(02) It Begins . . .

"Great is the art of beginning, but greater is the art of ending." —Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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My beloved Jack,

Our time apart has been nothing but agony! It is rather difficult to say whether time has lessened the pain or emphasized it. I find that I am unable to take pleasure in even the simplest of joys, as I once used to. As I walk home after school, it is thoughts of you that fill my mind. When I read a book, it is to imagine that you are sitting there with me. And even when I sleep, dreams of you embrace my consciousness.

I miss you so much.

With no more words to pass between us at this moment, I pass to you my very emotions . . . the strongest of which is love.

I love you,

Your Ralph

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Ralph MacPherson intently scrutinized his work, wrinkling his nose in revulsion. His now-completed letter to Jack sounded so . . . corny! He would be surprised if he found out that Jack didn't tear it up upon sight. Sighing, he read it again, but he soon realized that he would not be able to change it and still manage to record what he was truly feelings. The teen pulled out an envelope and hastily scrawled Jack's address onto it. Then he quickly stuck a stamp on its corner before heading downstairs.

'Mum?' he called uncertainly, unsure if she was home or not.

'Yes, dear?' she replied from the living room.

'I'll be back in a minute. I'm just going to drop something off.' Ralph made his way to the front door and slipped on his shoes. Not a moment later, his mother emerged, holding a feather duster in her hand.

'You aren't going to send another letter to Jack, are you?' Mrs. MacPherson asked, waving the duster around.

'Yes, I am,' he admitted.

'Well, I'm not going to stop you . . .'

'Okay, good,' the youth said hurriedly, reaching for the doorknob.

'But—'

Ralph groaned. There was always a "but".

'—I don't think that you should let him control your life like this,' she finished.

'I'm not letting him control my life,' Ralph retorted. 'I'm doing this because I want to.'

'But isn't it a bit . . . much?'

The teen sighed.

'Can we talk about this later, mum? I have a letter to send.' He swung the door open and was already halfway out of it when—

'Get back in here this instant, young man!' his mother scolded.

Ralph whirled around.

'Close the door and go sit in the living room,' she said with narrowed eyes.

Recognizing her look as one of intense seriousness, Ralph did so without complaint.

'Now . . .' Mrs. MacPherson began, sitting beside him on the sofa. 'This isn't just about Jack, Ralph. I adore him. It's just . . . you've been acting strangely lately. You're moping all the time, and only leave that room of yours unless absolutely necessary. I receive almost daily calls from your teachers, saying that you haven't been completing your assignments. For goodness' sake, Ralph, you haven't even had a decent meal for weeks!'

'And your point is . . .?'

'You see! That's exactly what I'm talking about!' she screamed. 'You never used to talk back to me! We didn't bring you up to be rude!'

Feeling guilty in spite of himself, Ralph hung his head.

His mother sighed and placed a comforting arm around his shoulders.

'I'm sorry for yelling, Ralph. I'm just worried about you. You've never acted like this before.'

"I've never been in love before," he replied inwardly.

'I'm sorry, mum,' he apologized. 'What can I do to make it up to you?'

'Well, I'm not going to stop you from communicating with Jack,' Mrs. MacPherson responded. 'He's a nice boy, and if talking with him makes you happy, then I think that you should continue to do so.' She paused, then, 'What you can do, however, is put more effort into your studies . . .'

'Okay.'

'And start eating healthier . . .'

'Uh-huh.'

'And clean up that room of yours! It looks like a bomb hit it.'

Ralph grinned.

'Done. Anything else?'

'Just one . . . Can you please try to make friends? I know that this move has been harder on you than the others, but I at least want you to try to make a life for yourself here.'

'What would it matter? We'll only move again,' Ralph said bitterly.

His mother sighed, knowing it to be true.

'I'll tell you what, I'll make a promise to you,' she said. 'If this living arrangement turns out to be just as bad—if not worse—than the others, I'll have a talk with your father. I'll tell him that these years have been hard on us and ask him if we can live in London again.'

'Where Jack is?' Ralph inquired hopefully.

Mrs. MacPherson nodded.

'But I want you to think carefully about this first, Ralph. Don't just do this because of Jack. I want you to do this for yourself. If we move back to London, it will just be the two of us. Your father won't be living with us for more than a few months at a time.'

The teen frowned.

'Okay, mum, I'll think about it.'

She smiled.

'Good. Now, I believe that you have a letter to send, do you not?'

Ralph grinned and set off once more.

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When he arrived at the post office, he wasn't surprised to see that it was almost completely empty. It was still very early that Friday morning (which Ralph only had off because his school had a "P.D. Day", i.e.: Pretty Dull Day), so only a few people were in line. Ralph joined the end of the queue and, in what seemed like no time at all, he found himself in front of the counter.

'Hi,' he said in greeting to the young man behind the desk. 'I'd like this letter sent to London, please.'

'Sure. I'll take care of that immediately, sir,' the other said.

Ralph grinned and turned to leave.

'Wait a minute, you're that new kid over at Endlewood, aren't you?' the teen called. 'My girlfriend mentioned you a couple of times. What's your name again?'

Ralph turned around.

'Yeah, I'm Ralph. And you are . . .?'

'Jackson,' the youth replied, holding out his hand.

Ralph shook his companion's hand.

'What do you think of Surrey so far, kid?' Jack asked.

"No, Jackson!" Ralph screamed at himself mentally. "Not Jack, never Jack . . ."

'It's cool,' Ralph replied offhandedly.

'And Endlewood?'

'It's all right. It's definitely different. I've been to a lot of schools, and this is one of the few co-ed schools that I've attended.'

'You don't say.'

'Yeah . . . So . . . er . . . This is an . . . interesting place to work,' Ralph said suddenly, trying to keep the conversation going. (It was a good thing that he was only customer in the post office, so there was no one there to tell him to shut up and move out of the way.)

'"Interesting" doesn't even begin to describe it,' Jackson said.

'So how did you come to work here?'

'My dad owns the place, so I help out whenever I can.'

'Really? I haven't seen you here before,' Ralph said, thinking, "And I definitely come here a lot!"

The other shrugged.

'When do you usually come in?' he asked.

Now it was Ralph's turn to shrug.

'Well . . . um . . . I'm not too . . . fond of crowds, so I usually come early in the morning.'

'That would explain it then,' Jackson responded. 'I'm not often here at that time. I usually just help out in the afternoons. You know, when it gets busier. I'm only here today because my dad isn't feeling too well and couldn't come in.'

'You and your dad are close then?' Ralph tried to ask casually, though he couldn't help but feel a slight stab of jealousy.

'Yeah. Ever since my mum died, he and I have been working here together quite a bit to try and make end's meet.'

'Oh, I'm sorry.'

'Don't be,' the teen said with a shrug. 'It happened a while back, so I'm cool with it now . . . Shit happens.'

'Yeah . . .' Ralph replied absentmindedly. 'Which school do you attend?' he questioned, trying to change the subject.

'Watergrove Public School,' Jackson said. 'It's a few blocks down from your school. Hey, maybe you can hang out with my friends and I at lunchtime or after school some days.'

'That would be cool,' Ralph said. 'I've been here for quite a bit, but I don't really know too many people . . . Do you know a lot of people at Endlewood?'

'So so. I met most of them through friends, but I knew some of them from my old elementary school. When my mum was alive, my parents were able to afford to send me to academies like that. Now I just mingle with the commoners,' he joked.

'Oh.'

'Um . . . Excuse me, Ralph, I have to get back to work,' he said, shuffling through some papers in front of him. 'My dad will kill me if I don't attend to this paperwork in time. It was nice talking to you, though. I'll see you around.'

'I look forward to it.'

Smiling good-naturedly to himself as he walked out of the post office, Ralph finally headed home. He had taken his mother's advice—or rather, threat—to make friends much sooner than he had expected. He had to admit, finding someone to talk to (other than himself), was quite satisfying. There was only so much time that he could spend alone, thinking.

It didn't take Ralph long to reach his house, and he absentmindedly picked up the mail from his postbox before entering the front door.

'Some bills . . . a few flyers . . .' he muttered to himself, flipping through the contents. His heart suddenly stopped when he saw his name written in a now-familiar script—"Ralph Macpherson". He casually tossed the rest of the mail onto the coffee table in the living room and skipped up the stairs, where he would be able to read the words of his love in the private of his own room. It was better that way, for then he could savour those words as if they were caressing his heart, which—in a very real way—they were.

He ran down the corridor and into his room, shutting the door behind him. Holding his breath, Ralph slit the letter open with a letter opener. Ever so slowly, he unfolded the precious leaf of paper.

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My precious Ralph, (—he read, sinking down onto his bed as he did so.)

I can feel my love for you burning within my very being. It is ever-present in my body, my mind, my heart, and my soul. I feel as if it is slowly tearing me apart, for it burns so passionately through my veins, it enflames my very spirit! And yet . . . I would have it no other way.

It is said that one can only fall in love with somebody once, but I realized long ago that that was not true. Every time I think of you, every time I hear your voice or read your wonderful letters, I fall in love with you all over again.

I miss you, Ralph, and I will continue to do so until I can hold you in my arms again. When that happens, I fear that I may never let go. You are my one and only.

I want you as I have never wanted anybody . . .

I need you as I have never needed anybody . . .

I love you as I have never loved anybody . . .

You are always in my heart,

Your Ultimate JACKpot!

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Ralph was more than a little surprised to realize that his cheeks were damp with tears. He chuckled in spite of himself when he read Jack's new "nickname" for himself. He gave himself a new one in everyone one of the letters that he wrote to Ralph, and yet, Ralph never tired of them.

The teen slumped backwards and stared blankly at the ceiling fan above him. His arm flopped casually over his eyes, enfolding his gaze in darkness.

'Why did things have to end up this way, Jack?' he muttered. 'The distance was so easy to cope with—even appreciated—when I hated you, but now . . .' He sighed. 'Everything was so easy when I hated you. Now that I love you, it only makes things harder . . . and yet . . . I wouldn't want it to be any other way.' He smiled to himself, thinking back to the time when he and Jack had been friends, before they had been enemies.

It had been back on the island. Ralph had wounded his arm when the airplane crashed and he and the others had swam to shore. They were only boys back then, but when they left the island not even a year later, they were men. Having to be independent like that would have that effect on a person, as well as bring out the evil within them. Ralph shivered whne he recalled Simon and Piggy's less-than-kindly death. Wasn't it kind of an insult to their memory to love Jack since he had been somehow involved in them?

Ralph sighed again. Even now, the phantoms were haunting him. He knew that it was not his fault and that there was nothing he could do about it, but he felt rather guilty to be so involved with Jack Merridew, their murderer (however directly or indirectly). But—despite all the complications—Jack was the only thing in Ralph's life that felt so . . . right. And if he couldn't have hope in love, what else could he have hope for?

'Before you, I had a rather monotonous existence,' Ralph continued, vaguely speaking to Jack over the distance. 'I would work hard at school, join a few clubs and teams here and there, move every few weeks . . . And then you came back into my life. You gave my life . . . meaning. The consequences of our reunion were beyond stupid, what with the bet and all. But if it wasn't for that, I would never have come to known you as intimately as I have. We have Ray to thank for that.'

"I miss you, Jack; I love you," he proceeded mentally. "I love you more than anything. My feelings for you are stronger than anything I have felt before. Even my former hatred of you was stronger than anything. Perhaps that's why . . ." The youth chuckled in spite of himself. "And yet, fear grips my heart—the fear that I may need you more than you need me, that I love you more than you love me. It's not true, is it?'

Ralph half-expected an answer from his faraway lover . . . and was sorely disappointed upon not receiving one.

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'Are you ready, ladies?' Mr. Raconte inquired excitedly. 'And . . . Action!'

'You fought well today, sergeant,' Lee said in a dignified voice, holding out his hand to his companion.

'Thank you, sir,' Jack replied, nervously shaking the "general's" hand.

'Many men here owe their lives to you and many more still will!'

Jack's lip quivered slightly, and he drew in a trembling breath.

'That's quite a problem then, isn't it, sir?'

'Sergeant?'

Jack sighed.

'The battle is over, but I fear that the war will proceed for many months more, general. How many more of my friends need to die before this conflict ends?' A single tear coursed down his cheek. 'How many more of our children must we send into battle?'

Lee placed a comforting hand on Jack's shoulder.

'You speak of your son—William.'

'Aye, sir.'

'You miss him?'

'I do, sir. The pain only seems to worsen with each passing moment.' Jack determinedly avoided the other's gaze.

'I am afraid that I did not know William as well as I could have, but I had gathered enough to know that he was a good soldier, and a good man. The leader of his regiment always spoke quite highly of him. His determination, his ambition, his goodwill . . . Those are but a few of the qualities I had been told of.' Lee lowered his sunglasses slightly to look Jack in the eye. 'And in my personal opinion, it appears to run in the family.'

Jack smiled weakly.

'Thank you, sir.'

'You have my condolences for your loss, sergeant. Losing someone we love is never easy to forgive, let alone forget. If it was, it could not be called a "loss".'

'I must agree with you, sir and I thank you for your compassion. Your kindness and that of others—though it does not cease the pain—helps to nullify it for a moment. Ralph may be gone now, but I will always hold him close to my heart.' Jack froze, his eyes widening upon the realization of what he had just said.

Lee seemed to have the same reaction, and he glanced over at their drama teacher to see what he had to say about all this.

'Stop right there!' Mr. Raconte proclaimed. 'That was excellent work, ladies!' He clapped his hands together in a very feminine-looking way, effectively crushing their script, which had taken them no small amount of time to write. (Their teacher's theme of "the non-violent side of wars" definitely forced them to stretch their imagination, not to mention that there were only two of them to act it out.)

'Thanks, sir,' Lee said.

'Up until Jack's little slip up with his lines, you were both just perfect!' Mr. Raconte continued, as if he hadn't heard the teen. 'Lee, you did an excellent job playing Mr. Dignified General. And Jackie! There are simply no words! You definitely embraced your character—the sensitive sergeant. I particularly liked the tear. Very professional.'

But Jack hadn't heard a word of Mr. Raconte's praise. He was thinking about what had just occurred.

"Ralph may be gone now, but I will always hold him close to my heart . . ."

Well, it was true, wasn't it? But he wouldn't have felt so . . . anxious if he had not said it in front of his entire drama class, of which most (if not all) of his peers knew about the "Ralph bet" from the previous semester.

"Well, why should I care what they think, anyway? I can't let the opinions of others rule my life!" Jack decided. " I flatly refuse to. I know that I can deal with their taunts and their judgements and all their other shit. I'm Jack Merridew, for goodness' sake!" He sighed inwardly. "No. I won't ever let anything come between Ralph and I."

Even as he was thinking that, a certain Hispanic youth walked by him, winking at him suggestively as he was passing . . .

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As Lee and Jack had completed their brief skit for their class, the next pair headed up onto the stage to prepare for theirs. The former couldn't help but notice the intense glance that Cristóbal had given his friend as the two had crossed paths, and he made a mental note to bring it up to their gang later on (minus Jack, of course).

"He's been moping for months," Lee thought. "Sure, he still tries to act as if nothing is wrong, but I know that there is. We're, like, the best of friends, so I'll always know if something is up." The youth watched Jack for a while, quickly realizing that the other was deep in thought . . . again. Lee sighed. "He just isn't the same carefree teen that he used to be . . . before Ralph. He's . . . grown up."

'Okay, ladies,' Mr. Raconte called to Cristóbal and his partner, Karl, from the back of the room, unknowingly interrupting Lee's thoughts. 'Three . . . two . . . one . . . Action!'

Cristóbal, who was lying on the floor with his dark blazer draped over his torso like a blanket, fitfully tossed and turned, pretending to be having a bad dream.

Karl rushed over to him from the other side of the stage and kneeled by his side.

'Tom? Tom! Wake up!' he exclaimed, shaking the other's shoulder slightly.

Cristóbal's eyes suddenly flew open. He stared at Karl for a moment before slowly sitting up, his "blanket" falling off his chest.

'Are you all right?' Karl asked in an anxious voice.

'I'm fine,' Cristóbal muttered shakily. 'It's . . . it's nothing, Nick. Don't worry about it.'

Karl just stared at his companion for a moment.

'No, it isn't nothing. Something's up.'

Cristóbal avoided his gaze.

'Come on, Tom! Tell me. Please, just trust me,' Karl pleaded.

The other chuckled darkly.

'Trust you? In these days of war, how can I make myself trust anyone?'

Karl sighed impatiently.

'I'm your brother, Tom. If you can't trust me, then who else can you trust?'

Cristóbal didn't answer, and Karl eyes suddenly widened, as if he just realized something.

'You had another nightmare, didn't you?' But his tone suggested that it wasn't really a question.

'They've just been getting worse,' Cristóbal said.

'Well, war does things to you,' Karl said logically. 'You just have to—'

Lee allowed his attention to wander again, already growing quite bored with the presentation. His and Jack's play was definitely better than theirs was. But anyway, where was he with his thoughts? Ah, yes . . .

"Even though we don't really get along to well sometimes, Jack is one of my best friends!" he thought. "I need to help him get over Ralph somehow."

"He doesn't seem to want to, though," another voice in his head interjected.

"Well, maybe it's just a phase he's going through. He and Ralph never actually 'broke up', but it'll only be a matter of time. I mean, come on! How long can a long-distance relationship last, anyway?"

"I don't know, but it's already been two months. That's saying something, that is."

"Who asked you? Get out of my head!"

"I can't. I live here."

"Whatever. I just want to get Jack out of his stump. He shouldn't have to deal with something like this. Life is too short for misery. Maybe if Jack had someone else to . . . distract him, then he'd be able to get over Ralph faster. Then maybe he'll be the same way he used to be."

"It's up to you. You might want to run it by Jack first, though."

"Why? He'll only try to talk me out of it . . . which really wouldn't matter, since I'd do it anyway. He needs to be set free!"

"He's not a caged bird."

"Isn't he?"

"Your theories make sense, but who the hell would you be able to find?"

Lee's gaze immediately settled on the dark-skinned teen performing on the stage.

"Perfect," he thought, and he sat back to enjoy the rest of the performance.

'Not arguing with yourself again, were you, Lee?' Jack whispered, apparently having come out of his own thinking trance but minutes before.

'Why do you ask?' Lee asked casually from the side of his mouth, not taking his eyes off the Spanish youth.

Jack shrugged.

'You always seem to have a constipated look on your face with you do.'

Lee turned to glare darkly at his friend for a moment before returning his attention to his new project.