"Who's that?" Rose asks, turning to her best friend, Trudy, slamming her locker shut and looking out across the lobby. There is a boy she hadn't seen before making his way towards the front office, clearly visible from where they stand in the locker bay.
Rose's best friend Trudy is a shy girl with mousy brown hair that falls in curls, and a sensible put-together style. "Must be new," she responds, turning to Rose with a shrug and without much interest. "I wouldn't let Cal see you looking, though. Come on. We'll be late for class." Rose follows her friend with one more glance toward the new guy, taking in his appearance further. He's tall and rather thin, with blonde hair that hangs in his eyes. She had only seen his face in profile, but thought he had the potential to be cute— what caught her attention most however was the clothing. No one who wanted to fit in at Carpathia High dared to dress even a little bit grunge or punk; it was a school full of well-to-do snobs, and she's sure that with his ripped jeans, boots, and baggy green flannel, this new kid was about to get some attention.
They had only been back at school for a few days, and so all of the classes were still settling into routines. This morning, she was in history class, sat near the back, next to Trudy, and one desk ahead of her boyfriend Cal and his friends. He had been giving her a hard time since summer had ended— Rose had spent most of the vacation alone, working part time in a cafe, practicing her ballet, and reading when she wasn't fighting off Cal's advances and finding excuses to get away. Cal had been determined to get her to sleep with him over the summer, no doubt so he could come back and brag to his jock friends, but she hadn't let him get his way. She had feigned sickness or tiredness, and even prude ideals and he had been frustrated, but held off. In truth, it wasn't that she was against having sex, but Rose had no real feelings for the handsome fellow senior— something she was sure her peers would be shocked to hear. Their relationship had started genuinely. He had been nice to her in the beginning, and had treated her well, taking her out and spoiling her. They were the perfect match on the outside: he, the smart quarterback from a wealthy family, and she, a cheerleader with an equally important name and reputation. They had been on the homecoming court for three years running, and favored to win this time around now that they were in their final year.
The truth of the matter however, was that Rose is miserable with Cal. They didn't even really get along. She has no interest in sports beyond dancing, and could care less about money or expensive cars and clothes. She doesn't want to be homecoming queen— and actually thought the ritual of the whole thing was rather asinine, and to say that they had nothing in common was an understatement. Cal was smart, but in a way that was business-minded, calculating, and shrewd. Rose's intelligence hinged upon an understanding of the arts, and emotion; things Cal thought were a waste of time an energy. If she didn't feel so trapped into their relationship through expectation she would have dumped him a long time ago.
The bell has just sounded, signaling the start of the day, when the door opens again, the blonde boy from before stepping into the room. The teacher, Mr. Andrews, stands, and makes his way towards the new kid, taking the note from his outstretched hand, and nods with a smile before clasping a hand on the kid's shoulder and turning towards the room.
"Class, we have a new student joining us from Paris High. This is Jack Dawson."
Jack gives a slight nod towards the class that is being addressed, and raises a hand casually in greeting. Whispers are already erupting across the classroom, and Rose hears Trudy murmur to her "Well, there's your answer."
"Mr. Dawson, why don't you take the empty seat in front of Miss Dewitt-Bukater, there." Mr. Andrews points to the empty desk in front of Rose, and Jack nods heading that way, his eyes locking with hers. She wants to offer a smile, but feels frozen to the spot— his eyes are penetrating, and she has the vague notion that he's reading her. She wonders what he's thinking. He looks kind, and very unlike anybody she had seen at this school before— his shaggy blonde hair was falling across a face that's somehow both boyish and wise. He's handsome, she notes, in a way that is very different from Cal.
Rose can hear Cal behind her, talking to his friend Spencer. God, what a freak. It looks like he rolled in off the streets. Look at that leather jacket like he thinks he's some kind of punk. He's talking loud enough to be heard, and he knows it, something that makes Rose's aggravation for Cal flare up even more. "Careful, Sweetpea," he says even louder, addressing Rose, making sure Jack can hear him. "I wouldn't sit too close. It looks like he has fleas."
Rose watches as Jack catches Cal's eye, and his jaw clenches almost imperceptibly. She can see that this new guy isn't going to take the bait and feed into Cal's taunts, and it makes her glad. Taking the bait would only make Cal continue. As he slings his book bag over the back of his chair and makes to sit, Jack's gaze catches hers again, lingering for a moment, and she tries to keep her face neutral, but still convey her apology for Cal's immaturity, and she thinks that she sees Jack's mouth quirk into the tiniest hint of a smile, and something within her gives a faint flutter. At the end of class, Jack is out the door before Rose is even able to gather her things, and she tries not to be disappointed. She couldn't have tried to talk to him with her asshole boyfriend sitting behind her anyway.
Cal, and his laggie, Spencer Lovejoy are delaying behind as well, and he slips an arm possessively around Rose's waist as they enter into the hallway. "Kids from Paris High are always poor," comments Cal, as Rose tunes in to their discussion, obviously still talking about Jack. "He's probably trouble, or his parents bribed someone to get him in here. Why else would he be starting so late? He's obviously messed up. Did you see his jacket? All those patches and safety pins— he's probably some kind of delinquent."
As Rose listens, she can't help but disagree with Cal's quick judgements. Jack had seemed nice enough to her, and even intriguing. During the class discussion on the industrial revolution, Jack had answered several of Mr. Andrews' questions and had even raised his own points. He was obviously smart, Rose thought. He seemed to be a whole lot more interesting than anyone else at Carpathia.
—
It's the next day when Jack catches sight of the pretty redhead again. Because of the block scheduling the school does, his classes are scheduled every other day, and he's happy to find that she is also in his AP Art class, and that her asshole boyfriend is nowhere in sight. The day before, he had asked his friend Fabrizio about her. Fabrizio was a senior here as well, whom Jack had known from work, and who had become one of Jack's best friends since his arrival in Virginia three years earlier. The Italian American had told Jack all about Rose— that she was a perfect student, and from a rich crowd. She was popular, but quiet, and that her boyfriend, Cal, as Jack had suspected, is the captain of the football team and the worst kind of bully.
"If you ask me," Fabri had mused, "I don't think she even really likes him. She seems to avoid him when she can."
"Then what's the point?" Jack wondered aloud. "If she doesn't like him, then why date him?"
Fabrizio had shrugged. "Appearances? Boredom? Who knows. They're both snobs. Maybe they deserve each other."
Jack frowns. She hadn't seemed like a snob to him— when Cal was insulting him, her expression had seemed to convey an apology. No, she didn't seem like a snob, she just seemed sad and trapped.
Now, as Jack enters the art room and scans his surroundings, he sees her bright hair before he sees her. She's sitting stiffly upright on one of the metal stools in the back corner, flipping through a folio case on the table in front of her. He knows from talking to the teacher before enrolling that they're supposed to be having their beginning of the year portfolio review today— individual meetings with Ms. Duff-Gordon to assess what they should concentrate on for the year as they prepare for college. Rose is probably going through her own portfolio.
Weighing his chances and unsure how welcome he'll be, he makes his way across the room, trying to appear as casual as possible, clearing his throat to get her attention when he's close enough.
She has a look of annoyance on her face when she first glances up, but it softens to curiosity when she sees that its him. "Mind if I, uh, sit over here?" he asks, scratching the back of his neck. "It's a little crowded in here." It's not. There are only about twelve students in this course, and she raises her eyebrow at the comment, but shrugs and gestures to the empty stool a few feet away.
"Suit yourself," she says, and Jack finds that he can't read her expression. She's dressed well, if not a little sophisticated for high school, in black tights and heels, a corduroy skirt, and a tucked in blouse. He decides the style matches how rigidly she seems to be carrying herself, but she's still very pretty. Her hair, the thing he supposes everyone notices about her first, is piled into a clip at the back with wispy bangs framing her made-up face. Sensing that she doesn't want a conversation, he pulls out his own portfolio and sets to work organizing the images into some sort of order.
She speaks again first, surprising him. "I wanted to apologize for Cal yesterday," she says, and when he looks at her, she's staring hard at a blank page in front of her, not meeting his eye. "It was rude and uncalled for for him to talk about you like that. He can be an asshole sometimes."
Jack shrugs. He's used to being whispered about, whether he does anything to justify it or not. Teenagers tended to be the same no matter what state or school you're in. "Sometimes?" Jack asks. He had heard some of Fabrizio's stories. "You don't have to apologize for him. He's his own person and you didn't do anything."
Rose shakes her head, looking exasperated, and Jack thinks maybe he said the wrong thing. She was the one that had called Cal an asshole in the first place though.
"Are you always this sure of yourself?" she asks, voice a little tense.
"Why shouldn't I be?" he counters, still calm and casual. "It's my second day here. I may as well make it a fresh start and speak my mind. I'll either make friends, or I won't. Graduation is in less than a year, and then it won't matter."
Rose turns back to her work. "I wish I could have that attitude about it. For me, it's all that matters."
Jack wants to ask her what she means by that— it sounds cryptic and a little melancholy, and he doesn't want to leave the conversation on the wrong foot, but she's called away for her review, and leaves the classroom immediately afterward. He knows that the next time he sees her will likely be back in history class where she'll be surrounded by Cal and his cronies.
He does see her before then, but he doubts she notices him. She's more than a little preoccupied. It's the end of the school day, and as Jack heads across the lawn towards the senior parking lot, unlit cigarette between his lips. He catches sight of Rose and Cal near the corner of the building. They're arguing. Rose looks even more tense than she had been in art class, but appears to be dishing words back to Cal as strongly as he's giving them, shaking her head and gesturing towards the parking lot. It's really none of Jack's business and he knows it. He should just keep on walking, but curiosity gets the better of him, and he draws just close enough to listen in, crouching and feigning like has to re-tie his bootlace.
"You're being a brat about it, Rose," he can hear Cal say. "You know this dinner has been planned for weeks, and I can't show up without my girlfriend. How would that look?"
"Cal, I told you then and I'm reminding you now, I have plans!"
"For fuck's sake, what, your little dance recital? When are you going to give it up, Rose? You're never going to be a professional dancer. You're never going to be good enough for it, let alone have the figure."
"It's an audition, Cal. It's not something I can just reschedule, and you know that!" She doesn't even acknowledge the jab at her appearance. Jack can see that her face is turning red, and she looks a little desperate, but Cal isn't taking no for an answer.
"You're not going to dance school anyway. You're coming to Yale with me, just like our parents agreed. You know your situation. Now come on!"
Jack watches as Caledon grabs Rose by the wrist, forcibly dragging her forward towards the parking lot. When he lets go, sure that she'll follow, he can see her rub at her wrist. Cal hadn't been gentle. Something more than curiosity at the situation stirs within Jack, and he's genuinely worried for the girl now. From what he has seen of Cal, not only is the guy a bully in general, but seemed to be bordering on abuse towards Rose. He knows however that there's realistically nothing he can do. He had barely even had a single conversation with her, and it just isn't his place to interfere.