So, me and one of my best friends Nicole ( cendella on twitter and here on ffnet) decided to collab and create this little ficlet. She wrote Jackson, I wrote April. Not sure how many chapters there will be, but we can't wait to take you guys along for the ride. Don't forget to leave us a review!
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APRIL
There should be a law against pounding on someone's bedroom door at 7:30 in the morning. If one existed, my brother would be in jail by now and I would know peace in my life.
"Hurry up, tampon! I'm leaving in five minutes and if you snooze, you lose," Whitt says.
I roll my eyes at myself in the mirror - annoyed at both my hair for not cooperating and my older brother for disrupting my morning, as he typically does.
"I'm coming!" I snap back.
"Speed it up. I'm not gonna be late just because you can't get your hair right."
I grit my teeth and roll my eyes again, throwing my brush down in a dramatic show of giving up. I've had curly hair my whole life, so you'd think by now, at age 17, I'd know how to tame it. That only holds true for about five days out of every year, when it decides to cooperate. I usually end up twisting it in a simple bun, because that gets the job done and doesn't involve much work. I decide to do that today, even though I imagined something better for the first day of winter semester.
I open my door and raise my eyebrows at my brother. "I'm ready," I say. "Let's go."
"Finally."
I start down the stairs first, but he shoulders me out of the way just to beat me. I stumble, my feet falling over each other, and have to catch myself on the railing. "Hey!" I shout after him.
"Slow ass."
"Whitt, please," our mom says from where she stands in the foyer, putting on her heels for work.
"I don't think it counts as an insult if it's true."
"That's literally not how it works," I say, grabbing my backpack in a huff. I wanted today to start out quietly and calmly; I should've known better. Whitt's favorite thing to do in the morning is get a rise out of me. "Who are you gonna bother next year at college?" I ask him, slipping my boots on.
"Anyone but you, thank god," he says.
"You're so mean," I say, pushing him out of the way just like he did to me so I can get out the front door first.
"You're so mean," he says, raising the pitch of his voice to mimic mine.
"Please, just be quiet."
We head to his car, the beat-up Jeep that he bought used the day after he got his license, and I open the passenger's side door to climb inside. "Nope," he says. "We're getting Cristina. It's the back seat for you."
"What?" I say, furrowing my eyebrows. "All your basketball stuff is back there, and it stinks. I was here first. How come I have to sit in the back?"
"Because Cristina's my girlfriend, and you're a tampon. Be gone."
I grumble at the stupid nickname Whitt has used for me since he found out what a tampon was. He thinks it's hilarious because a tampon is mostly white until it turns red, and I'm the same way - white skin, red hair. He thinks it's hilarious.
I get in the back seat and cross my arms, sighing as we pull up to Cristina's house. She scrambles out the door, backpack slung over one shoulder, and lopes to the Jeep. "Hey, Whitt," she says, buckling in. "Apes."
I hate being called Apes almost as much as I hate being called a tampon. I don't say anything about it, though. If I know them, they'll gang up on me and claim they're being lighthearted and jokey when I get my feelings hurt. It's easier to just take it.
"Hey."
When we get to school, I start to walk away from the two of them, but Whitt catches my arm before I can get far.
"Let go," I say, trying to shake him off.
"Wait a sec," he says. "Chill. Just wanted to wish you good luck with the ACT prep class. I heard you telling Mom about it last night. Don't freak out. You got this."
I soften a little bit. He can be nice when he wants to be, I guess. "Thanks," I say.
"Be outside by 4 or I'm leaving you," he says, freeing my arm. "Bye, tampon."
I find my way to my locker and set my things inside, studying my schedule for what must be the thousandth time. My ACT prep class is first up this morning, and Whitt was right - I am nervous. My ACT score is a huge factor when it comes to what colleges I get into, so I need to do well on that test. The official exam happens in spring, which is why I'm taking the class now to prepare for it. None of my friends opted in, so I'm going in completely blind and alone, with a teacher I've never had before. But even so, I tell myself that it won't be bad. It might even be fun.
I collect what I need and head upstairs to find the classroom, navigating my way through a sea of athletes shouting and clapping each other on the back as I go. I push through their large boy bodies and finally end up where I'm supposed to be - and the class only has about six people in it even though the bell is about to ring. I wonder if everyone is late, or if the class is really this small.
I find a seat in the middle of the room. I don't want to seem like a slacker in the back or too eager in the front, so it seems like a safe place to sit. I wait with my planner open on my desk and see the teacher come in, then watch the minutes tick by until the bell sounds to let us know that school has officially begun.
Just before the bell stops ringing, a tall boy bursts into the room with his backpack still on his back. He's in the middle of a laugh, wearing a relaxed, cool expression, as he waves at the teacher like he wasn't almost tardy on the very first day.
"Hey," he says, then slumps down in a chair in the back row.
"Mr. Avery, nice of you to join us," the teacher says.
The boy just laughs and leans back, resting his chair against the wall so the front two legs are suspended in midair. I watch him for a moment; if I were a little nosier, I'd warn him to be careful, but I've learned by now that it's best to mind your own business in high school.
He catches my eye as I look away, though. "Hey," he says, jerking his chin up. "What's your name? I'm Jackson."
Blinking hard with lowered eyebrows, I spin around in my seat and face front. The teacher has already started class, and I don't want to get in trouble for talking.
"Hey," Jackson says, whispering now as if we aren't two of only nine people in this room. It's so easy to hear him. The teacher definitely can, too. "Shy girl. What's your name?"
I ignore him, keeping my rigid back turned.
"Hey, redhead," he hisses, not giving up.
Understanding that he's not going to stop, I look over my shoulder and shush him, but all he does is laugh.
"Is it a secret?" he asks, smirking. "I think I know your brother. I just wanna make sure you're who I think you are."
"My name is April. And I'm trying to listen."
"Ah, April," he says. "You are Whitt's sister, then."
"I'm trying to listen."
"I'll tell him we're in class together. Ask him about me. He'll tell you."
I don't turn around this time. I continue to listen to the teacher as she tells us that, for the entire semester, we'll have the same partner who will act as our study buddy - the one person who we can work through the prepwork with. And we don't get a choice in the matter; she's pairing us off before I even get a chance to scan the room for potential partners.
"Jackson Avery," she says. His is the first name she calls as she goes in alphabetical order. "You're paired with April Kepner. Find a spot in the room together and start going over chapter one."
JACKSON
As usual, I'm awake before both of my parents, and this habit is by choice. I prefer the quiet time this time of the day allows me so that I can take advantage of the peace and quiet by going on my morning run, showering, then getting dressed in solitude before starting the day.
By the time I get down to the kitchen, my mom is making breakfast and already pouring herself a second cup of coffee. Turning her head to offer me a closed-lip smile, only her eyes betray her true feelings as she glances at my dad who is sitting at the table, his own eyes glued to his cell phone screen.
"Morning, son," he greets me once I appear in his view, but in return, I remain silent, offering only a nod of acknowledgment as I await the inevitable fireworks which always precedes my first sip of orange juice.
My mother places our plates of food in front of us, and I swear, as soon as her butt hits the seat, she starts in on me with her laundry list of questions.
"Do you have all your materials ready for class this morning?"
"Yes."
"I hope so, because we won't tolerate you being late, mister. Remember, you need to take advantage of every bit of information they teach you."
"Un-huh," I respond, rolling my eyes as she repeats the same thing she said to me last night before I went to bed.
"Did you remember to start drafting your formal letter of request for Mr. Standish, and Mrs. Arrington? You know they'll be receiving a multitude of requests from your classmates for college recommendations. The sooner you get in your request, the better."
"Sure."
"What about Coach Jarvis. Have you made arrangements to switch from morning to afternoon workouts? We know basketball is important to you, but you can not allow your grades to suffer. You need to stay focused, Jackson. Your path forward is in the world of academia, young man, not as some hoopster."
"Yes, Catherine, yes!" I practically yell at her.
It's the same speech I hear every day, and if it's not from her, then it's from my dad, and by now you'd think they'd know that I have the script down pat.
My parents have been together for twenty-six years, marrying right after they graduated college, but ultimately decided to wait until they earned their doctoral degrees before starting a family. I'm my mother's late in life baby, and by the time she had me, they both came to the decision that one child was more than enough. Frankly, I'm not sure if that's a good thing for me or not. My parents own a very successful therapeutic practice which affords them the ability to provide us with a nice home, fancy cars, and trips to exotic places. I always have the freshest clothes, the newest kicks, and I want for nothing, but on the downside, it means that all of their attention is laser focused on me. I love my parents, I really do, and I know they only want the best for me, and from me, expecting me to always work hard and to my fullest potential. As for them, they are well-known in their fields, and to the community at large. As outside appearances go, we seem like the perfect family, but very few people know what really goes on behind the freshly cut green lawn, and neatly trimmed hedges of this home.
My parents argue constantly, which is comical because as therapists, they can't seem to find a way to talk to one another, and frankly, I'm not even sure why they haven't divorced yet. I know they aren't staying together because of me, and more likely due to the fact that they want to create this image to our neighbors, their clients, and colleagues that we're the model family. At this point in my life, I've learned to navigate the minefield of battles that ensue. I don't intentionally give them a hard time. I'm simply biding my own until I'm off to college, leaving them to figure out their mess of a union themselves.
As my father clears his throat to add in his own two cents, my own phone chimes to alert me of a text message, and look down only to smirk at the daily morning greeting I receive from one of my best friends.
RECEIVED 7:38am- hey bd u up
SENT 7:38am- sup ;)
RECEIVED 7:39am so is it WW I II or III
I snort at her choice of words, typing my response furiously with nimble fingers.
SENT 7:40am all's quiet on the western front
RECEIVED 7:39am- cool. btw asshole, did you pack your pocket protector for class
SENT 7:39am- fuck u bd
RECEIVED 7:40am- you wish! Whitt's here see u at school
Ending the text, she adds a middle finger for effect, and I can't help but smile at the ease of our back and forth.
Cristina is my ex-girlfriend, but our relationship didn't last very long. We dated our freshmen year, and over that summer, split. The breakup was mutual. We decided that we worked better as friends, and have been as close as two friends can be for all these years, something that our friends can't seem to grasp. They say that there is no way in hell that a guy and a girl can be "besties" without any sexual tension. At this point, we're tired of trying to explain it to people, and choose to let them think whatever they want. I guess I get we're they're coming from though. When she's not with her boyfriend, or one of her girlfriends, she hangs out with me. We even have our own secret nicknames for each other which consist of the same initials, BD. Her's stands for, baby doll, and mine for, baby dick. We chose them ironically of course. Cristina's because her personality is anything but soft or sweet, and mine because she says I'm hung like a horse. Not surprisingly, we keep the true definition of our monikers to ourselves in order to spare any hurt feelings. Cristina is dating Whitt, one of my teammates, and while we aren't buddy-buddy, we're cool, and the last thing I want to do is start any friction between the two of them or bring any of that drama out onto the court.
Now, as I half listen to my mother drone on in the background, I look down at the time and curse silently under my breath. Stuffing a piece of toast in my mouth, I grab my backpack from the floor, and mumble a half-hearted goodbye to my mother and father then leave before I'm late for my first ACT prep course. When I do arrive at school, I know immediately that I should have left earlier because practically every few feet, I'm stopped by someone who wants to say hello.
I'm a fairly popular guy, and though a lot of my classmates don't know me personally, they certainly all seem to know me. Now, that could be due to my status on the basketball team, how well off my family is, or maybe it's just because of my looks. Unfortunately, I don't know three-quarters of the kids who speak to me, so I offer up a variety of head nods, high fives, peace signs, and a lot of, "hey you's," because I don't know many of their names, and I couldn't tell you what they were if you paid me to.
I'm not one to subscribe to the notion of sticking to one particular social group at school. Sure, I'm what some consider a jock, but that doesn't mean I can't be friends with the goth kids, the drama kids, or any of the other, quote-un-quote cliques. And while I don't go out of my way to talk to anyone in particular, I won't tolerate anyone being picked for being different if I can help it.
So when I finally arrive to class, I stroll nonchalantly through the door, plastering on my most endearing smile as I wave to the teacher in order to hide the fact that I'm actually anxious about almost walking in late. I saunter toward the rear of the room, stunned to learn that there are so few of us here, and wonder who else was there by their own volition, or was strongly encouraged by their parents to participate like I was.
As I slide into my seat, I notice the redhead in the middle row checking me out.
"Hey," I call out to her, hoping that I don't alert the teacher. "What's your name? I'm Jackson," I tell her, though I'm almost certain she already knows.
She looks familiar to me, and though the hair should be a dead giveaway, it isn't what draws me to her.
Her face flushes so quickly I barely notice, and when she circles forward in her seat, all but ignoring my question, I inch my chair closer and try again.
"Hey," I say again, my octave lower then glance quickly at the teacher who doesn't seem to be paying us any attention.
"Shy girl. What's your name?" I ponder, but she flat out snubs me.
Not one to be easily deterred, I continue. "Hey, redhead," I whisper yell which only causes her to peer over her shoulder. She puts her index finger to her lips to shush me like some petulant child, which only causes me to laugh.
I don't know why, but I like that she's freezing me out. Usually when I initiate a conversation with a female, I don't have to do much to gain all their attention. But this one… well, I'm intrigued by her. Now, if she were to tell me to leave her alone, I certainly would, but she's not giving off that vibe, so I pursue her.
"Is it a secret"? I tease, and then it hits me. It isn't the hair that places her, but the person she's usually with.
"I think I know your brother. I just wanna make sure you're who I think you are," I tell her.
I can tell she's exasperated with me as she lets out a heavy sigh, her shoulders hunching as she responds harshly, "My name is April. And I'm trying to listen."
"Ah, April," I say, letting her name roll off my tongue as it all clicks into place. "You are Whitt's sister, then."
"I'm trying to listen," she bellows at me.
I brush off her annoyance and keep talking as if she is the one in the wrong and not me for interrupting the fact that she's trying to listen to the teacher.
"I'll tell him we're in class together. Ask him about me. He'll tell you," I say, hoping that what he does have to say won't be too bad.
She doesn't acknowledge my request, so I just shrug and tune into what the teacher is saying. Ms. Sharp informs us that for the remainder of the semester, we'll be paired off with a partner who will act as our study buddy. One that will be assigned to us. I mentally assess the others around me and conclude that one will probably be just as good as another when I hear her call out my name.
"Jackson Avery," she says, as I sit taller in my seat in anticipation of the name that I will be linked with for the next few months. Unbeknownst to us, our partner selections are just a matter of her picking the name next to ours alphabetically on the roster.
"You're paired with April Kepner," she announces. "Find a spot in the room together and start going over chapter one."
Well, shit, I think as I throw one arm over the back of my chair.
This is going to be a very interesting semester, indeed.
APRIL
With both hands wrapped around my workbook, I wonder what the point of having a teacher in this class is if all we're going to do is teach ourselves. I tell myself that maybe it's supposed to prepare us for college, but I'm not really sure.
I wait to see if Jackson's going to come to me, but he doesn't move. So, I get up and move to him. I sit at the desk beside his and bring all my stuff, getting comfortable while his eyes are on me. I don't know why he's staring, but I try to pretend that he's not.
"So, I guess we're partners," I say, trying to overcome the nerves building up in my system. I don't talk to boys often - other than Whitt, obviously - especially not boys who are as cute as Jackson. "Sorry about that."
He gives me a strange look and asks, "What are you sorry for?"
I shrug and avoid answering, choosing to open the workbook instead. "Do you already know what colleges you're applying to?" I ask.
"My mom and dad have a few ideas," he says, and doesn't elaborate. "You?"
"I don't wanna go that far away. I really want to get into Berkeley. But my second choice is Santa Clara."
"Isn't your brother going to U Washington?"
"Yes," I answer. "Which is why I'm not."
He laughs, and I feel a small sense of pride that I was funny enough to make him laugh. "I always thought you guys were cool," he says. "Whenever Whitt talks about you, it's always good stuff."
"Yeah, I'm sure," I say, brushing off the comment. It's hard for outsiders to understand mine and Whitt's relationship - because I hate him with every ounce of who I am, but I also don't know who I am without him. Which is why I'm scared of what next year will be like, when he's gone. I have a lot of acquaintances, but not a best friend, and I feel like Whitt's absence is only going to perpetuate that. "We should get started."
Just as I flip past the introduction, the fire alarm goes off and makes me jump.
"Just a drill, it's just a drill!" Ms. Sharp tells us. "Stay quiet and line up. I'll lead the way outside."
Sighing, I get up from my chair and head to the door without waiting for Jackson. As my feet are already moving, I wonder if I should've waited. I look over my shoulder to find him not far behind, and he shoots me a small smile. I give him one back out of reflex alone.
Once we're outside, I stand with my arms crossed over my chest as the principal goes around and takes roll for every class. I check my watch and notice that there's only three minutes until the bell rings, and we got approximately zero work done. Judging by the fact that I noticed a warm-up quiz on the board for tomorrow, that doesn't bode well.
"We didn't do anything," I murmur under my breath.
Jackson looks over and says, "Huh?"
"We were supposed to get through chapter 1. And we didn't even read the first page."
"We could've stayed inside and burnt to a crisp just to do it," he says. "Might've been worth it."
I pinch my lips to keep from laughing. I don't know why I can't just let loose and laugh at his joke, but something keeps me from doing it.
"I'll just read it tonight and give you my notes tomorrow," I say.
He frowns and says, "You don't have to do that. Why don't we just study together?"
"Together?" I repeat, raising my eyebrows.
"Yeah, is that so crazy?"
"No… I mean, no. But where? I guess you could come to my house. Whitt doesn't get out of practice until 4, though, and it's a long walk. And my mom won't be home until 6. And… wait, don't you have practice, too?"
With a glint in his eye, he says, "I can skip this one."
"Are you sure?"
"100%. And I can drive us."
"You drive?"
"Hell yeah," he says, pointing to a slick black Acura that I've seen more than once in the parking lot. I've always assumed it belonged to a teacher. "That's my ride."
Interrupting us, Whitt appears out of nowhere and yanks hard on the bun in my hair. "Ow!" I say, jolting away from him.
He just laughs and says, "Hey, Avery. I didn't know you were friends with my sister."
"We're partners in this ACT class. So, yeah," Jackson says. "I guess we are friends now."
…
I've never had a friend who's a boy over to my house before, so when we get home later, I'm not sure what to do with myself.
"Are you hungry? Thirsty? I think we have snacks in the pantry, and water bottles are in the fridge. Do you want me to grab you one? You can take your shoes off and put them right there, by the way, and your coat too. Just hang it up on any hook, it doesn't matter. Are you really sure you don't mind missing practice?"
He chuckles softly as he hangs his coat where I directed. "Pretty sure they can survive without me for one day," he says. "Or, at least, I hope they can."
"Well, my brother pretty much sucks," I say. "So, there's no hope there. He's broken the backboard of our basketball hoop like, three times."
"Shows how powerful his throw is."
"Yeah… sure," I say. "Or that he just chucks the ball as hard as he can and hopes he makes it."
Jackson laughs loud and unabashedly. I feel proud that, once again, he thinks I'm funny. I don't know if many other people do. It's not really what I'm known for. I don't really think I'm known for anything.
"So, are you hungry?" I ask again. "Thirsty? Like I said, we have water. And I think we have orange juice, too, except Whitt drinks it out of the carton so I'd be careful with that."
"I'm good, actually," he says. "Unless you're gonna have something?"
"No, not unless you are," I say, still nervous.
"It's your house," he says, laughing.
"I guess we could just bring a couple water bottles upstairs. I was thinking we could study in my room, because that's where my computer is and where my desk is. Is that alright with you?"
"April, anything is cool with me. Seriously."
"Okay. Just making sure."
We head to my room and I wonder if it was the right decision to come up here. The living room is messy thanks to Whitt, and the dining room table is for eating, not homework, my mom always says, so this seems like the best option. I just don't want Jackson to think I'm implying something that I'm really, really not.
Maybe he's not even thinking it, but I definitely am. My mind is going to weird places simply because I've never had a boy in my room who isn't a blood relative. It's a little exciting and a lot scary.
I hurry into my room first and shove my stuffed animals behind other decorative pillows and tell myself that he definitely didn't see. I sit on my bed, then stand up, then linger by my desk.
"You can sit anywhere," I say. "We can sit on my bed, if you want. Unless you'd rather sit on the floor?"
"I'm cool with anything," he says, sitting on the bed beside me. "Hey, are you good?"
"I'm fine," I say, shrugging off his words while trying to tone myself down. I grab the workbook from inside my backpack and turn to face him, opening it to chapter 1 between us. "So, I think the first chapter is basically just about what to expect," I say, then start reading aloud. "The full ACT consists of four multiple-choice tests - English, mathematics, reading, science, and an optional writing test. Topics covered-"
"Definitely opting out of writing, then," Jackson says.
"No, you shouldn't," I say. "It'll look better if you do it."
"I'm shit at writing. I think it'll look better if I don't."
I shake my head and say, "I bet you're not as bad as you think." Then I keep reading. "Topics covered on these five tests correspond very closely to topics covered in typical high school classes. Table 1.1 gives you a snapshot of all five sets."
"No offense, April," Jackson says. "But this is kinda boring."
I bite the inside of my cheek, look up for a moment, and say, "I know." I can't help but smile when I do, and I let the smile come this time.
He stands up from the bed and walks over to my bookshelf, where some old, dusty gymnastics trophies are on display. "I didn't know you were a gymnast," he says.
"Not anymore," I say. "I stopped when I was like, 13."
He picks a trophy up and examines it. "You have a lot of first places and blue ribbons," he says. "Impressive. Why'd you stop?"
"Puberty, I guess," I say, then my cheeks flush red. "Sorry. Weird. I didn't mean to say it like that."
All he does is laugh. He avoids looking at me, though, which tells me that I definitely made things awkward.
"Can you still do a cartwheel?" he asks.
"Yeah…" I say, shooting him a look. "Can't you?"
"Hell no."
"What?!" I say, standing up. "It's easy. Watch."
Without much preparation, I raise my arms above my head and dive into a perfect cartwheel, landing lightly on my feet like I was always taught to do.
"See? Ta-da!"
"I think if I tried to do that, I'd put a hole in your floor."
"No, you wouldn't," I say, loosening up. "Come on, just try. I'll help you."
He walks over and raises his arms above his head like I did, and I hold his waist while he attempts to dive into the desired cartwheel shape. It doesn't really go as planned, though, and we end up toppling to the ground in a heap with his legs tangled up in mine.
We burst into a fit of laughter, unable to move because of how hilarious it is. "I told you I'd be shit," he says, trying to catch his breath.
"You crushed me!"
"You made me!"
I wipe tears from my eyes and then, suddenly, we go quiet. I'm looking straight into his eyes for the first time and I notice that they're an aqua blue, a color I've never seen before. The color is enchanting and amazing, two of the cheesiest words ever. But they're the only words that come to mind as I continue to stare.
He looks deep into mine, too, and I wonder what he's thinking. I wonder if his heart is pounding as hard as mine is, then I wonder if that's even possible.
Then, he does it. He leans in, quicker than I can absorb what's actually happening, and kisses me on the lips. It's not a long kiss, but it's sweet, and the feeling lingers long after he pulls away. I press my fingertips to where his lips had just been and take a sharp breath, opening my eyes once again into his.
"Should I not have-"
"Hey, tampon, open up!" Whitt booms, slamming my door open.
When he sees the two of us on the floor, legs all intertwined, his eyebrows shoot to the ceiling. "Yo, what's going on?" He looks between Jackson and me, eyes wide. "Avery, what are you doing here? With her?"
"Studying."
"Cartwheels."
My blush is uncontrollable at this point. My brother is staring at us, and, to make things worse, Cristina appears from behind him. She's chewing on a granola bar as she waves at Jackson. "Hey, BD," she says, then looks at me. "What's up, Apes? You guys having a little afternoon romp in the sack? Good for you."
JACKSON
Well, this couldn't be more awkward, I think to myself as I casually roll up off of April, reaching out with my hand to take hers and pull her off the floor as I stand. The air is thick between the four of us in her room, and before I can even address April's obvious unease at being caught in such a compromising situation in front of her brother, or Cristina's easily predictable ability to make an already embarrassing situation even more so by her choice of words, I focus on something that bothers me probably more than it should.
"Wait," I say, my eyebrow arched to match my confusion. "You call your sister tampon?"
It's not that I find the idea of menstruation gross, it's biology. I know all the science, and how it affects a woman physically, emotionally, and sometimes mentally. My mother made sure that I was schooled with all the proper terms, and an understanding of the process after I went into the bathroom after my mom and found a pad in the trash can that had unfurled. I went screaming to my dad, assured that she was bleeding to death and after they'd managed to calm me down, we all sat on the couch and had the first talk of many. I was five. But to think that Whitt would call his sister something that evokes an image which is typically negative when it comes to the mechanics, to say I'm pissed is an understatement.
"Mind your fucking business, Avery. You don't know us like that," he spouts, admonishing me.
"You're right, I don't," I add as I turn to face April, clearly noticing the tears as they begin to well up in her eyes. Now I'm not sure if it's because we were caught on top of each other, because I know her brother's nickname for her, or a combination of the two. "But I do know that that's a pretty shitty thing to call someone. Especially someone as sweet as April."
I look at April from the corner of my eye and can see her face brighten by what I've said. Whitt, on the other hand, doesn't seem happy at all.
"Hold up! Are you trying to put the moves on my little sister?" he asks while flexing his biceps as if I'm supposed to be intimidated. Before I can answer his question though, April finally speaks up.
"Just get out of my room, Whitt! What do you care anyway?"
"Wh-what do I care? I know jerks like him, and they only want one thing, and you're not that type of girl."
I bristle at his accusation. Sure, I've dated a few girls, one of whom happens to be standing in the very same room we are and is silently smirking as she enjoys the commotion she helped heighten by her own statement, but you can ask anyone who knows me, and I'm not that type of guy.
Whitt and I step forward at the same time, each with a look of determination as to not be the one to back down.
Luckily Cristina's gleeful mood is dampened by the intensity of the situation which is becoming uglier by the minute.
"Okay, you two," she announces, throwing her arms up to brace a hand on each of our chests in order to keep us apart. "Cut it out. You're being ridiculous." She rotates her head slowly, squinting at us as only she can do which manages to stop us cold. "Whitt, let's just leave them alone to… study, okay?" she says, the insinuation that we were about to do much more than study seeping in her tone. "Besides, nobody wants to say or do anything that they can't take back. There's not going to be any fighting today," she orders, "so fellas, put your dicks away. Especially you, BD," she decrees as she focuses on me which only enrages Whitt further.
"And just what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" he yells.
Cristina doesn't even have it in her to be ashamed. "Nothing," she tells him as she grasps his wrist and tugs him out the room, as they bicker all the way down the hall.
April and I are left alone in the silence and in all the frenzy, I almost forgot she was there.
"Sorry," I say to her, "testosterone," I add with a shrug, trying to make a joke out of the situation.
"No," she shakes her head solemnly, "I'm sorry. Whitt can be such an ass sometimes."
"Don't worry about it," I assure her as I reach out to rub her shoulder soothingly. "Not the first time I've been around family arguments. Won't be the last."
"Oh," she says with surprise, "you have siblings too?"
"Uh, nah," I respond, but avoid her questioning expression because I don't want to get into the reasons why I'm used to such turmoil and promptly change the subject.
I head back over to her bed and sit down, picking up my workbook and flipping to the page where we left off. She takes my hint and joins me, continuing to read the last section we stopped at over again.
We decide to swap off sections every so often as to not get bored, and to also make sure that the other is paying attention. It's quiet in the house now that we can't hear Whitt and Cristina fighting anymore after he shut his bedroom door. We're able to get through quite a bit of the first chapter and though I'm doing my best to pay attention, I can't help but think about that kiss.
I don't know what it is about April, but from the moment she gave me the brush off in class, I knew that she'd lured me in. She has friends at school, I've seen her in passing, other than with Whitt, but mainly, she keeps to herself. I find that I can't stop stealing looks at her as my eyes travel from the top of her fiery red head of hair to her pink and white high-top Converse on her feet.
She doesn't notice me as I try hard to figure out the exact color of her eyes. When we were in class, I thought they were hazel, but now, with the light hitting them through the open curtains of her window, I find they're more of a greenish color and I wonder if her family has Scottish or Irish roots.
All I do know is that I really, really want to kiss her again. We were interrupted before I could finish asking if it was okay that I did, or find out if she was even okay with it. I have a feeling that if I don't speak up now, that April won't bring it up again, probably chalking it up to a one time occurrence. The suspense of not knowing is killing me.
"A-April?" my voice croaks, "Can I ask you something?"
Tearing her eyes from the section she was reading, she looks at me and can apparently see the seriousness in my expression. She places a bookmark between the pages of the book before closing it, then provides me with her undivided attention. I can tell she's nervous about what I'm about to say; I can see the fear in her eyes.
Clearing my throat, I try again. "April, it was okay that I kissed you. Right?" I ask, panic lacing my own thoughts, though I try hard not to let it show.
When the confusion on her face transforms to pure delight, I already have my answer before she says a word.
"Yes, Jackson," she answers, eyelashes fluttering as her grin widens and her dimples become more prominent. "I liked it."
"So," I begin as I proceed to push my luck. "You wouldn't have a problem with me, say… kissing you again?"
Blushing, she answers quickly, "No."
"Good," I tell her, "because I liked kissing you." And before either of us has the chance to think better of our decision, I lean in and press my lips to hers.
This time, neither of us are hesitant as this kiss is longer, firmer, more assured from her, and from me. With my eyes still closed, I reach for the book on her lap and toss it to the floor. Once I hear it plop onto the carpet, I lessen the distance between us. I place one hand on the back of her neck, and the other on her waist right in the space where her shirt and pants fail to meet and caress her unbelievably soft skin with my fingers. I can tell she has no clue where to put hers on my body because I can feel the comforter on her bed shift as she clenches it in her fists.
All I know for sure is that the room is becoming unbearably hot. I'm not an idiot. We're not going to do anything more than kiss, but that doesn't mean that my hormones are going to pay me any attention. I want to put my hands all over her, but settle for deepening the kiss once I hear the tiniest of moans erupt from her. Emboldened, I thrust my tongue forward and slip it into her partially open mouth. Unfortunately, her reaction was a bit unexpected as her entire body lurches away from mine.
"What was that!?" she demands.
"I... It's called a French kiss."
"I know what a French kiss is. Why did you do that?"
At this moment, I realise how inexperienced she is. "Have you never been kissed before? Am I your first?" I ask.
"Sure, I've been kissed before," she answers angrily, and because she's obviously upset, I can't determine if she's lying or not. "But you just don't shove your tongue down my throat without asking."
Now I really feel like a creep. "April, I'm so sorry. I thought we were having a good time. Do you want me to go?"
In my mind, I'm praying that the answer is no. I truly like her and I want to prove to her that I'm not the jerk that Whitt claims I am.
She's quiet for a minute, then smiles softly. "No, I want you to stay. Just," she begins as she reaches out, lacing our fingers together, "warn a girl next time," she adds with a giggle.
The mood is lightened as we continue to study as we hold hands. The time seems to fly by as thirty minutes later, Whitt and Cristina walk back into her room.
"BD, can you drive me home?" Cristina asks me as Whitt does everything he can to avoid looking at me and his sister.
"Uh," I begin, looking to April for permission, who nods her head in return, "sure. We were finishing up anyway."
I begin to pack my things away and can't help but notice the friction between the other two occupants. As I sling my backpack over my shoulder to depart, I stop then bend down and peck April on the cheek.
"How about we study at my house next time?" I suggest.
"Yeah, I'd like that," she replies, but it's drowned out by a noise of disgust from Whitt.
Outside, I open the passenger door for Cristina as she slides in, tossing her purse on the back seat.
As I push the keyless remote start on the engine and pull out of their driveway, she warns me through gritted teeth. "Hey, if Whitt asks you what BD means, you'd be wise to tell him that it stands for Big Dummy."
APRIL
"You disgust me. You know that? You seriously want to ruin my life!" I shout at my brother, after Jackson and Cristina have left. I'm standing in the doorway of my room while Whitt lingers in the hall, staring at me while I yell.
"God, tampon. Calm down," he says with an eye-roll.
"Don't call me that."
He raises his eyebrows. "Oh, now that your boyfriend doesn't like it, it's not okay anymore?"
"It was never okay. It's mean. And Jackson is not my boyfriend."
"Explains why you guys were making out, then."
I let out a loud sound of frustration. "Ugh, why do you even care?"
"Because he's gonna hurt you," he says. "I've been on the team with Avery for two years now, and he used to date Cristina. You think I don't know him? I do."
"You don't."
"And you're the expert because you guys met today and fell in love?" Whitt retorts.
"I hate you," I say. "Don't ever talk to me again."
"Wow, mature. You're so grown up, April."
"Shut up!" I say, then slam my bedroom door so I can be alone.
With a huff, I sit in the same spot where I'd been kissing Jackson not long ago. Tonight definitely hadn't gone the way I imagined it would - it went so much better. Finally, I had my first kiss and it came from a boy that I really, really like. And that boy likes me, too.
I flop back onto my bed, arms out wide, and smile with my eyes closed. Not even Whitt can ruin this feeling for me.
…
The next day at school, I sit in the back of the classroom and wait with a nervous stomach for Jackson to arrive. I fiddle with my notebooks, click my pen, and tuck my hair behind my ears over and over.
When he finally strolls in, his whole face lights up when we lock eyes. I grin and blush hard. Who am I turning into?!
"Hey," he says, sitting in the desk next to me. He gets out the workbook and a pencil, then rests an arm along the back of my chair. I pretend not to notice, like it isn't a big deal, but it's actually a very, very big deal.
"Hey," I say back.
"You wore your hair down," he says.
I blush again, loving that he noticed, and say, "Yeah."
"It's so curly. I didn't know."
"Well, usually it's up," I say, pushing it behind my shoulders.
"I like it this way," he says, eyes lingering on me for a long moment.
I smile again. I can't seem to stop. After a beat passes where we just look at each other, I break the gooey moment and say, "Sorry about my brother last night. He's a freak."
"Hey, no, I'm the one who's sorry," Jackson says. "I got all worked up, and I try not to get like that, usually."
I shrug one shoulder and say, "Whitt started it."
"Well, like I said. You're welcome to come study at my house whenever you want. Maybe you could come watch me at practice, then we could ride together after?"
"You want me to watch you play?" I ask, wondering what this could mean.
This is only the second day I've known Jackson, and everything is happening all at once. I'm not complaining - I like it - I've just never experienced something like it before. Is this what boyfriends and girlfriends do? Am I his girlfriend, does he want that? Or are we just study buddies who kiss? Who French kiss?
"If you want," he says, suddenly shy. "It'd be cool."
"I'd love to," I say, then take his hand for a quick second before Ms. Sharp comes in and starts passing out the quiz.
...
Jackson and I find a routine over the next couple months - after school, I head to the practice gym and finish any other homework I have besides what we're assigned for the ACT course, and watch him practice. My brother hates it, but I sincerely do not care. I'm happier than I've ever been.
Jackson and I haven't established whether or not we're dating, and I haven't asked. I'm not sure if it's weird to come right out and pose the question. I don't know much of anything about relationships, I'm so new at them, so I'm trying to just enjoy things as they happen and take whatever we're doing day by day.
"Hey, pretty," Jackson says to me on a cold day in February. He walks towards the bleachers, drenched in sweat, and plants a kiss on top of my head. "Ready to go?"
"Yep," I say, packing up.
"You see me shoot that three-pointer?" he asks proudly.
"Swoosh," I say, smiling as he takes my hand to help me down.
"You're my good luck charm," he says. "I think that means you gotta come to all my practices and all my games until the end of time."
"Geez, being your good luck charm is hard work," I say, intertwining our fingers as we walk through the blustery parking lot. I'm bundled up in my puffy winter coat, but he didn't even bother to throw on a hoodie. He's still in the shorts and t-shirt he wore to practice. "Aren't you freezing?" I ask, huddling close to steal some of his body heat.
"Nah," he says, wrapping a sturdy arm around my shoulders. "I'm warm-blooded."
"That actually means you'd be way more freezing than if you were cold-blooded!" I shriek.
He laughs and turns to kiss my icy cheek. "Baby, you're so smart," he says. "What would I do without you?"
I smile and laugh, then hurry up to get in the passenger's seat that's basically become mine. I wrap my arms around myself as he blasts the heat - I know that's for my benefit, he really doesn't ever get cold - and I shiver for effect. I lean my head back against the headrest and look at him with melting eyes, and he looks back with a small smile.
"What?"
I reach for his hand again and grip it tight. "I like when you call me that."
"Call you what?"
"Baby," I say, pushing my snowy hair out of my face. Lately, I've been wearing it down almost every day.
"Noted," he says. "I'll make sure to do it more often. Baby."
"Not like that!" I squeal. "I like it when it's natural."
He chuckles and keeps my hand while steering us out of the parking lot. "Alright, babe."
"Better."
We get to his house and I hurry inside, taking off my coat and Ugg boots to leave them by the door. He turns off the alarm after coming in behind me, typing a code into a keypad, and throws his backpack down near the stairs.
"When am I ever gonna meet your parents?" I ask.
The question isn't random. They're never home when we're here, which is almost every day. He doesn't ever talk about them, which is getting strange because I feel like I talk about my mom way too much. He's met her a few times, and she loves him - much to Whitt's annoyance.
"I don't know," he says casually. "They're gone a lot."
"Don't you get lonely?" I ask, sidling up to him as he makes his way to the kitchen for a snack. One thing about Jackson is that he is always hungry.
"Nah," he says. "I have you, don't I?"
"But I'm not here all the time."
"Well, you should be," he says, pulling out the bread to make a jelly sandwich - no peanut butter, because he knows I'm allergic. "I'd like it here a whole lot more if you were always around."
I hop up on the counter with a handful of grapes and watch him finish the first sandwich and start making another one.
"Dinner is in like, an hour, hungry hippo," I say.
He turns around, mouth full of bread, and says, "Huh? What?"
"Hungry hippo," I say again, giggling.
He walks towards me and stands between my parted knees, one hand on either thigh while he continues to chew. "I'm a growing boy," he says, mouth still full.
I hold his bulging cheeks in both hands and whisper, "It's not polite to talk with food in your mouth, chipmunk."
"First a hippo, now a chipmunk," he says. "What am I, really?"
"Hmmm." I kiss his lips and they taste like jelly. Then, I say, "You're mine."
...
We end up in his bedroom before long, our workbooks strewn with their spines up on his hardwood floor. We've done a lot of making out on this bed, way more than we've studied, and I'm perfectly okay with that.
Jackson is sitting with his back against the headboard, and I'm straddling his hips. This is the only time that he likes my hair up, because it makes it easier for him to kiss my neck - which is what he's busy doing right now.
I let out a small, involuntary whimper, and then feel him smile against my skin. "Feel good?" he asks, lips moving over my throat.
"Yeah," I whisper.
He runs his hands up my sides, ruffling my thick, oatmeal-colored sweater in the process. When he moves his hands back down, they slip under the hem of my sweater and his fingers dance over my stomach, unable to find a spot to land.
Emboldened by the way he makes me feel, I don't waste time thinking and instead tear my shirt off in one swift motion. I toss it to the floor, where it joins our books, and he stares at my breasts - covered only with a blue bra.
"You can," I tell him softly.
My voice only shakes a little, and he meets my eyes to make sure. I give him a nod, and he takes my breasts gently in both hands and squeezes them together. I'm not endowed with much, I barely fill out my B cups, but I've never felt sexier than I do right now.
"Oh, god," he moans, and lets his forehead fall to rest against my sternum. He grips me tighter, massaging in a way I had no idea would feel so good. There's so much heat between my thighs and everything is throbbing, all of a sudden, all at once, and it's so much to take in.
I press my lips against his and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling my body even closer. "That feels good," I tell him in the middle of a kiss.
He groans into my mouth, giving me one last squeeze before letting his hands fall to my waist again. "It does," he pants. "It feels… it feels too good."
I pull away, blinking hard. My face is flushed and I'm sure my lips are swollen. They always are after leaving his place.
"What do you mean?"
He sighs and strokes my ribs with his thumbs, unable to tear his eyes off my chest. I kind of love that he can't.
"I mean… we have to stop. I don't think you wanna go the whole… the whole way, and things are happening to me that I can't control, and… baby, we just have to stop."
"Oh."
"I'm right, right?" he asks, pupils wildly dilated. "You don't wanna go all the way?"
"Not… no," I say, tracing his jaw. I kiss him innocently, just a sweet peck with closed lips. "Soon, I don't know. Maybe. But not tonight."