It's been a week and I already regret my initial crush on Jack. He is possibly the most childish, dirty-minded, annoying boy I've ever met…and I'm his new victim. All he does now it seems is torture me: tickling me in the hallways, jumping in front of me and scaring me when I'm trying to sleep in biology, tugging my hair, calling me Davey, licking my cheek for Christ's sake! The only time I'm safe is when I'm in my room which isn't much better. Swifty bought a mechanical pastry cutter, which is possibly the most annoying thing I've ever heard. No, I take that back. Bumlets watching Perfect Strangers at ear-splitting volume is the most annoying thing I've ever heard. I'm beginning to think that my parents sending me here is a test of my mental stability. I'm failing.
--
Today, I go to Specs's band practice to escape Jack. It's set up differently from my one at home. Instead of the risers getting longer as it goes up, there's the long drum core and then it kind of goes like a pyramid. This lands Specs behind and between the blonde boy, Dutchy I think, who he had said that he liked and the violent boy I had seen last week who were, surprisingly, the only two alto saxophonists. I can tell he's nervous, sitting behind blondie, because his slide falls forward and hits angry!boy in the back of the head. He jumps up and whips around.
"Fucking A!" he screams. "Keep your fucking slide to yourself before I stuff it down your fucking throat!"
The band instructor comes up and grabs him.
"Oscar," he snaps. "Principal's Office. Now."
Giving Specs the finger, he stalks off. The bell rings shortly after. I go to join him when I notice that the blonde boy, Dutchy, is speaking to him.
"Wow, exciting huh?" he's saying as he packs up. "Way to finish up the day right?"
Specs nods but he's blushing. I can tell that he wants to say something but is too embarrassed that he'll babble.
"So," Dutchy continues, putting his neck strap in his case. "Do you wanna, you know, hang out? Talk about the score? Maybe…you know…"
He's smiling at him. Specs nods again and finally notices me. I give him a thumbs-up. Good for him.
"Heya Dave! Didn't know you were a band geek."
Shit.
Jack's standing there, grinning stupidly at me. He has an arm slung casually around my shoulders.
"I'm not," I say, now cursing myself when my stomach does flips and turns when he's around. "I'm here to watch Specs."
Jack pouts and puts his head on his arm which is still around my shoulders.
"Aw, leaving me for Specs?" he pretends to sound disappointed. I'm sure he is. "Well, it looks like Dutchy's horning in on your turf. But you two would be cute together. Ah, Jew love. The most honest love there is…"
I begin to think he has some form of tourettes.
--
I'm somewhere in the blissful state between sleep and awake. My roommates are quiet: no pastry cutters, no trombone and no, thank God, episodes of Welcome Back Cotter. I have about a half hour until I have to get up…life is good.
"Wakey, wakey, Davey!"
I recognize the voice immediately. How the hell did he get into my room? Or is he just that good that I just hear him wherever I go?
I open my eyes and find that Jack is, in fact, in my room. God, how I loathe him. I think I may actually hate Jack more than I hate The Goonies.
"You look cute when you sleep," he says, grinning.
--
From now on, all Jack does after school is come to my room and be incredibly intrusive. He makes comments about my posters, looks through my stuff and, I swear, actually opens drawers and examines my clothes. He's like a little kid. I begin to thank anyone there is up there that I only have my "normal" classes with him.
Today, I'm trying to get my work done while Jack reclines on my bed, smoking. He's also wearing his combat boots on my comforter and that somehow irks me more.
"Whatcha writin' Davey?" he asks me.
He does this a lot.
"A short story," I say for the fifteenth time.
"About?"
I just try to keep writing. If I press harder on the pen, I feel less tempted to jab it in his eye.
"About?"
"People," I answer. "I don't know what it's about yet. Except that it's about people."
He shrugs and goes back to smoking. I hate him.
"Don't you have a monologue to memorize or something?" I ask, exasperated.
He smiles and taps the side of his head. "All in here, Davey."
I realize now that I'm stuck with him. Asshole.
