Chapter Three - The World Is Mine But You're Not There

It had to be one of those weird revelations whereby you suddenly became so aware of something that they started popping up everywhere because there was no way that Jesse St. James was my sister's neighbour. I had no real idea how to react to this surprise, though, to be honest. All I knew was I wasn't supposed to be glad. And by God, I definitely wasn't.

"He moved into his uncle's apartment a few weeks ago," Izz shrugged once we entered her home. When we had run into St. James in the parking lot, he had stopped and greeted us politely, making a point by making no abnormal comment about my presence. It was like any regular greeting – like he was used to be being around. Faultless actor, they called him, and now I really saw why. He helped us with my bags and was, sincerely, a perfect gentleman. I remained quiet for a lot of it, except for the thanks at the end right before he left. I could have seemed rude for all I knew, not that that was any concern of mine. I started grilling Izz about him once I saw him close the door to his own apartment.

"You saw it, he now lives next door to me. He's a nice boy, from the little I speak to him. I'm over next door a lot for sure, but it's the age difference I think. I heard he's going to UCLA after he finishes this year."

"I heard that too. He- … I can't say what he is," I shrugged as I walked into my sister's guest room. It was a tiny affair. I didn't mind, though. It was really cosy, with a single chest of drawers against one wall, the bed against the one opposite, and a tiny end table. The furniture was made of white-painted wood. It actually seemed to be a child's room, but that added to the charm and I saw myself settling in quite well. I exhaustedly plopped onto the bed as my sister dragged my stuff into the room.

"I need to change those sheets so you better get up. Anyway, doesn't Jesse go to your school now? I heard he transferred from Carmel. You two would be seeing quite a bit of each other, I would imagine."

"He does go to McKinley now, but he keeps to himself a lot," I shrugged again, standing up slowly. "He has a girlfriend, and thinks her the world anyway. He doesn't care about other people. He mostly ignores the rest of us."

I had nothing else to say after that. It was purely odd talking about someone like Jesse St. James with my sister. He was someone I barely knew. I wasn't even sure I wanted to know him either. I was sick enough as it was with Rachel Berry and I had the impression that St. James was her replica, but male. I knew I'd vaguely wondered if he was simply a closet gay given his noticeable addiction to show tunes and tight-fitting vests, although it seemed like that had just been his 'first day at a new school' outfit. He never wore a vest again after Day Three. Strange how when you have no friends to hold lengthy conversations with, you end up noticing the most random things. Anyway, apparently, I was stuck with seeing him a lot though, because it sounded as if Izz went over to his uncle's place a lot for Sunday brunch.

"Wouldn't have imagined him to be the reserved type. He seems really sociable to me. To me, he'd be the kind to live off the energy friends give off, you know? I know that sounds really hippie of me, so bear with that."

I laughed my first genuine, happy laugh of the day, which later on I found a bit sad. "Don't take my word for any of this – I said I hardly know the guy."

"Hmm, well, the only bad point about Jesse I can really point out is that he's a little…full of himself when it comes to his vocal talent. But he's got an amazing singing voice, so I'd say he sort of has the… 'right' to be conceited?"

There, that was the Jesse St. James I was familiar with. The arrogant one.

"Nobody has the 'right' to be that way." I shook my head at her, smirking. My sister was a huge sucker for dudes who could hold a note. All her past boyfriends had been musicians to a certain degree, and although none of them had ever worked out, Izz held out hope that one day her knight in shining armour would come riding in on his tour bus. She had a creepy thing for guys who looked like a cross between Slash and Paul McCartney, with musical talents to match. It was hilarious to me because Izz was completely tone-deaf and couldn't sing or play an instrument to save her life.

The rest of my night was spent unpacking and settling down. I was in the bathroom taking a shower – my sister had to change the sheets in the guest bedroom – when I realised right then that in a span of one day and I had lost another boyfriend, moved into a completely new home and dealt with first- and second-hand guilt; the former over that stupid Glist of course, and the latter somehow still over leaving Puck high and dry. How had so much happened already? I was starting to get a headache recapping everything. There were things I really didn't want to remember and yet I knew I couldn't escape them. I went to bed tormented, and barely slept a wink.

The next day, when I arrived at school, I found Puck wasn't waiting for me at my locker like he usually would. I barely felt a thing about it, despite everything, which sort of scared me. I had just broken up with the guy and expected my response to be closer to the one I had with Finn. My guilt over a lack of reaction quickly dissipated though, the moment I saw him talking to Santana by the drinking fountain. I wasn't all that indifferent after all, I realised, as I gathered my books in silence, unable to stop glaring at the back of his insolent Mohawk. In my silent anger, I dropped my overstuffed American history binder by accident. Loose assignment sheets and notes splayed across the shiny dark linoleum and I could hear the football jerks start their jeering. They knew I couldn't kneel to pick it all up. A hot flush started creeping up my neck and I had to fight the urge to strangle someone. Otherwise, though, I was immobile.

Puck had turned around to see what the commotion was, and upon noticing that I'd caused it, tried to make his way over to help me retrieve the strewn papers. Someone else reached me first though.

"Here, you dropped this," St. James held my swirly purple file in one hand and a stack of papers in another.

"Thanks," I mumbled, reaching over to take them back, but he held them away, casting me an over-dramatic look of disapproval.

"You shouldn't carry so many things by yourself when you're so far along," he whispered, giving my baby bump a once-over. I hated it when people did that and blushed even more.

"I can manage," I insisted, although St. James wouldn't hear any of it. He reached over and slipped my backpack off my shoulders, throwing me a casual comment at how heavy it actually was, and only allowed me to carry two of my smaller textbooks, taking the rest out of my hands despite my incessant, quiet protests.

"What class do you have now?"

"E-English."

"I'll walk you there. Seems like Puck won't," St. James observed, cocking an eyebrow at Puck's direction. My ex-boyfriend looked ready to kill something and put it on a spit. For a few moments, the two guys stared each other down. It was a draw though, because neither broke their gazes – I just interrupted them.

"Look, don't make this anymore of a scene than it already is," I whispered. "Let's just go."

People were starting to whisper and point. Shamelessly. They might as well forego the whispering, I would imagine.

And then I saw it. Her. Rachel was staring at me from the other end of the hallway. It was like a moment out of The Shining or some other film with dreaded appearances at the end of corridors. While I was never afraid of Rachel, I couldn't say I was smug to be this close to her supposed beau.

You had to give it to the girl – all her days practising facial expressions paid off well. Rachel was really wearing her heart on her sleeve at that moment. She looked entirely heartbroken and the heat of her anger was extremely evident. However, St. James either simply ignored her or didn't really notice she was there – she was actually standing pretty far off – and proceeded to walk ahead of me towards the stairwell that led to the second floor, where the sophomore English classrooms were. He left me standing in the middle of the hallway dumbly with nothing in my arms except a couple of books and a blank expression on my face. St. James didn't even rush me – he remained waiting at the foot of the stairs until I had come to grips with what was happening – seemingly anyway, I was still freaking out at this turn of events for sure – and trailed after him. We arrived outside Mr Mickens' classroom a few minutes later and I just had to stop him.

"St. James, what the hell is wrong with you? You heard nothing of what I said yesterday. You are disrupting the dynamics at this school and creating a huge deep pool of rumour for the sharks to swim in," I whispered urgently, deciding that beating around the bush wasn't going to get us anywhere. "Everyone will eat us alive – you draw too much attention-"

"I never knew you to be a person who uses analogies in their speech," he commented. I resisted from slapping him across the face. His nonchalance and false ignorance was infuriating. It was happening one time too many over too short a time span. How did Rachel stand him if this was how he was all the time?

"Will you please focus on the subject at hand?" I gritted out. "Everybody thinks you're Rachel's boyfriend. What does this look like to you? I'm already a teenage mother, I don't need to be a boy-snatcher too."

"You're already at the top of that Glist, what does it matter?" St. James retorted as his brows furrowed. I must have appeared as offended as I felt, because he immediately cleared up his statement, "Frankly, in my opinion, that list is complete bullshit but other people seem to believe it. Hence, they won't care if you're standing in a hallway, talking to me. I personally had no idea we still lived in the Middle Ages in this school, where men and women couldn't have any means of conversation without being touted as husband and wife. We're taught to be gentlemen at Carmel and-"

"Well, things are different here than at your old school, so you better get that through your skull real quick. We don't work like you guys do!" I hissed. "Call us uncultured or whatever, but that's a fact. Everyone here has a role to play. Helping me isn't…your duty so you shouldn't do it. Charity is hardly accepted."

God that sounded stupider out loud than in my head. The saddest thing was that it was the truth about McKinley High School. He was right – we were incredibly medieval. What he didn't seem to understand was that changing it was going to be nothing but futile attempts. It was hopeless.

"I still don't understand what the big deal is," St. James sighed. "It's really obvious you-" he gestured yet again at my swollen belly, "-need help not because I think you're disabled or something irrational like that. You're pregnant. You have to take care of yourself."

"But why is it that it's you of all people trying to help me?" I knew I sounded really desperate now. "Why should I have to accept things from you when I don't know who you are? And vice versa! You know nothing about me and here we are having this argument."

"I think we're not as different as you make us out to be."

"Please St.- Jesse," I said, closing my eyes in an effort to relax. "Don't bother with me, okay? I don't expect anybody else to-"

"Why do I have to be asked to do a good thing?" he demanded, making it clear that he had a hard time trying to keep his voice hushed. "Why can't you accept the fact that I'm doing something good for someone other than myself or Rachel because I myself want to?"

I couldn't find the words to respond or rebuke at all. He made perfect sense.

Finally, Jesse merely rolled his eyes at me and shook his head. "You know what? Whatever. I tried to help you twice and, well, that didn't work so don't expect any more 'charity' from me. You want me invisible, so be it. By the way, you're welcome."

He dropped my things without another word and stormed off in the direction we came in, leaving me – if anything – feeling guiltier than ever.