Author's Note: The dashes mean either a change in narrative or time. I know this might make things a little confusing but hopefully you'll catch on to what's what.

Feedback: Greatly appreciated.


PART IV: Jessie Sammler

I have broken my vow. The act was involuntary on my part and was forced upon by the other; but I suppose, in the end, I had consented to the "dirty deed" for the idealistic sake of infatuation.

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On the first day back from a three week holiday in Italy – readily spent skiing the ancient barbarian barrier known as the Alps to sailing off the isolated isle of Sicily – you could imagine my excitement as I returned to the deadening halls of Upton Sinclair and once again stood under its lusterless fluorescent lights.

"It's a pleasure seeing you again," welcome teachers in their patronizing tones as I enter into their classrooms for my daily dosage of brainwash and conformity. I mirror their response without thinking like kicking after the doctor taps a hammer on my knee – it's a natural reflex.

Familiar faces with forgotten names greet me as I walk down these listless corridors. They are the insatiable parasites who feed on my acknowledgement solely to assure themselves of their derisory existence and find justification for why they are what they are. So I do my job as the victim and best try to fulfill their appetites; but their hunger always outweighs my provision; and I am drained. For every word I say is hollow, every smile I make is feigned and no one can be satisfied by these empty things.

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"Hey Katie!" – a common phrase often heard echoing throughout the halls of Upton Sinclair. Only this time, it followed up with a face and name.

"Stegosaurus boy!" I call out playfully to the one known as Tad Pincus – the typical meathead jock who joins the Gay-Straight Alliance not to develop tolerance but to meet bi-sexual girls – one of my best friends.

"What do you want?" I ask, not sure if the contempt in my voice is in jest.

"Katie, this is Jessie."

It was not until then that I realized someone was standing next to Tad or rather – behind him. For it was not due to self-absorbance that I had failed to see Miss Seventeen but because of the contrast between her petite figure and Tad's overbearing size. Otherwise, I surely wouldn't have missed her.

It was unprecedented. When I first beheld Jessie truly, in her presence, I had found that she did not reach my set expectations, but had far exceeded them. She wasn't the porcelain doll, prepped and polished, on display in some commonplace magazine. She was something so much more.

Jessie's eyes had the kind of charm that I don't think I have ever witnessed before. They were filled with such perfect candor – purity unstained; free from the corruptors of prejudice and malice – a trait rarely found amongst the wanton youths of today but most often sought after for the deprivation of. So as I stood there – honestly captivated by the unfailing virtue of this enthrallingly beautiful soul that seemed to radiate before me – I had vowed to myself, right then and there, that I would be the first of my fellow wanton youths to savagely tear this girl apart.

"Hey," I address Jessie in the teenager's typical one-syllable salute – It has become a talent of the teenager to be able to develop the least amount of verbiage possible that translates into something not only comprehensible but profoundly more than what was actually said. It has become such an art that multi-syllabic greetings such as "hello" or "salutations" have been reduced to a simple head nod which contains neither form of syllables nor any word ever uttered at all.

"Have I met you before?" I add, playing dumb.

"No. I don't think so," says Jessie, smiling shyly, not really making eye contact. When she does, she immediately averts her gaze to her feet which shuffle uncomfortably.

"Jessie just transferred here this semester," informs Tad in an attempt to aid the presently reticent Jessie.

"Wow, right in the middle of the school year. It must be hard," I empathize consolingly.

"Yeah. My dad got this new job as the chief architect of some major project downtown. So he moved us all down here."

"And you're okay with that?"

"I don't think any of us were okay, but... My dad was so happy." Jessie paused here for a moment, lost in thought. She appeared to be someplace else; sometime else. And as she stood there, smiling to herself, reflecting on that last line, it hit me – Jessie and her family hadn't been happy for a long time. Something had struck them. Some sort of tragedy, unbeknownst to me, had altered their life of contentment. But as curious as I was to know what kind of misfortune befalls an innocent, I am not the one to pry.

"What happened to your mom?"

That was Tad's job.

"What?" Jessie had awoken from her reverie.

"I mean, did she not like have a job?" Tad asked, revising his question.

"No, she has a job," answered Jessie, a bit confused.

"Wait. Has or had?"

"What?"

"Did your mom get a new job?"

"No."

"But she still has a job?"

"Yes."

"Her old job?"

"Yes."

"Even after you guys moved?"

"Yes..."

By this time, Jessie and Tad's faces were so full of bewilderment; someone walking in would have mistaken the two for a couple of Bush impersonators. So I, personally one who does not care for a game of twenty questions nor celebrity impersonations, decided to clarify things.

"I think what Tad is trying to say is: How can your mom maintain her old job when you and your family moved to an entirely different state?"

"Well, because my mom didn't move," answered Jessie as if it was common knowledge. "My parents divorced when I was ten."

"Oh, Jessie, I'm so sorry," replied Tad, realizing what a dumb-ass he had been. "If I had known, I wouldn't have –"

"No. It's okay. It was like what? Six years ago? Don't worry. I'm over it." But the tremble in Jessie's voice and her half-hearted smile gave way to the fact that she definitely was anything but. However, Tad's shift as the insensitive, prying imbecile was over for the day so nobody ever questioned Jessie on her true disposition. In fact, no one ever said anything at all. We three stood there, for a great while, in an awkward silence until finally an outside catalyst revived our dying conversation with a jolt.

WHAM! Someone in an angered rush had unfortunately failed to see Tad's fist when he ran into it. Instantly, papers lay scattered across the floor alongside an inert form before us – our mutual environmental science teacher.

"Oh my god! Dr. Thoreau, I'm so sorry!" said Tad, learning that maybe he should watch where he stretches or at least not flail his arms about when he does so.

"Yes, well," muttered the assaulted science teacher as he staggered to his feet.

"You're not going to fail me are you?"

"Well, Mr. Pincus, if you've finally decided to make an actual appearance this semester, then you have no need to worry."

"Are you sure you're okay?" asked Jessie, genuinely concerned.

"Yes. I'll be quite all right; although I presently find myself in a rather tough predicament," said Dr. Thoreau as he brushed himself off and collected the papers beneath him. Jessie assisted with the latter.

"Well what is it, Dr. T?" asked Tad.

"Maybe we could help," I proposed, not expecting that he'd actually take up on the offer.

"Well, it seems that the five people who have volunteered to help clean Riis Park this Saturday have all mysteriously dropped out," said Dr. Thoreau in a tone revealing that he knew exactly why.

"This Saturday?" Tad contemplated this for a while, which is a rare sight to see. "Oh! That's when Sugarcult is going to be in town to promote their new album. They're going to have a free concert and an autograph signing downtown," said Tad matter-of-factly before he smiled in self-congratulation at his correct answer – another rare sight to see.

"No kidding?" said Dr. Thoreau, blatantly sarcastic. "So now that I find myself with no volunteers, it seems, I may have to go back on that promise I made to the Neighborhood Parks Society."

"Well, we can't let that happen. No one should ever go back on a promise," said Jessie, just short of a "gee-golly." She then turned to me with her wide-set, angelic, blue eyes and desperately sought for my help.

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I had vowed to myself that I would never do selfless charity [unless it was part of a legal sentence] because – at the risk of sounding melodramatic – I loathe it with every fiber of my being. I would rather choke on my own vomit than clean up the waste belonging to another person. I don't even clean up my own garbage, so why would I clean up after complete strangers for the gracious amount of nothing. It is thoroughly demeaning. However, at that moment when Jessie looked at me with that annoying holier-than-thou bullshit expression on her face, I felt like I couldn't deny her anything. It was rather astonishing – this new feeling she evoked in me. For the first time in my life, I wanted to do something, that wasn't self-beneficial, solely to please this one, singular person.

------

I have broken my vow. The act was involuntary on my part and was forced upon by the other; but I suppose, in the end, one is exempted to break promises when it is for the idealistic sake of infatuation. Even if it means cleaning up somebody else's mess.