AN: This is a role reversal, sort of like a gender bend. In every highschool AU I have ever read, Kole has gotten into some trouble with bullies or mean girls or whatever and (lucky her) Jericho happens to conveniently stroll by and fish her out of it. Now... hehehe... those roles have been reversed! Although not perfectly reversed (there will be no bully, and therefore no saving to be done) I've made Kole butch and Jericho (called John in the shot) weak.

And that's all I have to say for now. Enjoy this latest installment of Shorts! :)

Disclaimer: We've already established this...


Balm

"Hold this." Kolette's steady tone gave the command weight, compelling John to do as the female jock said. Wincing, he held the wad of new, pristine white tissues she had forced into his fingers to his bloody nose. His expression soured as he peered down at the kleenexes in his shaky hands, those quickly being stained by his warm, cherry-red blood.

"Uggghhh..." The groan was totally involuntary, and incited a look of shock from Kolette.

"Does it hurt that bad? The nurse will tell us if it's broken, but it doesn't look broken. Does it... feel broken? One of the girls on my soccer team got hit between the eyes by a soccer ball like you did and she said it felt like she had allergies afterwards, like she was stuffed up."

"Well, it feels like it's running..."

"I can see it's running."

John chuckled, another shock to Kolette's nerves. With a red-stained, toothy smile he remarked, "I sound like a fifth-grader, pinching my nose like this."

Glaring, Kolette pried his hand back so he couldn't hold his nose shut. "Well, don't do that. You don't want the blood to pool up there. It'll also make the bruises darker when your nose starts to heal."

"I've already got a black eye, so I don't care." Despite that claim, John kept a loose grip on his nose from that time on. "You've got some kick, by the way. I never even saw it coming..."

The field bleachers of Titans High have never been a safe place, all things disclosed. Vic Stone's loose cannon of an arm makes for riveting football games, and baseball champ Bushido's precise swing almost guarantees a long drive to left field or beyond (Look out, center row!). John knew these things, but thought himself charmed enough to avoid the danger. While sitting on a low level of those same cursed bleachers earlier that day, he had begun tackling his English homework as he waited for his mom to roll in and pick him up.

WHOOSH!

SMASH!

A female soccer star's kick had gone rogue and nailed him straight in the eyes! His friend Malc from band had chosen a seat a few rows up from John upon which to recline, and had witnessed the accident in all its bloody glory. It had been he who had rushed John to the vacant nurse's office, and he who had needed to leave shortly afterward to make an appointment. Kolette had run off the field to accompany them, arriving at the infirmary mere seconds after them.

John winced at the painful memory and immediately regretted it. "God, I'm stupid."

"What?"

"I just wrinkled my nose."

Kolette grunted, stomping over to where John sat. With zero chill in her voice, she demanded, "Do I have to hold these up myself, or can you handle it?"

Eyes wide with fear and surprise, John squeaked, "I got it."

"Wonderful."

"You don't sound so jazzed about it."

Kolette adjusted her glasses with a huff and a flick of her wrist, not wanting to believe that the quiet guitarist she had admired from afar was so unattractively sardonic up close. His blond hair, green eyes, and lithe frame were to her as honey is to a fly. She never knew that she had a type until she had chanced to glance him boarding the bus, sunlight bouncing off his hair and lighting a spark behind his dreamy expression.

Secretly, Kolette envied his delicate features. Although raised to think of her apparel as common to her sex, the soccer star knew that her father denied her the fine, pretty things that girls regularly enjoyed. Normal girls wore makeup, tight leggings, short dresses, and jewelry; but Kolette was not allowed any of those things. Her shampoo didn't smell fruity or flowery, and her hair stuck out like straw because of the harsh products she used. John looked so much better, with his fluffy curls and flattering jeans.

Frowning, Kolette said, "I'm not jazzed about it. I like how your face looks normally, and want it to get back to normal ASAP."

Wiggling his eyebrows, John asked, "Do you think I'm pretty?"

"Prettier than me."

"Not true! I've had a crush on you all schoolyear. You are definitely pretty, in that blushing tomboy kinda way."

"I don't believe you. If you did like me, you wouldn't have admitted it so easily. Boys are funny like that."

"Like most young men, I have a type, which you just so happen to fit into. I like girls like Rachel Roth and Tara Marakov. Girls with glasses, they catch my attention. Also, on another level, it doesn't matter that I like you, or that I've told you. Know why?"

"Hm." Kolette had recently become very interested with the ends of her hair.

"Because nobody knows who I am! They can't even get my name right. Joseph William Wilson: is that so hard to remember? Might as well call me Joseph Wallflower Wilson, but everyone just calls me John anyway."

Kolette smiled shyly. "I might call you that."

Joseph threw his tissues to the side. "Please, don't."

"Alright, deal. Joe it is."

"I'll be amazed if you remember to call me that after the weekend."

"I will. Trust me. And I can't forget, because you look so much like a Joseph."

Joseph arched a brow, unbelieving. Half the time Grant, his own blood brother, mixed up his name and called him John. It wasn't a derogatory title, just one that Grant called him by habit. The sportsman practically lived at school, learning all the advanced plays on the field and bettering himself physically at the on-site gym until the doors closed for the night. He would hang out with his jock friends all the time, who mocked Grant's "girly" little brother John, who they had stolen Grant away from not long after the Wilsons had finally settled in Jump City. Joseph's father always addressed him as "Son", while Adeline warmly called him "Sweetheart" at home. No wonder Joseph's real name had become lost in the tangle that was Grant Wilson's mind.

His family in mind, Joseph lost all faith in Kolette. The nurse walked through the doors, asking Kolette what happened to John. The bleeding had stopped, no broken bones were felt, so a coldpak and an extra handful of tissues just in case were her prescription. The young woman responsible lingered at the door, but Joseph released her by saying, "My mom should be here soon. You can go."

Smiling thinly, Kolette wished him a good night, and left.

The weekend came and passed. Monday reared its ugly head, and Joseph was feeling the pain. Every utterance of his assumed name made him flinch. The isolation he felt compounded when his homeroom teacher read his name off wrongly during morning rollcall, without even looking at the clipboard. Even music class couldn't lift his spirits that particular Monday.

Malcolm spotted his gloomy expression during third period English, whispering, "What's got your shorts in a twist today, Joe?"

He smiled at his name. "Nothing."

"Fine. Don't tell me."

"Fine. I won't."

The teacher slapped his book on Joseph's desk, which made the boys jump. "Talking in my class, Jonathan? I'm surprised at you. Usually you're very attentive and quiet when I teach. Perhaps a visit to the principal's office for you both will restore your usual quiet demeanor...?"

Kolette piped up. "Sir? His name is Joseph Wilson, not Jonathan, nor John."

"Ah! Effective use of 'nor', Kolette! I'm impressed, although you are mistaken about Mister Wilson's name."

"Look it up in the records. I'm certain it's Joseph."

Sighing at the futility of arguing with a teenage girl, Mister Mod strode past his desk to a blue filing cabinet. He slid open the lowest drawer and procured Joseph's file, which, at a glance, read "Wilson, Joseph W./ 11th, Class B".

"I am contradicted! Apologies, ah, Joseph?" He checked the file again. "Why have you let us call you John all this time?"

Joseph shrugged and fixed his eyes on his desk. "Path of least resistance," he mumbled. More than anything, he wished for the inability to feel his classmates intense stares.

"Philosophy?"

"Convenience. It's only a name, and 'John' is close enough."

"Then you don't mind if I call you-"

"I prefer my given name... honestly."

Mister Mod smirked. "Joseph it is, then! Students, let us all call Mister Wilson by his given name. None of that 'John' nonsense from now on!"

Kolette smiled to herself, and whispered, "Yes, let's."

Their teacher was shaken by the revelation of John's real name so much that he forgot his threat of disciplinary action against the youth and his friend. He floundered Joseph's name whenever he raised his hand, and ultimately resolved to call the boy "Mister Wilson" for the rest of the schoolyear.

Kolette beamed with pride until school let out. Joseph confronted her then, demanding the reason why she had made a scene in English.

"I saw your face when Mod said 'Jonathan' and thought that it would make you feel better if even just one person would call you the right name. So I told Mod your real name. I didn't realize that it would be the end of the world."

Joseph blushed furiously, "I-! I don't like being the center of attention! My brother always has the spotlight. I'm not used to it being turned on me."

"You didn't mind in the infirmary last Friday. You got attention from your friend, from me, from the nurse, and that was no big deal."

"Well, yeah, but I like you. Of course I wouldn't mind if you paid me a little attention."

"I just did, in English, when I saw how depressed you were."

"Then... thanks."

Kolette's face reddened at the praise. "You're welcome!" she chirped.

Little conversation passed between the two for some time. Eventually, Joseph settled on an excuse for leaving before his mother could pick him up. Something about seeing his brother in the gym.

Once he was out of sight, Kolette kicked herself for acting so silly in front of him. She could be such a girl.