[A/N: Well aren't I a pocket full of sunshine? Please note the sarcasm. I'm fully aware this came out two months too late. But I'm proud to say that Jimogen actually has a following now! And the storyline I've created in my head for the crackship continues to get more detailed and better perfected, so I came back to this. It's a poorly written chapter, but it finally puts these two in a place where I can work with them. I hope you all enjoy! And if you haven't already, go read Lady Azura's Jimogen one-shot, 'Challenge.' It's wonderful!]
Jake Martin was two similes away from dozing off in English class. Throughout the hour long period, Miss Dawes droned on and on about The Scarlet Letter, a book he still hadn't taken upon himself to read. Although most Mondays were never on his side, this particular weekday seemed like one from hell. It didn't help that his weekend hadn't been up to par. He'd gotten home from the coffee shop, emotionally drained, to find his father red-faced with anger and three tall buckets filled to the brim with rain water. The lack of tarp didn't help the situation. In the end, Jake was forced to a weekend of construction with his dad and when it came time to go to bed for the weekday on Sunday, Jake found his sore body slowly melting into the mattress as his eyes closed, only to be startled awake by the memories of Friday night and Imogen's hurt expression etched into his head. He hadn't gotten any sleep, in the end. And though he had the opportunity to rest up now, he could feel the daggers being glared into the back of his head - not that he expected anything less.
"And that concludes your last reading section. Your next twenty reading pages are due tomorrow," Miss Dawes finished her lecture. The rustle of papers and shutting binders caused Jake to sit up and take in a deep breath of air, his hand running over his face. Students began chatting amongst themselves, but as the boy's eyes wandered towards the clock above the whiteboard, he noticed they still had twenty minutes of class. He frowned.
"To see that you all are not only reading, but actually comprehending Hawthorne's piece, I've taken it upon myself to assign a pair project," Dawes began again. Jake noticed the white papers in her hand as she began passing them down row by row. Of course, high school students were always on their feet about projects that were assigned in two's. The chattering didn't stop, only heightened as people reassured their friends that they'd gladly work with them for an equal grade. A few people called out to Jake, but he merely ignored them, taking the papers from the kid in front of him. As he looked over his own sheet, he let his hand fall backwards to the girl behind him, offering her the handout as well. The paper was snatched immediately, waking Jake up completely.
'I wonder if she's still mad at me,' He thought sarcastically to himself as his eyes continued to run over the page. It was a two part project, an essay portion with a prompt Jake could barely understand and more creative part in which Dawes listed options – to recreate a scene and record it, to make a poster board and present it, or to make some kind of visual aid. Jake sneered. He never understood why teachers thought they were being so generous when they added on the 'art' factor of a project. It was always unnecessary and took more time than the written portion of the assignment.
"I want an outline of your ideas by tomorrow. Rough drafts will be due Friday of your essays. And the project is due the following Monday," Their teacher spoke before turning towards her desk. It was clear that the class was to plan accordingly with their partners for the last fifteen minutes of class. Again, Jake heard his name a few times, but he shook them off. If he knew one thing for sure, it was that after class, a certain girl would be going up to Dawes and asking a simple question. 'May I work alone?'
Turning around in his desk, Jake's eyes fell instantly on Imogen's. With her paper tucked into her notebook, she probably already had an idea on what to write, what to make and it'd probably be finished way before Monday. As a disgusted expression spread out on the girl's face, Jake began to wonder if her forgiveness was even worth it. Drama seemed right up her alley and this could just spark the match to the fire. He quickly remembered his seemingly sleepless nights though and cleared his throat.
"Let's be partners, Moreno," Jake stated nonchalantly. It was the first words he had spoken to her since Friday. They had seen each other in the morning, passing by in the same hallway and he even held the classroom door open for her. But she ignored him both times and Jake was almost sure each time she passed by him, a cold gust of wind blew his way – or maybe Degrassi was slowly getting to him. Melodramatic attitude seemed to be contagious here.
Imogen looked at the boy as if he had grown another head from his neck. He waited patiently though; he was determined to get something out of her other than glares and looks of utter hatred. He didn't think he deserved anything more, but he only hoped to prove Imogen otherwise.
She ignored him, as he expected. Her eyes fell down to the book in her lap; The Scarlet Letter was open to a page much farther than their reading that was due the next day. For a moment, Jake let the silence linger between them. He watched her long eyelashes fall against her cheek as she blinked, admired to himself as her dainty hand adjusted the crooked kitten ears on her head. If he stared long enough, the girl in the leotard and the long, loose, brown hair came back to him. All the mystery was just bonus points.
Clearing his throat, Jake decided to do the only thing he could at this point. If Imogen wasn't going to give him anything willingly, he'd surely pull it out of her. Looking towards the teacher, he raised his hand in the air, but didn't wait for her to glance over. "Excuse me, Miss Dawes, but Imogen and I would like to be partners."
The entire room became silent. Every judgmental student's eyes widened. Jake could practically hear their typical thoughts. 'The drama freak with the new kid?' They sounded like a match made in heaven, but side by side, it was stereotypical chaos. Imogen with her sneer and fishnets and Jake in his plaid and smug smirk seemed like polar opposites. And they were. They were never meant to cross paths unless at war. Being partners for a project, though? Preposterous.
"No, no, we don't," Imogen interjected. Her voice seemed angry but also nervous, as if she was afraid of being left with Jake. This hurt him more than he thought possible, but he ignored it, allowing himself to submerge his ego into the success of getting her to speak.
"Oh, but we do," Jake claimed, waving her off. Miss Dawes raised an eyebrow; she was quick to catch onto these things. Maybe it was the fact that tension between Jake and Imogen had been high the entire period or maybe it was the way both teens refused to look at each other, both hopefully staring the teacher down. Either way, the elderly woman got up and looked around. Everyone's eyes were on her. Would she allow the social chaos? Would she be considerate to Imogen's pleads against it? Sighing, the teacher took her glasses off as she always did when she made big decisions.
"Imogen, I think you do need to open doors for people. You can't always work by yourself. Completing a project with Jake will be good for you; you'll see life from a new perspective," Miss Dawes suggested, giving a hopeful smile towards the student. If Jake had turned around, he would have noticed the deep frown on the girl's face. But as the bell rang, he merely allowed the turning moment to linger in the air as everyone gathered their things to get to their next class.
Imogen Moreno was furious. The last thing she wanted to do was be forced to spend even more time with Jake Martin. Her weekend had been draining. Rushing through the rain and taking the city bus back to her house, she stampeded up the stairs. Her mother called after her, probably surprised the girl was home so early, but Imogen merely ignored her. She slipped into her bedroom and hid herself under the covers. She hated to admit it, but everything Jake had said hit home hard. It was those words, those opinions, those ideas of her that kept her so on edge. But the worst part? Everything he had stated merely brought back the self-loathing she was still dealing with after listening to a certain boy she liked so much tell her she was nothing. She always figured if she were more like Clare Edwards, she'd have it all. She'd have the friends, the flawless reputation, the boys. Deep down, she wanted all that; loneliness was tiring. But these were things she refused to share. She'd stay behind her pigtails and combat boots until high school was over; they remained a part of her, a part she wasn't willing to give up.
As she stalked out of the classroom, Imogen kept her notebooks close to her chest. The words of her English teacher echoed in her head. 'Life from a new perspective.' They were simply doing an English project together. If anything, he'd sit there and pick her apart while giving mediocre commentary on the book. She'd be forced to endure more uncalled-for criticism from a plain boy from the woods and do the work by her lonesome. It was a lose-lose on her side. And anyway, she didn't need to see life from a new perspective. Her own take on it was perfectly fine. She saw things in bright neon colors and pastels, while Jake saw things in black and white. She'd be taking steps backwards, being forced to spend time with a boy like him, not forward.
Gaining on her locker, she was just about to turn the corner when she heard heavy footsteps and felt a hand on her shoulder.
"You know, it doesn't have to be that bad," A deep voice said from above her. Imogen flinched away from his touch, spinning around to glare at him. Jake Martin stood there, a lifeless expression on his face as she scoffed.
"It doesn't have to be that bad? You say that as if I'm the one who's making it unbearable." The girl was obviously offended. It seemed as if Jake never had the right words to keep her at bay. He was a boy who didn't choose his speeches carefully; thinking of things in the simplest ways, he didn't dig much into intuition or emotion. What he saw was what he got and he ran with it.
"Well, you are the one who refuses to look me in the eye and have a civil conversation with me," Jake countered, giving a light shrug as he pushed the sleeves of his over-jacket higher on his forearms. Obviously, to someone like Imogen, this was blasphemy. Didn't she have a right to be mad? He had asked her what she thought of him and Imogen took it upon herself to share accordingly. She had never asked for his thoughts. And if she had some warning of how harsh he'd be, she definitely would have stopped herself from even starting the whole thing. She felt like it was Eli Goldsworthy all over again; that was the last thing she needed.
"You're ridiculous," She stated, turning on her heel. Rounding the corner, she wanted to get as far away from Jake Martin as possible. She would gladly take an F. English came easy to her; at the end of the semester, she'd probably still receive her well-deserved A with one zero. But, on the other hand, life didn't seem to agree with her that way.
He followed her, his long legs coming to his advantage.
"I'm ridiculous? I'm not the one who-" Jake began, but as they came to her locker, her eyes darted up at him. His mouth shut and he shook his head, something in him changing. His expression softened and he sighed. Apologies obviously didn't come easy for the boy in front of her, but the words he had held back somehow still stung.
Imogen suddenly wished her hair was down. Her eyes focused on the lock in front of her, but she wanted to hide behind a sheet of brown hair. She could feel Jake's steady gaze and longer it went, the more she wanted to disappear. He was beginning to make her feel small and she hated that feeling. She hated feeling like she meant nothing in the grand scheme of things; like if she didn't come to school, nobody would notice, nobody would care. She was struggling to remember the combination and each time she tugged to open the silver and black lock, it stayed closed. She tugged and tugged and tugged, hoping it would click free and finally, Jake put his hands over hers. She froze.
"I'm sorry, okay?" His deep voice muttered. She looked up at him behind her thick frames and waited for it. She waited for the 'but.' There was always a 'but.' 'But you're annoying. But you're weird. But you're too much for me.' She waited, bracing herself. Yet nothing came. Just Jake giving her hand a soft squeeze as he continued to look at her. "I shouldn't have said what I said. I was completely out of line. And yes, you do deserve to be mad at me. But I'm trying to show you that the guy you described in the coffee shop? He doesn't exist. Jake Martin isn't who you think he is."
She refused to show how hurt she was and how scared she was that he could hurt her even farther. So putting on her mask of strength, she pointed her nose in the air as she countered him quickly, "So who is Jake Martin?"
A small smile appeared on Jake's face. She hadn't really accepted his apology but she wasn't outright shooting it down either. That had to mean something, right? He shrugged, running a hand through his caramel colored hair.
"You know, I'm still trying to figure out the details."