"You annoying little furball, get off me or I'm gonna throw you out the window and see if you can really land on your feet."
"Meow."
"Eeeecch, don't lick me! You're not a dog!"
"Meeeeow!"
"No! I just fed you a couple hours ago!"
"MEOW!"
"OW! You bit me! What are you, Cujo-Kitty?"
Jay finally gave in and opened his eyes, not at all surprised to see his beloved but irritating calico kitten, Ash, sitting on his chest and staring expectantly at him, its yellow-green eyes wide and impatient. "You know, if you weren't so freaking adorable, I'd probably throw you against the wall right now."
"Meow."
"You have a one-track mind, you know that?" Jay asked miserably, rolling over and making the kitten roll off onto the mattress with an insulted mew, swearing loudly when he saw the alarm clock beside his bed, which only worked on days it felt like working, had chosen to take this day off. 1:48 p.m. stood out in bold, defiant red, sending him scrambling to check the answering machine.
"You have three messages," came the stilted mechanical voice. Trying to sort through a pile of clothes on a chair he hoped were clean, he hit the machine with the free hand. "First message: nine-o-three-am: 'Hi, Jay, it's Mom. I just wanted to check on you. Give me a call when you get this, okay? Love ya. Bye.'"
Jay erased the message. He loved his mother dearly, but he wondered if she was on a quest to drive him insane by calling him every hour on the hour. Finding a suitable shirt, he sniffed it, shrugged, and tossed it over on the bed, almost burying Ash in doing so. The kitten meowed again and dove off the bed with the fearlessness only kittens and small children can accomplish, jogging over to Jay's side and rubbing at his ankles.
"Go 'way," he mumbled, now on the hunt for a decent pair of jeans.
"Second message: ten-twenty-four-am: 'Jay, pick up. I know you're there. You haven't gotten laid in weeks and I don't think it magically changed overnight.' Pause. 'Jason, c'mon, man. I'm serious.' Another pause, then a frustrated sigh. 'Fine. Look, it's almost ten-thirty and we've got practice at eleven, a meeting at eleven-thirty, and a show at noon. Get your lazy ass out of bed and down here already, wouldja?'"
Not taking kindly to being ignored, the kitten nipped at Jay's ankle, meowing in its shrill voice when he finally looked down.
"What?"
"Meow!"
"Alright, alright, you win, but don't think the intimidation thing's gonna work every time," Jay grumbled, tossing a pair of black jeans on top of the shirt and then walking into the closet that his landlord claimed was a kitchen. After giving Ash more food and fresh water, he went back to the machine and erased the second message. Too late for that anyway.
"Third message: eleven-forty-one-am: 'You lucky son of a bitch. The show got cancelled. Bill almost blew a gasket that you weren't there, though, so I thought I'd give you a heads up that you're gonna get severely chewed out next time he sees you. And hey, if you're still alive and it's not too much to ask, gimme a call later, huh? Bye.'"
Jay erased the message and then stared at his clothes. Oh, the decisions in life. With that day's wrestling show cancelled and his work schedule being he didn't have to go in until four, that left a little time that could be spent catching up on valuable sleep. Or maybe, he realized as he looked around, he could work on cleaning his apartment up to actually *look* like an apartment rather than one oversized clothes hamper.
With a yawn, he trudged barefoot back to bed and threw his clothes off into the floor, falling onto the mattress to a chorus of protesting springs. Ash joined him as soon as he noticed his favorite pillow was settling down again, purring contentedly when Jay let him lie down against the crook of his elbow and covered him with the sheet. Life wasn't too bad, at least from his point of view. He had a nice human under his paw who tried to pretend like he didn't like him, room to run, lots of nice posters to shred whenever he got bored . . . he didn't understand why Jay spent most of his time at home asleep or looking as sad as Ash presumed a human could look.
But really, what was important was that Jay didn't roll over and squish him in his sleep.
******
Despite the overwhelmingly rich student body at Oakley, there were very few who could claim they stood to inherit a fortune before they were old enough to drive.
Adam Copeland was the only one in that elite group who could care less.
As cliche as it sounded, he honestly didn't care about the money or how popular he was in school or how many girls fawned over him. The personalized, carefully detailed Jaguar in the parking lot with his initials on the license plate meant nothing substantial to him. As far as he was concerned, the unlimited gold card in his wallet was good only for paying for library books he'd thoughtlessly kept past their due dates. The fact he knew he would some day be forced into taking over his father's position of power and wealth did little to discourage him from trying to make his own path. Of course, he knew as long as the connection between he and his father was kept all attempts at a normal life would be in vain, but even that couldn't stop him from trying to prove to anyone who paid enough attention that he was more than a walking dollar sign.
That, however, was hard to do when no one saw past his last name and the fortune attached to it.
The short story contest wins, the passionate performances in school plays, none of it meant anything in the end. His heart was in his hobbies, odd they may have seemed to his cultured schoolmates, and no amount of pressure on anyone's part could keep him from following them. Not that he actually associated with any of his schoolmates outside of class, naturally. He could only take listening to them brag about their family's personal jet or vacation home in some exotic locale so long. It never failed to make him feel out of place with his extensive comic book collection and the electric guitar tucked away in his closet. After all, Superman may have been able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, but he couldn't hold his ground against a spoiled teenager's rambling about his trust fund.
So Adam kept his thoughts and beliefs inside, choosing to let everyone else think he was just as shallow as they were. Life was easier that way, fewer rumors came back around to his father, and that was always a good thing.
A rebel spirit could never be squashed, though. That much was evident by how he spent most of the nicer afternoons skipping classes and sitting outside on one of the picnic tables. Being a private school and not operating by standard procedure, the staff found it none of their concern if a student cut classes as long as the tuition was paid. While he tried his best in the classes he did choose to attend, Adam took full advantage of that attitude, if for no other reason than to screw his father over a little more each day.
This happened to be one of those days, as he'd been sitting Indian-style on the top of a table for the past couple hours, a notebook open in his lap. He was humming to himself, using the end of his pen to drum a steady beat on the notebook, trying to find just the right bass line to go along with it all.
"When I gave that assignment earlier, Adam, I was thinking more along the lines of Mozart, not Metallica."
Adam looked up, startled to see his Music Theory teacher standing over him, casting a shadow over his paper. To his credit, Mr. Deaton -- though he preferred to be called Kyle by his students -- was one of the few teachers in the school Adam could tolerate, if only because he didn't even want to teach there at all. With the public school system not in need of someone else to clutter the music program with, he was forced to move to private teaching, something that disappointed him and came out in every class when he'd insult the intelligence of those there based solely on their family's income. All, of course, except Adam, because as much as he liked ragging on him, Kyle was still fond of him.
"I'm bringing Mozart to a whole new generation," Adam explained, looking back to his paper. Kyle snorted and sat down uninvited on the table.
"Whatever. Mozart was good, but I don't think he was too familiar with Les Paul." He fell silent, pockets rustling until he pulled a pack of cigarettes from inside his jacket. "You smoke?"
"No." Adam looked up, eyes gaining a somewhat mischievous light. "Isn't it illegal to offer cigarettes to a minor?"
Kyle nodded, putting it to his lips and lighting it in one quick movement. "Yeah. It's also illegal to smoke on school grounds, but what're they gonna do? Fire me? I don't wanna work here anyway."
Adam chuckled quietly. "Good point."
"Like I ever make a bad one?"
"Mozart wasn't that good."
"Better than James Hetfield."
Such was the problem in arguing with an embittered twenty-something music teacher -- you would lose every single time. Rather than continue, Adam went back to drumming a beat on his notebook. "It's not for your class, actually. It's just something I've been working on for a while." A thin line formed in his brow. "It just isn't cooperating."
Kyle looked over Adam's shoulder and then went back to plucking stray hairs off his jeans. "B flat."
"What about it?"
"You need a B flat. Last measure. You've got a B natural. It's throwing the chord off. Do you actually pay attention in my class or are you too busy checking out my ass?"
Adam flushed a dark crimson. Kyle was, he knew, the only teacher that knew of his tendency to go from liking a girl to a guy at a moment's notice. Despite Kyle's attempts to reassure him that he really didn't care, it still made Adam uneasy whenever it was brought up, even in jest.
But, fortunately, he was in a relatively good mood that day.
"Your ass is about as appealing to me as Roseanne's."
Kyle frowned. "Fuck you." He laughed, pointing to the notebook. "Mind if I take a look?"
Adam shrugged, silently handing the book over for inspection. Kyle read over it, humming along as he went. "Pretty good, kid. The lyrics are a little scary, but overall it looks good."
"Scary how?"
Kyle raised an eyebrow and looked down. 'Blood and tears from unhealed wounds/Drown my voice, my soul away/Screams for help choked by obedience/Pray the Lord my soul to take/'" He stopped, looking up to see Adam staring blankly at him. "Should I call a psychiatrist now or would you rather I wait until you've finished it?"
"I was in a bad mood."
"You're *always* in a bad mood."
"Not always."
Kyle again raised an eyebrow, this time in challenge. "Really. Name a time."
"Last night...for the most part." Adam gave a delirious little grin. "I met someone."
Kyle groaned and flicked the ashes from his cigarette. "Well, just make sure he's had his shots."
"What makes you think it's a guy?"
Kyle glanced over at his student, pushing his messy black hair out of his eyes only to have it fall back once more. "I haven't heard about a murder today, and I'm pretty sure half the girls in this school would lynch any other girl they saw talking to you." He paused when the bell rang, hurriedly crushing the cigarette beneath his foot and looking to his watch. "Hey! That's the last bell! Now I get to go home and grade papers from a bunch of spoiled brats who couldn't tell a quarter note from a hole in their head. Imagine my enthusiasm."
Adam laughed, waving goodbye to his teacher and debating whether he really wanted to go home or not. His father's flight wasn't scheduled to return until tomorrow morning, giving him no good reason to avoid his house for now. All the same, he chose to remain in his spot and enjoy the peace.
The sun was beginning to set when he finally picked up his books and headed into the parking lot, willing himself to turn back around with every step forward he took. The Jaguar had been a farce of a gift for his sixteenth birthday, seen by others as an act of deep compassion. He knew his father better than anyone and, as a result, knew David Copeland had never made a compassionate gesture in the past seventeen years, and probably not in his life. Everything he did had an alterior motive; the car was given not because of any real desire to be generous but just to show he had the money to do such a thing. It was that knowledge that made him throw his books in the backseat and fish his keys from his pocket, then run them across the side door, a satisfying scraping noise accompanying the ugly line made in the paint. It was a small move of defiance, but one enough to make Adam smile to himself.
The next several hours were spent driving aimlessly, taking a disinterested tour of downtown Toronto. All of the joy the city might have otherwise held for him was gone thanks to having spent most of his formative years in the most expensive stores it offered to buy clothes he hated every time his father was bringing business partners home. At least now he was old enough to either drive away or just lock himself in his room whenever David insisted on introducing him to people he couldn't care less about.
It had not, however, been in his plans to go to the Super Stop-n-Shop again. Maybe it was an effort on the part of his subconscience, telling him to "accidentally" run into Jay again. Now he just needed an excuse to go inside other than to gleefully announce he was a stalker in training.
He opened the door, wondering for a moment if he was truly losing his mind, then stepped out into the pouring rain. Might as well go, he rationalized, trotting into the store amidst a group of teenagers so that he wouldn't be spotted. Once he was safely inside and out of Jay's line of vision, he stood behind a rack of cheap sunglasses and just . . . watched. Undeterred by the curious look he received from the security guard at the door, he watched in awe-inspired silence, laughing under his breath when Jay conveniently dropped a can of soup so that it rolled across the floor and almost tripped Kristin. Though he couldn't hear everything that was said, he knew Jay mentioned something about hoping Kristin didn't fall and mess up some doctor's careful silicon work.
Daring to step a bit closer, Adam crouched in front of the sunglasses rack and at the back of the first line of shopping carts. Jay, Adam decided, looked bored out of his mind. At least the view was nice, though; from his vantage point on the ground, Adam could clearly see Jay was wearing a form-fitting pair of faded blue jeans and a dark blue shirt, the back side left visible despite the green apron he wore. His blond hair was pulled back; shame, too, Adam noted to himself.
That was it. Never mind the fact they didn't really know each other. Adam made up his mind to ask Jay out the next chance he got.
Then it happened -- startled when he thought he heard feet shuffling behind him, Adam struggled against his position to get to his feet, managing only to trip over the leg of the sunglass rack and tip it over on himself. Even if Jay's register *was* the closest one, that still wasn't exactly the way Adam had hoped to get his attention.
Looking up, he saw a pair of surprised but humored eyes looking down at him -- the most unusual blend of green, blue, and gray Adam could recall seeing. He held up the first pair of sunglasses his right hand came across.
"I, uh, wanna buy these."
Jay took the sunglasses and looked them over, then turned his attention back to Adam. "I can't really see you in pink butterfly glasses, man. I think there's a green butterfly pair somewhere."
"No, the pink ones are fine. Really."
God, kill me now, Adam prayed silently, forcing a nervous smile for Jay's and the gathering crowd's benefit. God, please, just take me now. I'll live fast, die young, and leave a good looking corpse. God, I . . .y'know, he's got a really cute grin.
Adam groaned and let his head fall back against the floor.
"Whoa! Easy there, buddy. Don't want you hurting yourself and suing or something just as drastic." Jay reached down and helped Adam to his feet, completely oblivious to how the touch made Adam's stomach sommersault and do a happy little dance. "Move along, folks, just a demonstration from another graceless blonde," Jay announced, shooing the crowd with one hand and trying to steady Adam with the other. "You okay?"
"Yeah. My ego's hurt, but I'll live."
"Too bad. You should've broken a bone or something and sued to put this place outta business."
Adam rolled his eyes as they went back to the register. "Gee, your thoughtfulness is astounding."
Jay only gave that charming grin in response. Adam was sorely tempted to reach over and slap it off his face, just to keep himself from smiling like a lovesick idiot.
"You're in luck!" Jay exclaimed happily, holding the sunglasses up. "They're on clearance! Three-fifty."
Ask now! Adam's mind shouted at him. Just ask and get it over with! He fought with his mind and every last ounce of his common sense as he pulled his wallet from his pocket, but all hope of rational thought was lost when he looked back and was given his first chance to take a good look at Jay's face. Adam knew Jay wasn't breath-takingly handsome, but there was an innocence, a youthful charm about him that just made him that much cuter. The traces of stubble on his chin seemed to be a decoy to keep the casual observer from looking at his eyes and seeing a boy's reflection in their depths.
Any courage Adam may have gained dried up in his throat and ran screaming.
"So is there any reason why you're buying sunglasses at almost midnight?" Jay asked, knocking Adam from his inner turmoil.
"Nah, not really. Just remembered I needed a new pair."
Jay arched an eyebrow, taking the money handed to him and opening the cash drawer. "You know what, Adam? You're full of shit."
"It's what gets me through the day."
Jay sighed. "Yeah, I know how that goes."
"When do you get off work?" Adam asked, mentally kicking himself for the unchecked blurb. Apparently, it surprised Jay as much as it had the speaker, and he stared at the other teen wordlessly for several seconds.
"In about five minutes. Why?"
Think! Think, think, think . . .
"I . . . um, remembered you said last night you usually walk home and it's pouring outside. I thought you might need a ride."
"No," Jay replied more forcefully than he'd meant. Let this richer-than-God Oakley student see the cardboard box he was renting? Huh uh. "I need the exercise."
Adam looked over Jay, thankful for the excuse to do so. "Uh huh. Pull the other one. It plays Jingle Bells."
Jay sighed and leaned on his elbows on the conveyor belt. "Alright, fine. I live in a shack that an illegal immigrant would break down into hysterics at. You really don't wanna see it. Trust me."
"Know what? I could really care less what your house looks like. You'll get sick if you walk home in the rain as cold as it is outside."
"You never quit, do you?" Jay asked, a note of defeat in his voice. Adam shook his head, smiling as he sensed a win. Jay sighed quietly and threw his hands up in the air. "Okay. Whatever. You can gimme a ride. Just . . . if you're really some insane stalker that's gonna end up slitting my throat or something in a dark alley, let me make a phone call to Medusa over there," he jerked his head in Kristin's general direction, "to tell her how much she means to me. Deal?"
"Deal."
"Good. Now move. You're holding up the line."
"Meow."
"Eeeecch, don't lick me! You're not a dog!"
"Meeeeow!"
"No! I just fed you a couple hours ago!"
"MEOW!"
"OW! You bit me! What are you, Cujo-Kitty?"
Jay finally gave in and opened his eyes, not at all surprised to see his beloved but irritating calico kitten, Ash, sitting on his chest and staring expectantly at him, its yellow-green eyes wide and impatient. "You know, if you weren't so freaking adorable, I'd probably throw you against the wall right now."
"Meow."
"You have a one-track mind, you know that?" Jay asked miserably, rolling over and making the kitten roll off onto the mattress with an insulted mew, swearing loudly when he saw the alarm clock beside his bed, which only worked on days it felt like working, had chosen to take this day off. 1:48 p.m. stood out in bold, defiant red, sending him scrambling to check the answering machine.
"You have three messages," came the stilted mechanical voice. Trying to sort through a pile of clothes on a chair he hoped were clean, he hit the machine with the free hand. "First message: nine-o-three-am: 'Hi, Jay, it's Mom. I just wanted to check on you. Give me a call when you get this, okay? Love ya. Bye.'"
Jay erased the message. He loved his mother dearly, but he wondered if she was on a quest to drive him insane by calling him every hour on the hour. Finding a suitable shirt, he sniffed it, shrugged, and tossed it over on the bed, almost burying Ash in doing so. The kitten meowed again and dove off the bed with the fearlessness only kittens and small children can accomplish, jogging over to Jay's side and rubbing at his ankles.
"Go 'way," he mumbled, now on the hunt for a decent pair of jeans.
"Second message: ten-twenty-four-am: 'Jay, pick up. I know you're there. You haven't gotten laid in weeks and I don't think it magically changed overnight.' Pause. 'Jason, c'mon, man. I'm serious.' Another pause, then a frustrated sigh. 'Fine. Look, it's almost ten-thirty and we've got practice at eleven, a meeting at eleven-thirty, and a show at noon. Get your lazy ass out of bed and down here already, wouldja?'"
Not taking kindly to being ignored, the kitten nipped at Jay's ankle, meowing in its shrill voice when he finally looked down.
"What?"
"Meow!"
"Alright, alright, you win, but don't think the intimidation thing's gonna work every time," Jay grumbled, tossing a pair of black jeans on top of the shirt and then walking into the closet that his landlord claimed was a kitchen. After giving Ash more food and fresh water, he went back to the machine and erased the second message. Too late for that anyway.
"Third message: eleven-forty-one-am: 'You lucky son of a bitch. The show got cancelled. Bill almost blew a gasket that you weren't there, though, so I thought I'd give you a heads up that you're gonna get severely chewed out next time he sees you. And hey, if you're still alive and it's not too much to ask, gimme a call later, huh? Bye.'"
Jay erased the message and then stared at his clothes. Oh, the decisions in life. With that day's wrestling show cancelled and his work schedule being he didn't have to go in until four, that left a little time that could be spent catching up on valuable sleep. Or maybe, he realized as he looked around, he could work on cleaning his apartment up to actually *look* like an apartment rather than one oversized clothes hamper.
With a yawn, he trudged barefoot back to bed and threw his clothes off into the floor, falling onto the mattress to a chorus of protesting springs. Ash joined him as soon as he noticed his favorite pillow was settling down again, purring contentedly when Jay let him lie down against the crook of his elbow and covered him with the sheet. Life wasn't too bad, at least from his point of view. He had a nice human under his paw who tried to pretend like he didn't like him, room to run, lots of nice posters to shred whenever he got bored . . . he didn't understand why Jay spent most of his time at home asleep or looking as sad as Ash presumed a human could look.
But really, what was important was that Jay didn't roll over and squish him in his sleep.
******
Despite the overwhelmingly rich student body at Oakley, there were very few who could claim they stood to inherit a fortune before they were old enough to drive.
Adam Copeland was the only one in that elite group who could care less.
As cliche as it sounded, he honestly didn't care about the money or how popular he was in school or how many girls fawned over him. The personalized, carefully detailed Jaguar in the parking lot with his initials on the license plate meant nothing substantial to him. As far as he was concerned, the unlimited gold card in his wallet was good only for paying for library books he'd thoughtlessly kept past their due dates. The fact he knew he would some day be forced into taking over his father's position of power and wealth did little to discourage him from trying to make his own path. Of course, he knew as long as the connection between he and his father was kept all attempts at a normal life would be in vain, but even that couldn't stop him from trying to prove to anyone who paid enough attention that he was more than a walking dollar sign.
That, however, was hard to do when no one saw past his last name and the fortune attached to it.
The short story contest wins, the passionate performances in school plays, none of it meant anything in the end. His heart was in his hobbies, odd they may have seemed to his cultured schoolmates, and no amount of pressure on anyone's part could keep him from following them. Not that he actually associated with any of his schoolmates outside of class, naturally. He could only take listening to them brag about their family's personal jet or vacation home in some exotic locale so long. It never failed to make him feel out of place with his extensive comic book collection and the electric guitar tucked away in his closet. After all, Superman may have been able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, but he couldn't hold his ground against a spoiled teenager's rambling about his trust fund.
So Adam kept his thoughts and beliefs inside, choosing to let everyone else think he was just as shallow as they were. Life was easier that way, fewer rumors came back around to his father, and that was always a good thing.
A rebel spirit could never be squashed, though. That much was evident by how he spent most of the nicer afternoons skipping classes and sitting outside on one of the picnic tables. Being a private school and not operating by standard procedure, the staff found it none of their concern if a student cut classes as long as the tuition was paid. While he tried his best in the classes he did choose to attend, Adam took full advantage of that attitude, if for no other reason than to screw his father over a little more each day.
This happened to be one of those days, as he'd been sitting Indian-style on the top of a table for the past couple hours, a notebook open in his lap. He was humming to himself, using the end of his pen to drum a steady beat on the notebook, trying to find just the right bass line to go along with it all.
"When I gave that assignment earlier, Adam, I was thinking more along the lines of Mozart, not Metallica."
Adam looked up, startled to see his Music Theory teacher standing over him, casting a shadow over his paper. To his credit, Mr. Deaton -- though he preferred to be called Kyle by his students -- was one of the few teachers in the school Adam could tolerate, if only because he didn't even want to teach there at all. With the public school system not in need of someone else to clutter the music program with, he was forced to move to private teaching, something that disappointed him and came out in every class when he'd insult the intelligence of those there based solely on their family's income. All, of course, except Adam, because as much as he liked ragging on him, Kyle was still fond of him.
"I'm bringing Mozart to a whole new generation," Adam explained, looking back to his paper. Kyle snorted and sat down uninvited on the table.
"Whatever. Mozart was good, but I don't think he was too familiar with Les Paul." He fell silent, pockets rustling until he pulled a pack of cigarettes from inside his jacket. "You smoke?"
"No." Adam looked up, eyes gaining a somewhat mischievous light. "Isn't it illegal to offer cigarettes to a minor?"
Kyle nodded, putting it to his lips and lighting it in one quick movement. "Yeah. It's also illegal to smoke on school grounds, but what're they gonna do? Fire me? I don't wanna work here anyway."
Adam chuckled quietly. "Good point."
"Like I ever make a bad one?"
"Mozart wasn't that good."
"Better than James Hetfield."
Such was the problem in arguing with an embittered twenty-something music teacher -- you would lose every single time. Rather than continue, Adam went back to drumming a beat on his notebook. "It's not for your class, actually. It's just something I've been working on for a while." A thin line formed in his brow. "It just isn't cooperating."
Kyle looked over Adam's shoulder and then went back to plucking stray hairs off his jeans. "B flat."
"What about it?"
"You need a B flat. Last measure. You've got a B natural. It's throwing the chord off. Do you actually pay attention in my class or are you too busy checking out my ass?"
Adam flushed a dark crimson. Kyle was, he knew, the only teacher that knew of his tendency to go from liking a girl to a guy at a moment's notice. Despite Kyle's attempts to reassure him that he really didn't care, it still made Adam uneasy whenever it was brought up, even in jest.
But, fortunately, he was in a relatively good mood that day.
"Your ass is about as appealing to me as Roseanne's."
Kyle frowned. "Fuck you." He laughed, pointing to the notebook. "Mind if I take a look?"
Adam shrugged, silently handing the book over for inspection. Kyle read over it, humming along as he went. "Pretty good, kid. The lyrics are a little scary, but overall it looks good."
"Scary how?"
Kyle raised an eyebrow and looked down. 'Blood and tears from unhealed wounds/Drown my voice, my soul away/Screams for help choked by obedience/Pray the Lord my soul to take/'" He stopped, looking up to see Adam staring blankly at him. "Should I call a psychiatrist now or would you rather I wait until you've finished it?"
"I was in a bad mood."
"You're *always* in a bad mood."
"Not always."
Kyle again raised an eyebrow, this time in challenge. "Really. Name a time."
"Last night...for the most part." Adam gave a delirious little grin. "I met someone."
Kyle groaned and flicked the ashes from his cigarette. "Well, just make sure he's had his shots."
"What makes you think it's a guy?"
Kyle glanced over at his student, pushing his messy black hair out of his eyes only to have it fall back once more. "I haven't heard about a murder today, and I'm pretty sure half the girls in this school would lynch any other girl they saw talking to you." He paused when the bell rang, hurriedly crushing the cigarette beneath his foot and looking to his watch. "Hey! That's the last bell! Now I get to go home and grade papers from a bunch of spoiled brats who couldn't tell a quarter note from a hole in their head. Imagine my enthusiasm."
Adam laughed, waving goodbye to his teacher and debating whether he really wanted to go home or not. His father's flight wasn't scheduled to return until tomorrow morning, giving him no good reason to avoid his house for now. All the same, he chose to remain in his spot and enjoy the peace.
The sun was beginning to set when he finally picked up his books and headed into the parking lot, willing himself to turn back around with every step forward he took. The Jaguar had been a farce of a gift for his sixteenth birthday, seen by others as an act of deep compassion. He knew his father better than anyone and, as a result, knew David Copeland had never made a compassionate gesture in the past seventeen years, and probably not in his life. Everything he did had an alterior motive; the car was given not because of any real desire to be generous but just to show he had the money to do such a thing. It was that knowledge that made him throw his books in the backseat and fish his keys from his pocket, then run them across the side door, a satisfying scraping noise accompanying the ugly line made in the paint. It was a small move of defiance, but one enough to make Adam smile to himself.
The next several hours were spent driving aimlessly, taking a disinterested tour of downtown Toronto. All of the joy the city might have otherwise held for him was gone thanks to having spent most of his formative years in the most expensive stores it offered to buy clothes he hated every time his father was bringing business partners home. At least now he was old enough to either drive away or just lock himself in his room whenever David insisted on introducing him to people he couldn't care less about.
It had not, however, been in his plans to go to the Super Stop-n-Shop again. Maybe it was an effort on the part of his subconscience, telling him to "accidentally" run into Jay again. Now he just needed an excuse to go inside other than to gleefully announce he was a stalker in training.
He opened the door, wondering for a moment if he was truly losing his mind, then stepped out into the pouring rain. Might as well go, he rationalized, trotting into the store amidst a group of teenagers so that he wouldn't be spotted. Once he was safely inside and out of Jay's line of vision, he stood behind a rack of cheap sunglasses and just . . . watched. Undeterred by the curious look he received from the security guard at the door, he watched in awe-inspired silence, laughing under his breath when Jay conveniently dropped a can of soup so that it rolled across the floor and almost tripped Kristin. Though he couldn't hear everything that was said, he knew Jay mentioned something about hoping Kristin didn't fall and mess up some doctor's careful silicon work.
Daring to step a bit closer, Adam crouched in front of the sunglasses rack and at the back of the first line of shopping carts. Jay, Adam decided, looked bored out of his mind. At least the view was nice, though; from his vantage point on the ground, Adam could clearly see Jay was wearing a form-fitting pair of faded blue jeans and a dark blue shirt, the back side left visible despite the green apron he wore. His blond hair was pulled back; shame, too, Adam noted to himself.
That was it. Never mind the fact they didn't really know each other. Adam made up his mind to ask Jay out the next chance he got.
Then it happened -- startled when he thought he heard feet shuffling behind him, Adam struggled against his position to get to his feet, managing only to trip over the leg of the sunglass rack and tip it over on himself. Even if Jay's register *was* the closest one, that still wasn't exactly the way Adam had hoped to get his attention.
Looking up, he saw a pair of surprised but humored eyes looking down at him -- the most unusual blend of green, blue, and gray Adam could recall seeing. He held up the first pair of sunglasses his right hand came across.
"I, uh, wanna buy these."
Jay took the sunglasses and looked them over, then turned his attention back to Adam. "I can't really see you in pink butterfly glasses, man. I think there's a green butterfly pair somewhere."
"No, the pink ones are fine. Really."
God, kill me now, Adam prayed silently, forcing a nervous smile for Jay's and the gathering crowd's benefit. God, please, just take me now. I'll live fast, die young, and leave a good looking corpse. God, I . . .y'know, he's got a really cute grin.
Adam groaned and let his head fall back against the floor.
"Whoa! Easy there, buddy. Don't want you hurting yourself and suing or something just as drastic." Jay reached down and helped Adam to his feet, completely oblivious to how the touch made Adam's stomach sommersault and do a happy little dance. "Move along, folks, just a demonstration from another graceless blonde," Jay announced, shooing the crowd with one hand and trying to steady Adam with the other. "You okay?"
"Yeah. My ego's hurt, but I'll live."
"Too bad. You should've broken a bone or something and sued to put this place outta business."
Adam rolled his eyes as they went back to the register. "Gee, your thoughtfulness is astounding."
Jay only gave that charming grin in response. Adam was sorely tempted to reach over and slap it off his face, just to keep himself from smiling like a lovesick idiot.
"You're in luck!" Jay exclaimed happily, holding the sunglasses up. "They're on clearance! Three-fifty."
Ask now! Adam's mind shouted at him. Just ask and get it over with! He fought with his mind and every last ounce of his common sense as he pulled his wallet from his pocket, but all hope of rational thought was lost when he looked back and was given his first chance to take a good look at Jay's face. Adam knew Jay wasn't breath-takingly handsome, but there was an innocence, a youthful charm about him that just made him that much cuter. The traces of stubble on his chin seemed to be a decoy to keep the casual observer from looking at his eyes and seeing a boy's reflection in their depths.
Any courage Adam may have gained dried up in his throat and ran screaming.
"So is there any reason why you're buying sunglasses at almost midnight?" Jay asked, knocking Adam from his inner turmoil.
"Nah, not really. Just remembered I needed a new pair."
Jay arched an eyebrow, taking the money handed to him and opening the cash drawer. "You know what, Adam? You're full of shit."
"It's what gets me through the day."
Jay sighed. "Yeah, I know how that goes."
"When do you get off work?" Adam asked, mentally kicking himself for the unchecked blurb. Apparently, it surprised Jay as much as it had the speaker, and he stared at the other teen wordlessly for several seconds.
"In about five minutes. Why?"
Think! Think, think, think . . .
"I . . . um, remembered you said last night you usually walk home and it's pouring outside. I thought you might need a ride."
"No," Jay replied more forcefully than he'd meant. Let this richer-than-God Oakley student see the cardboard box he was renting? Huh uh. "I need the exercise."
Adam looked over Jay, thankful for the excuse to do so. "Uh huh. Pull the other one. It plays Jingle Bells."
Jay sighed and leaned on his elbows on the conveyor belt. "Alright, fine. I live in a shack that an illegal immigrant would break down into hysterics at. You really don't wanna see it. Trust me."
"Know what? I could really care less what your house looks like. You'll get sick if you walk home in the rain as cold as it is outside."
"You never quit, do you?" Jay asked, a note of defeat in his voice. Adam shook his head, smiling as he sensed a win. Jay sighed quietly and threw his hands up in the air. "Okay. Whatever. You can gimme a ride. Just . . . if you're really some insane stalker that's gonna end up slitting my throat or something in a dark alley, let me make a phone call to Medusa over there," he jerked his head in Kristin's general direction, "to tell her how much she means to me. Deal?"
"Deal."
"Good. Now move. You're holding up the line."