THE LOOK OF LOVE

By starcompass [aircompass@hotmail.com]

On the sturdy wooden desk sat a silver laptop with an unfinished document gracing the screen. Beside it lay a black permanent marker, a roll of masking tape, a large sheet of stiff pale blue paper, a paintbrush and some silver paint. It looked to be a project of some sort, something that was waiting to be done, but had yet to be started. Somewhere on the floor sat a trunk, a medium sized box and a small portable stereo, churning out "Satellite" by the Dave Matthews Band. On the other side of the room, a blue cap was perched on a wooden bedpost, a pair of dirty socks hung askew and half-off the bed, and a slight figure lay in a blissfully oblivious state of sleep.

The small form was in a semi-fetal position, still fully dressed in baggy jeans and a plaid long-sleeved flannel shirt thrown over a navy blue t-shirt. The pale, narrow feet were tucked in, as if the owner had been trying to keep them warm. In the dim moonlight, one would be surprised to notice that each toenail had been painted a powder blue shade, which was in extreme contrast to the owner's loose clothing and shorn hair.

The slumbering face was a similar story. The short, piece-y haircut caused the sleeper's face to jut out in sharp male angles, but the smooth, less than hairy skin and curving structure left room to change your mind. Which was a plausible doubt, because the slight figure sleeping on the bed was a Jacqueline Pratt. Otherwise known in the area as "Jake".

Her face was tear-streaked, and she had evidently exhausted herself crying into the clothes she was supposedly packing. Stirring slightly, Jake opened her eyes and cringed when she realized she'd left her bra and corset on. Grunting softly, she pulled off the shirts and undid the corset, thankful she had worn a sports bra the day before.

Her eyes turned to the fiercely blinking neon green clock on the dresser. 5:30 AM. Jake figured it was around that time, it was still pretty dark out. Exhaling loudly, she took up a towel, toiletries and clothes to change into and decided to take a bath. She would have laughed out loud. 5:30 was such a weird time to take a bath.

Jake locked the trunk securely and pushed it against the wall beside the box she had just sealed. She fell back on the bed drained from the 2 and a half hours she'd spent packing up her things. It was now 8:15 in the morning and she had about an hour or so to kill before going to English, with Finn, who had grown a heart and cancelled crew practice.

She leaned her head against headboard and sat in an upright position. Her fingers came up to rub the bridge of her nose, and she exhaled loudly.

Not even she could remember what it was that possessed her to purchase a corset, a couple hundred dollars worth of men's clothes and an application to Rawley Boys Academy. It had to be the most twisted, idiotic idea anyone had ever come up with to grab attention. Not that it was entirely original --- but it took a completely frustrated, demented person to pull it off.

Besides Jake felt that she wasn't really cut out to get pregnant or do drugs. She wasn't really at a point where she felt the need to turn to sex, drugs or booze. Really, her mother was an actress but the whole OD-ing scene had never appealed to Jake. It was so…River Phoenix.

Not that her mother would ever notice.

Three weeks into the summer session and Jake realized that Monica probably didn't bother to read her letters, and was surprised to note that that fact wasn't what was bothering her. Perhaps she'd learnt her lessons years ago. Maybe somewhere in the recesses of her heart she'd accepted that she couldn't push her luck. Monica probably didn't realize how things were and Jake found herself tired of constantly forcing her mother's eyes to turn in her direction. She thought it was about time to let fate take on its role.

What actually bothered her was the whole deal with her gender. The idea had sounded absurd to her, and yet, there was something oddly fascinating about it. She had thought of it just as Joseph Fiennes unraveled Gwyneth Paltrow's womanly assets in Shakespeare in Love. And she had pulled through with the whole plan the first two days of class.

And then Hamilton Fleming came along. The moment he'd nudged her saying she had a cool bike, Jake found herself searching her mind for something droll to say. She found that lying wasn't as easy as she'd though, especially since a pair of the most lucid blue eyes she'd ever been witness to were staring at her intently. Who could even think coherent thoughts when that face watched your own in all of its mind-numbing pulchritude?

It just couldn't be done.

So she exposed herself to his charm in the guise of a boy, hoping against hope that the attraction she'd begun to feel at the pit of her stomach would fade. But she had never been very lucky and instead ended up liking him even more. They hung out together a lot, and she ended up kissing him very briefly on the rooftop of the dorms.

There was something people had to understand about Jake. She had been unable to control herself mainly because Hamilton was adorable, and because they were on a rooftop. Rooftops had always been, in her opinion, heaven on a bunch of buildings.

Jake had grown up believing rooftops were these magical portals to paradise, because there was nothing between her body and the sky. As a child, her most vivid memories of happiness revolved around rooftops.

She could remember spending nights on rooftops with her father. He'd died when she was just 6 years old, and Jake couldn't recall any truly familial moment she'd had since he died. Her mother had dropped her basket, and refused to pick it back up because it was too heavy. When her father had been alive, her parents often spent their time with her. Jake remembered late night twirling sessions, her parents waltzing to unheard songs. She remembered bedtime stories, with all the different voices, as she drifted off to sleep. She remembered warm hands and comfort in her parents' arms. But when her father passed away, it was as if her mother had forgotten all about her in her grief.

But the memory of those nights on the rooftops stayed with Jake. She firmly believed that everything was possible and beautiful on a rooftop. As if suddenly, she would be able to leave the world a little while and just float among the population. It seemed to her, the only truly beautiful thing that had a grain of truth in it.

So she kissed him. And as much as she thought she ought to regret it, she didn't. Because for the briefest of moments, she'd felt his mouth relax and herself let go. Then he'd remembered who he was kissing and they broke the contact. She couldn't keep the smile of her face, but she bolted from the rooftop. There were too many romantic elements there for her to keep her composure.

And their friendship, after a couple of weird moments, remained stable. Jake had been all set to reveal her true gender, but chickened out when he'd walked away from her. She'd run into the men's bathroom and muffled her sobs in the white dinner jacket she'd been wearing, only coming out when some announcements were being made and no one was looking towards the doors.

But three months pretending to boy and hanging out with the one guy you wanted to kiss did twisted things to an adolescent girl. Especially with one as confused as Jake was. She blew some wisps of hair away from her forehead and closed her eyes. Maybe she had time for a nap.

Hamilton Fleming gently nudged his friend awake.

"Jake!" He hissed at the sleeping boy. "Wake up! We have Finn in half an hour, and you still have to finish and print your essay." Jake Pratt muttered a few, choice, garbled words before turning away. Hamilton shook the frail shoulders hard.

Jake's slight body almost bounced off the bed before the green eyes opened and a groan escaped his lips.

"Hamilton." Jake croaked. "What's the big idea?"

"You, my friend, have exactly half an hour to finish your last paper for Finn's summer session, print it and seal those boxes by the door as I sit on your bed and amuse myself by watching you plow your way through your work."

Jake merely rolled his eyes and grunted in response before standing to face the computer. The boy muttered several curses and something about shoving Hamilton out the window. Hamilton chuckled and settled himself comfortably on Jake's bed, absently flipping through the required reading (Edith Hamilton's "Mythology"). Casually he glanced up and watched as his friend typed furiously on the silver laptop. Hamilton shook his head slightly.

He had never before encountered such a person, both physically and --- psychologically? Hamilton himself couldn't find the words. Occasionally, he would find himself telling Jake things he had never ever thought of telling anybody. Something about the new kid caught Hamilton --- a certain pull of friendship maybe?

He'd never had such a friend before.

He'd never trusted anyone with so much of himself either. Jake simply took all of the information in and kept quiet. He'd divulged secrets about his photography, his problems with his parents, his frustration with himself. Jake never seemed to find him odd, but smiled enigmatically while nodding his head in encouragement. It was almost like talking to a shrink, only more fun. And Hamilton was glad to have that.

The friendship worked so well, sometimes Hamilton was afraid of losing all that. So he was careful to give his friend the same amount of consideration he'd been given. And that was really not a problem for him anyway. He was glad to hear what Jake had to say. Oftentimes, he asked for Jake's opinions or advice because he knew Jake would understand his perspective of things, yet give him a different way of looking at them.

Of course, he hadn't applied this approach to their shared kiss on the rooftop. It freaked him out in any number of ways mainly for two reasons. One, he'd never thought of Jake, much less himself in THAT way. The second was that he actually enjoyed it.

He cringed and sneaked a peek at the frantic tousled boy tapping away on the keyboard of the computer.

Sometimes, he didn't know WHAT to think. But Jake had apologized and explained (well, in a roundabout sort of way) that he'd merely slipped. It was, Jake said, hormones, lack of estrogen in the environment and plain stupidity. In other words, it was nothing. Hamilton had gratefully accepted the explanation but…

But there was a twitch Hamilton just couldn't shake. Sometimes he lay in bed at night, staring blankly at the ceiling, trying to sort things out logically. And he always ended up with the kiss. Hamilton shuddered and buried his face into Jake's blankets.

And sniffed. They smelled good. Kinda like Jake.

ARRRGH. And there he goes again, Hamilton thought, mentally smacking himself. There was something magnetic about him that Hamilton couldn't put his finger on. For the trillionth time, he turned the facts over in his head.

There was that smell. It was a clean soap and water smell with a faint sweetness he couldn't place. It just seemed…not right, on a teenage boy. And yet, the smell belonged to Jake. As did the startlingly green eyes that always seemed to be so sad --- and somewhat confused. Then there was the slight frame, and soft hairless skin.

When he thought of the kiss, he went beyond, and often found himself imagining what it would be like to kiss Jake again.

Jake was a very pretty boy, and as sick as Hamilton thought it was of him to do ---he once found himself imagining Jake to be a girl. And this further frustrated him.

Jake made a very pretty girl.

"Wake up dude, I'm done with 10 minutes to spare!" Jake said, shaking Hamilton awake, her voice ringing in the room triumphantly. He merely wrinkled his nose and turned over. Jake's heart began pounding loudly in her ears as she leaned over to touch him again. She felt her cheeks warm up when she took in the sight before her.

Hamilton's eyes were buttoned up so tightly that his eyelashes brushed against the perpetually blushing cheeks. He wore a somewhat troubled expression look on his face, and his dark hair stuck out every which way.

He looked just like this little boy with a booboo. She smiled at him and pushed some hair off his forehead before realizing what she'd just done. Jake hastily drew her hand away from his forehead and continued to shake him violently awake.

The bleary blue eyes opened slowly and Hamilton shook himself away.

"What's the deal?" He muttered. Jake laughed and waved her paper in front of his face. Hamilton wrinkled his nose. "What is THAT supposed to be?"

"My paper, Grouchy. Whoops…" Jake said, comically twisting her face into a horrified expression. "Did I say GROUCHY? I MEANT Munchie, Munchie." Hamilton shook his head and hastily stood up.

"I could kick your ass so hard, your children will have my foot as a birthmark."

"Awww, was that a threat Hammie?"

"SHUT UP, Jake."

"Not even in your dreams, Fleming. I know you dream about me!" Jake taunted, and slid out the dorm room door. Outside, she leaned her head against the wall. In his dreams? Ha! NOT EVEN IN HERS. She sighed. What WASN'T wrong with this picture.

But Jake hadn't seen Hamilton's face grimace and his back stiffen when she'd left him. Left standing in the middle of Jake's dorm, Hamilton shook his head.

Jerry Springer would LOVE this. Sighing, he turned to leave the room.