with one of them—Colleen, a.k.a. Belladonna—and they went out for quite a while. She was his first love. His first sexual experience too. Her hair was a lovely red, the color of dried blood, and she always wore it up in a bun. Her pale face was wry and catlike, and her lips were stained the shade of bruised raspberries. He always looked forward to the times they were alone. When they were alone, she'd release her hair from its confinement and shake it loose. It would hang in waves around her shoulders, and she'd let him run his hands through it, long and silky.

Colleen dumped him in Junior Year, saying he "just wasn't badass enough." He'd thought his heart would never mend… but it did. He dated occasionally after that, but nothing really permanent. He waited patiently, figuring the right girl would come along eventually.

He stayed friends with Needy. They decided to sign up for the same elective writing courses. Colin liked to write, especially fiction, and his teachers always praised him on his style and his creativity. His stories were often dark, but hey, he liked dark. He found he could escape his own small worries in the larger troubles and tragedies of his characters. Whenever he felt like he just couldn't stand it anymore, he knew that the stories were always there. For her part, Needy's writing was just as delightfully earnest as it had been that first day. Whatever her topic, she was passionate and truthful.

He often saw Needy in the halls with her dark, foxy friend, whose name, he learned, was Jennifer Check. He had never spoken to Jennifer, they'd never even had a class together—but mentally he credited her as the reason he got through that first day, maybe even the reason he was still alive. He'd heard suicides did happen among freshmen occasionally. Her confidence was infectious: it had lifted him up and set him on his feet again. He watched her from a distance, not obsessively, just watching, until it seemed so natural that he barely noticed he did watch her at all.

And then it was Senior Year. He was looking at colleges, deciding where to go next. He wanted to get out of Devil's Kettle, he knew that much. A college in a major city… Madison, maybe. He looked forward more to the experience than to what it might bring him in job skills… he hadn't really decided on a career, wasn't sure where life would take him yet.

The first day of their last high school year, the Seniors had to sit through a speech in the gymnasium, which involved a reading of Dr. Seuss' Oh, The Places You'll Go! This was widely proclaimed "lame." And then, it was time for his first class: English. He sat down near the middle of the room and half-listened to the teacher's opening mini-speech, playing with his rosary distractedly, fingering the round metal beads. Then, during roll call:

"Jennifer Check."

"Here."

Her voice was smooth and rich, almost a purr. Colin started (the kid at the desk next to him snickered) and almost missed it when his own name was called.

Halfway through the period, they were assigned partners. And of course, when the teacher read out the names, it was "Jennifer Check and Colin Gray."

He got up and practically stumbled over to her. "Hi," he said, grinning self-consciously, raising his hand in a small finger-wave.

"Hey," she said in a bored voice, not even looking at him. So he sat down, opened his English book, and started to read aloud like everybody else. It wasn't like he had a choice. He was halfway down page two when he heard her say, "What's that?"

She was indicating the rosary loosely wrapped around his right wrist. He realized he'd continued to play with it unconsciously while he was reading. This was the first time she'd addressed him, and her tone had contained a genuine interest, if a slight one.

"This?" He blinked in surprise. "This is a rosary. Catholics use it to pray."

"I know that," she said. "I'm not a retard." As if he might be. "I meant, what are you doing with one? I thought you people were all witches or whatever." She pursed her perfect lips.

Colin bristled a bit. He had nothing against Wicca... it just sucked to be lumped into a religion just by how he dressed. She didn't even know him, and here she was, judging him. He had to remind himself that anger doesn't solve anything before answering.

"God doesn't judge people based on how they look. It's our actions that matter," he explained, as patiently as he could manage.

"Oh," she said, one syllable of dismissal, turning away again. But the bridge was formed. He thought she might have even listened more intently as he finished the chapter.