APRIL
I never knew it was possible to feel so many things at once.
While Jackson is kissing me, my body feels like it's burning. My nerve endings are tingling on fire, and my pulse is hammering so hard at every point possible.
I feel his thumbs on my cheekbones, soft and graceful. I keep my eyes closed like he said to, but I can't help it that my eyelashes keep fluttering. I'm so tempted to open them and see what he's doing with his face, but I resist.
I wasn't ready to be done when we pull apart. I don't have any control over the words that come out of my mouth, either. "My first real kiss," I say, all breathless. I don't even have the wherewithal to feel embarrassed or inexperienced. I enjoyed the feeling of his mouth on mine way too much for that. I look from his eyes down to his lips, which are parted just slightly. "Let's do it again."
When he kisses me again, my hands move to either side of his neck. His skin is warm beneath my touch and a little sweaty, but I don't mind. Actually, I kind of like it. He holds my waist firmly in his hands; he's almost able to wrap his fingers around the whole thing, and when he yanks me a little closer I can't help the sound that escapes me. Seemingly propelled by it, he licks my lower lip and that makes my belly tighten - so I open my mouth to invite his tongue inside.
But just as he's about to French kiss me, he pulls back. "Are we gonna French in front of Alex?" he asks, all dumbfounded.
"I don't know," I say. The fact that my hands are still lingering on his shoulders is not lost on me. "You did it."
"Yeah, sorry," he says. "Got carried away."
I don't know what that means. I mean, I know what it means in theory, but in reference to me… kissing me, no. It'd be impossible for a boy to get carried away with me.
But I say "yeah" anyway.
There's a weird silence between us that I wish wasn't happening. I don't want things to be awkward - this is supposed to feel real. No one's going to believe our fake relationship if it looks like this, but Rome wasn't built in a day. I know it's going to take time, and I can't expect so much out of him. He's already doing this for me out of the goodness of his heart, which I never thought there was much of. Maybe I'm wrong. But maybe I'm not, who knows? I barely know him.
"I should… get ready for bed," I say, giving him an out. "Early classes tomorrow."
"Right, right," he says, and stands up off my bed. "Uh, see you Wednesday."
I don't miss the way his glinting eyes dart to my Taylor Swift posters one last time. I get up off my bed, too, and start to walk to the bathroom. I hear Addison and Amelia in there, probably getting ready for bed, too. But we don't mind doing it together.
"Wednesday," I say. "Be ready to, you know, do it. In front of him. Like, date me."
"I know," he says, a smile in his eyes. I didn't want to be annoying by saying it, but I can tell that it didn't bother him. If anything, he looks amused. Typical. He always has that amused look on his face and I can never place its reason.
I turn into the bathroom and both girls turn to look at me. "Hey," I say.
"April!" Addison says, eyes wide. Your lips are so red… what the hell were you just doing?"
I softly press my fingertips to my lips, loving the fact that I can still feel his pressure on them. "I- uh…" I say, and wonder how I should explain this. Pretending that Jackson is my boyfriend had been Amelia's idea, but now I don't want to let her in on it. Jackson and I had just agreed - it has to be fake for everyone. No one can know except for us. "I was, uh, making out with my boyfriend, if you must know."
It makes me jump when I hear Jackson's voice; I thought he'd left. "Night, babe!" he calls out.
My face burns red-hot and the three of us burst into excited giggles. I've never laughed like this over something like that with friends before, this is totally new territory. And I have to say, I really like it. I like the feeling of being included.
"You're fucking joking," Addison says.
Amelia narrows her eyes. "So… is that… legit?" she asks.
My cheeks are still burning, but I hope she chalks it up to the fact that I'm all worked up over my very real relationship with Jackson. "Yes," I say. I don't want to elaborate, because I know I'll start rambling. And that's a dead giveaway that it's anything but legit.
"Even though I was just saying-"
"No, he asked me out," I cut in, leaning on the door.
"He… did?" Addison asks, raising her eyebrows.
"Yes…" I say. "Don't sound so surprised. Geez."
"How?" she continues.
"He, uh…" I blink a few times and reach for my toothbrush. "I mean, you know he's in my music theory class. He asked for my number, but I made him wait. I finally gave it to him, and he… he asked me out the next day."
"When did this all happen?" Amelia says. "Why didn't you tell us about it?"
I don't answer for a while, purposefully stalking as I brush my teeth. "I was busy," I say, holding my hair back as I spit into the sink. I tap my toothbrush on it, then set it in its holster. "I'm tired. Goodnight!"
I retreat to my room and turn my lights off, flopping down on my bed with my knees bent. I rest my hands on my belly and close my eyes, remembering what Jackson's hands and lips felt like on me. I imagine them as Alex's and my stomach tumbles around while I get a stupid grin on my face. I wonder what he'll feel like with his hands all over me; I'm getting excited just thinking about the unpredictability of it all. I'm usually not one to get excited about that, but for some reason I am. I don't know what it is about Alex that draws me to him - maybe the fact that he's so very, very not my type - but it's overwhelming all the same.
I bite my lower lip and run my tongue over it, unable to stop thinking about Jackson's mouth. I trace the hem of my cloth pajama shorts, then the band of my underwear, taking a deep breath as I go. I felt all sorts of built-up tension in my body, and I think I know a way to get that out, but I'm just way too... scared.
I want to. I think I do, at least. I've never touched myself before, but Libby's talked about it when she's being especially crude. She says it feels good, it makes you forget about everything you're worried about for at least a second, almost like sex. She was always the one I'd talk to about sex, well… always the one I plannedto talk about sex with. I've never really had a reason before.
I wish it wouldn't be weird to call her and ask her how to do it. I shake my head and raise my lip in disgust as I think about how that phone call would go. That's both disturbing and disgusting, and I wish I'd never thought it.
I adjust the way my underwear is sitting on me, too scared to go any further. I can't do it and now, I won't. I lost my gumption. But still, I fall asleep thinking about hands on me. Hands that begin as Alex's, and morph into Jackson's as I drift deeper into unconsciousness.
On Tuesday after classes are done, I'm sitting on my bed doing homework when I hear three confident knocks on my open door. "Hey," a familiar voice says.
I look up from my work and see Jackson there, wearing cargo shorts and a DePaul t-shirt. He looks showered, definitely cleaner than the last time I saw him.
"Sup, piano girl," he continues.
"Hey…" I say, pushing my papers off to the side. Without him having to preface it with anything, I can tell he wants to say something. "What are you doing?"
He sighs and sits down on my bed without being invited. I squint at him, but he doesn't notice, so I just move my papers out of his way so he has more room.
"Just chilling out," he says. "Just got back. Didn't feel like going to my room after this morning when my roommate was trying to spin his stupid ass fidget spinner on his forehead."
"He'll take an eye out," I say, one knee bent on front of me with my notebook resting on it.
"Yeah, something like that," Jackson says. "And I was thinking. Like, this whole day. Dude, we like… we made out last night. Like, legit. We did."
"Yeah…" I trail off, finding it hard to meet his eyes.
"And I barely know you."
"Look, Jackson, you agreed to-"
"I know," he says. "Calm the fuck down, I know. Let me get two words out. What I'm saying is, I barely know you. You barely know me. We should… get to know each other. You know, before I'm all in your pants to impress this piece of shit."
"Okay, you don't have to say it like that," I say.
"How else would you put it?" he asks, tipping his head and raising his eyebrows pointedly.
"I don't know. You just put things in the worst way."
"What's your favorite color?" he asks, out of the blue.
"Wha- what? What does that have to do with anything?" I sputter.
"What's your favorite color, April? It's a simple question."
"I don't know, purple, I guess. No, blue. I guess either of them," I say.
"Favorite holiday?" he asks.
"Christmas, obviously."
"Favorite family member?"
"I love my mom, but my little sister Alice is cool, too. Libby is okay, she's a really good listener… wait. Why aren't you answering these questions, too?" I ask.
"You're not asking me them," he says back.
I push my lips out and study him, sitting across from me so very content. "What's your favorite show, then?" I ask.
"Too hard," he replies. "I can't choose."
"You watch a lot of TV?" I ask.
"Netflix and chill," he says. "We should do it sometime."
I scoff. "Whatever, next. Are... you ticklish?"
He scrunches up his face. "What kind of fucked up question is that?" he asks.
"It's not…" I say widening my eyes to insinuate the word I won't say. "Areyou?"
"I don't know," he says. "No one's tickled me since I was like, 5. Are you?"
"No," I answer, really quickly.
His eyes crinkle at the corners. It's the first time I've noticed them do that. "Lying ass," he says.
"No," I insist.
"Yes," he counters back.
"No," I argue.
He shakes his head. "Fine, prove it then." He pushes my homework off the bed and before I have a chance to protest, he's digging at my waist with his fingertips. I hate it, but I can't keep myself from laughing.
"Stop, stop!" I shriek, trying hopelessly to shove him off. I'm weak from laughter, though, and it does no good. "Jackson, stop!"
"Not ticklish, huh?" he prods, moving from my waist up to my neck. My neck has to be the worst spot, the most ticklish of them all. I bend so my chin hits my chest to try and stop his fingers, but it doesn't do any good. I wriggle on my back to try and fight him off, but he's relentless and I eventually have to give into my fit of giggles.
When he finally stops, we're both breathless and I notice that he's on top of me, one thigh between my legs. I can feel his stomach moving as he breathes against me, and I wet my lips to speak while he moves a tendril of my bangs out of my eyes.
"Should we practice," I breathe. I find myself wanting to clench his leg between my thighs because that tension is back again, but I refrain.
"Sure," he says, and doesn't waste a moment before tilting his head and pressing his lips to mine at an angle.
I let my eyelids flutter closed as he moves his mouth over mine, then I feel his hand move to my hip and plant itself there, running his thumb over the point of the bone. From that small motion, I involuntarily lift up a bit so our pelvises bump together, which forces a small noise from him that I enjoy way too much.
I don't know where I should put my hands. Yesterday, he told me to put them anywhere, but now… I don't know where is okay. While taking in a breath through my nose, I lift my hands to his sides and rest my fingers on the back of his ribs, as lightly as I can. Even though his hands on me are nowhere near light and hesitant, I can't let myself go there yet. I want to, but something is holding me back.
I'm still self-conscious because none of this is real. When Jackson kisses me, he makes me a feel a ton of things. And one of those things he makes me feel is… wanted. He makes me feel wanted, even though I know I'm not. This is all fake, this is all because I'm writing his stupid papers.
I try to force that thought out of my mind, though, and focus back on what we're practicing for. The reality of this whole thing. Just as I'm about to start a conversation, he pulls his lips away from mine and kisses the corner of my mouth, then the slope of my jaw, then he nudges my chin up with his nose so he can go lower and kiss my neck.
I take in a shaky breath. I had no idea this was going to be part of our practicing, and the heat between my legs is past the point of ignoring now. I find myself allowing my thighs to grip him, and I wonder if he notices. I'm guessing he does, because he pushes his leg up a little bit so it's tucked tight between mine. Right where I want it.
The pressure feels good. It's what I need. It's not enough, but it's a start. I move my pelvis against him and feel his lips curve up on my skin as he fiddles with the hem of my shirt, slipping his hand underneath it a few moments later to rest on my belly.
His thumb runs over a scar that I've had for so long that I forget I have it. "What's this," he murmurs, and I feel his tongue gently touch my pulse point when he pronounces the 'th' in 'this.' It gives me butterflies.
"My scar," I say, and he chuckles.
"Yeah, I can feel that," he says. "What from?"
"Oh," I say, and he moves his head lower so he can kiss the open V of my t-shirt. "I… it… Libby," I say, stumbling over my words because of the way his lips feel on my skin. I've never been touched like this before, and I can't help the way my hips are moving against his leg. It's the only thing that's giving me any sort of relief - that friction. "No, Kimmie. Uh… we have this… this ravine by our house. When we were growing up we used to play in it. I was…" My eyelids flutter shut as he sucks the skin of my neck between his teeth and releases it with a wet popping sound. "I was 8. Kimmie was 6, Alice was little-little. Libby was… bigger… Kimmie shoved me and I fell on a rock. I bled everywhere. Libby carried me home, both of us were covered in blood." I let out a shaky breath. "12 stitches."
Before I know it, his face is my waist-level and his lips are pressed against the scar.
"Oh," I murmur, tentatively lifting one hand to rest on the back of his skull. When his tongue traces the raised ridges of it, I don't think I could be clenching his body any tighter between my thighs.
"Fucking Kimmie," he says, smiling against my belly.
Suddenly, the bathroom door conjoining mine and my suitemates' room bursts open and Amelia stands in its wake. "April? April. Where are- oh, shit, April!"
Jackson and I clumsily break apart from one another, but our limbs get mixed up together and Amelia just stands there laughing.
"Addison, April and her boyfriend were dry-humping!" Amelia calls out.
"Told you not to go in without knocking," Addison says back, her voice muffled by the room between us.
"Amelia…" I say, eyes wide. My face must be about ready to burst into flames.
"What? There's nothing wrong with it. Hi, Jackson," she says, sticking out her hand. "I'm Amelia. I live next door. I've heard a lot about you, handsome."
Jackson shakes her hand. I want to crawl into a hole and die.
"I was coming in here so I could invite you out tonight," she says. "It's really fucking hot, and there's this great pool in Bucktown at Holstein Park. It's still open, and Owen said we should go. He said I could invite whoever, so I thought of you. Addie's coming, obviously me, Owen's bringing a couple friends… you could bring Jackson."
My eyes flit over to him, and he looks interested. "I'd be down," he says. "Anything to beat the heat."
"Cool!" Amelia says. "Owen's from here, so he knows how to get here. We're gonna meet in front of U-Hall in, like, an hour." She turns on her heel, then looks back over her shoulder. "And don't worry, I'll lock this on my way out. Don't forget protection, kids!"
The door shuts and locks and we sit there in silence, the air charged between us. I realize that I never fully agreed to go on this outing, that they both kind of just did it for me.
"I'm sorry," I say. "That was awful."
"Wait, what part?" he asks.
"Oh, oh no," I say, moving my hands. "No, I meant Amelia. You, before…" I pause. "You were great."
His lips curve up in a sly grin. "So were you," he says.
"Yes. You are so wearing that."
"No," I say. "No, I am so not."
Addison looks at me in the mirror as she holds my shoulders; my deflated, curved-in shoulders that I can't seem to hold confidently. "Look at you. April, look at this fucking rad-ass body that you've been hiding from us! You are wearing this goddamn swimsuit if I have to force you into it."
I sigh and stare at myself some more. I hadn't brought a swimsuit to college because that only one I own is plain black, a hand-me-down from Libby, and see-through on the butt now. Because of this, both Addie and Amelia forced me into one of Amelia's bikinis - it's pink and white with a floral pattern, and I wouldn't have been caught dead in it at home. The bra cuts deep and shows the swells of my breasts and the bottoms sit way too low.
"I can't wear this," I say, voicing my thoughts.
"I don't care what you say," Amelia says, throwing a cover-up at me. "You're wearing it. We're leaving. Jackson's boner is going to be uncontrollable."
My cheeks get hot. "Amy," I say. "Don't say stuff like that."
"What?" she says. "Why? It's true. Look at you. You're fuckin' sexy, April. Stop denying it."
I glance at myself sideways in the mirror as I pull the black cover-up on over my head. I'm not about to agree with her, but I know fighting is no use. She has it in her head that I'm wearing it, so I guess I'm wearing it.
We walk out of Addison and Amelia's room and see Jackson waiting in the fourth floor lounge, wearing board shorts and a tank top.
"Grab him," Addison says, and pushes the button for the elevator.
I clear my throat, eyes flitting from my friends over to my 'boyfriend.' "Babe," I call out, but my voice is weak. "Um, babe," I say again. He's either not hearing me, or the term of endearment isn't registering. "Jackson!" I say, one final time.
His head snaps over and a smile appears on his face. "Oh, hey," he says, walking over. "Nice cover-up."
"She's wearing a bikini," Amelia says, emphasizing the word obnoxiously.
"Nice," Jackson says, and briefly touches the small of my back as we get into the elevator, making sure I'm in. My skin tingles where he's touched but, I play it cool. It's hot outside, and his hands are cool from being inside the air conditioning. Of course my skin tingled.
The ride to Bucktown is long. Amelia tells us that Owen and his friends are going to be late but they'll meet us there. When we get to the pool, Jackson wraps one arm around my belly and lifts me off the ground, pretending like he's going to throw me in.
"Stop, stop!" I squeal. "Put me down. I still have my cover-up on."
"That needs to change," he says, sitting down on a lounge chair and taking me with him, depositing my body right on his lap.
"Come on, April. Take it off," Amelia says.
I feel like everyone's eyes are on me, especially Jackson's.
"Show him how hot you are!" Addison encourages, and it gives me a boost of confidence, though I'm not sure where I dug it up from.
I try to get up from his lap to take it off, but he tightens his arms around my waist. I look down at him in confusion, but all he does is grin.
"Fine, dummy," I say, and pull the cover-up off over my head right where I sit. When it's off, Amelia lets out a low whistle and I can't look at anyone in the face.
"Is that a scar?" Addison asks.
"It's from her sister," Jackson says, cutting in for me. He presses a soft kiss to my upper arm before finishing with, "Pushed her into a ravine when she was 8."
Amelia raises her eyebrows. "Your boyfriend sure has a good memory," she says.
"Well, I only told him that a few hours ago," I say, wrapping an arm around the back of Jackson's shoulders. His skin is smooth and radiating heat - even though it's early evening, the sun is still shining brightly down on us.
I look at Jackson, whose arms are comfortably looped around my waist. We spend a minute just searching each other's eyes, silently communicating, when I hear Amelia gasp.
"Owen's here," she says, then stands up. "Hey, Owen! Over here!"
I see a pale redhead heading our way, smiling at my friend. He turns to look over his shoulder to wave on someone behind him, and when they get a little closer, I can see that the person who Owen brought is no one else but Alex.
"Fuck," I hear Jackson say under his breath.
My stomach twists. He's probably mad because he's going to have to try extra hard to keep up our ruse because Alex is here, and he doesn't want to. I don't blame him, I don't want to either. But I do want Alex to notice me, so we have no choice.
"You made it," Amelia says, standing close to Owen when she talks. She's smiling bigger than I've seen her smile all week.
"Had to stop and get a drink on the way here," Owen says. "And Alex took forever. Oh, yeah. By the way, this is my friend, Alex. Alex, this is…"
Amelia finishes for him, since none of us have met Owen yet. "Addison, my roommate. April, my suitemate, and her boyfriend, Jackson. He lives in Clifton, too."
"Wait," Alex says, looking at me and Jackson. "You two are dating now?"
I lean my side against Jackson's chest and he rests one hand on my hip and the other in the bend of my knee. "Uh, yeah-" I begin.
"Yeah, we are," Jackson says, his thumb moving in circles over my skin.
"For like what, a day?" Alex says.
"Does it matter?" Jackson argues, hitching my body up closer to him like I weigh nothing at all.
"Aren't they cute?" Addison asks.
"Yeah, something like that," Alex murmurs, then strips off his shirt. While he's not looking my way, I take the opportunity to let my eyes roam over his defined chest. I find myself holding my breath, then I look away. For some reason, it doesn't feel right to do that while I'm sitting on Jackson's lap, as close to him as I can possibly be.
"Should we swim?" Amelia says, clapping her hands together.
"That's the only reason I came," Alex grumbles, stretching his arms in front of him. "I'm getting in."
"Such a pleasant piece of shit," Jackson says, standing up and bringing me with him. Alex glances back at us when we get up, and I feel his eyes on my body. I suddenly feel really exposed, but I can't help wondering what he's thinking. Does he like what he sees? Is my body really as good as Addison and Amelia said it was?
Jackson carries me bridal style and walks towards the pool, looking down at me mischievously. "Ready to get in?" he asks.
"What do you-"
Before I can finish my question, Jackson tosses me in the deep end and I disappear into the silent underwater. I pinch my eyes shut tight and blow air bubbles from my nose, paddling fluidly to rise back to the top.
"Jackson Avery!" I shriek, sputtering water from between my lips.
He laughs, then jumps in himself. Once he's above the surface again, he shakes the water from his short, curly hair and wades over to me. "What?" he says. "Calm down, babe. It was a joke."
I smack him on the shoulder. "I hate you," I say. "You could've warned me, at least."
"And what fun would that've been?" he says.
I glance over Jackson's shoulder and see Alex behind him, watching us interact. Because of his eyes on us, I wind my arms around Jackson's shoulders and my legs around his waist - he can touch the bottom and I can't, so it's easy for him to stand. Picking up what I'm doing, he supports the small of my back with one arm and holds my jaw with his free hand, kissing me slowly with a smile on his face.
I hear a low whistle from the side of the pool, and see Owen watching us.
"Get a room," Amelia calls out, but she's grinning.
I start to blush. "Swim me over to the ledge," I tell Jackson. "I wanna sit on the side."
I pull myself up to the side and Jackson stays close, resting my feet on his shoulders and wrapping his fingers around my bony ankles. "I forgot to tell you how amazing you look in your swimsuit," he says.
I roll my eyes. "You don't have to say that," I say. "He's not even paying attention."
"I know," he says. "I just…want you to know."
I feel a vein in my neck twitch and I'm not sure how to interpret what he's saying. "Oh," I say. "Thanks."
He runs his fingertips up my calves and holds them in his hands, gazing up at me while I look down at him. "Avery," I hear Owen say, and Jackson's head snaps over. "Stop making googly eyes at your girlfriend and come throw the ball with us."
Jackson laughs. "Fine," he says, then looks back at me. "You good here?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," I say. "You should go play. I'll watch."
I stay where I'm sitting on the edge while I watch Jackson throw perfect spirals with the football that Owen brought. His arms are so perfectly sculpted that it's almost unbelievable, and he smiles at me when he makes a good catch, which is pretty much every time.
"You're such a superstar," I tell him after they're done, as he pulls himself up to sit next to me.
"I know," he says, reaching out his hand to help me to my feet. It's starting to get dark, and the park closes at sunset. But before that happens, the six of us sit at a table with an umbrella in the middle and order lemonades. Alex jokes about trying to order something stronger, but he didn't bring his fake ID. I smile and laugh, but he doesn't make eye contact with me. I chalk that up to the fact that it's working - that we are actually making him jealous, and I get extremely happy. This is going just the way I planned.
Jackson pulls me on his lap again and slaps my butt playfully, which makes me clench my thighs together. Alex's eyes flit up from where they'd been on his phone, and I feel like every single bit of blood in my body must rush to my face. I had no idea Jackson was going to do something like that. I didn't mind it… I actually kind of liked it, but it was so unexpected. And the sound that his palm made as it connected with the damp bikini bottom was really loud. Everyone definitely heard.
"You two are annoying," Amelia says lightly. "I changed my mind over everything I said about you being cute."
I giggle and lean closer into him, and he snaps the waistband of my bottoms.
"So did you two fuck, or what?" Alex asks, out of the blue.
My heart stops. Suddenly, everyone's eyes are on us. I don't know which is better to say - that we have or that we haven't? I have no idea how I'm supposed to answer, all of my thoughts are going haywire and I can barely discern one from the other.
"None of your damn business, how about," Jackson says, patting my thigh. "Mind your own."
Alex raises his eyebrows and widens his eyes, lowering them back down to his phone. I guess I couldn't have answered it much better, but I wish he never would've asked at all. I just want to know what he's thinking - about me, about us. I hope that this is making me more desirable, because it's definitely getting him to notice me. I'm not so invisible anymore, that's for sure. And maybe this attention can turn to jealousy, which is just what I want.
The next week passes quickly. Jackson and I tone it down in class, but still make sure our relationship is clear in front of Alex. I don't know how much he notices, but I hope it's at least a little. I can't stop thinking about it.
Even sitting playing the piano on Saturday in the music school, I'm thinking about it. I'm thinking about it so hard while playing Nocturne No. 2 in D Flat Major, that I mess up notes that I've been getting perfect for weeks and slam my hands down on the keyboard to make an unpleasant, dissonant sound.
Directly following that, there's a soft knock on the door. I turn around with my hands on the bench and see Jackson's smiling face in the rectangular window, so I beckon him in.
"Hey, piano girl," he says, sauntering inside. "Resorting to violence, I see?"
I sigh. "I kept messing up," I say. I scoot over on the bench. "You gonna sit?"
He lowers himself down so our hips are flush together. He's come to this practice room a lot this week, usually guessing correctly when I'll be here, and I've learned he likes to sit on the bench next to me.
It's kind of sweet.
"What are you messing up?" he asks.
I shake my head. "Doesn't matter," I say. "It's just a bunch of note stuff. It's hard to explain."
"Come on," he says. "Just try. I'm smarter than you think."
"I don't think you're not-" I let out a long breath from my nose. "Jackson. You really wanna know?"
"Yeah, dumb fuck," he says. "If I didn't wanna know, I wouldn't have asked."
I sigh again and point at the paper, feeling his shoulder lean against mine as I do so. "I keep jamming up these eighth notes and playing the wrong pattern. I keep playing the pattern from here." I point to a different part of the sheet. "My brain just keeps mixing them up. It's so annoying."
"Maybe you should let me try," he says, that cocky grin present on his face.
I roll my eyes. "You couldn't even begin to play this," I say. "You're seriously dreaming."
"You never know," he says.
"I'm not even gonna let you try," I say, pulling the sheet off of the built-in stand and tucking it into my music bag. "You can't even read music."
"It can't be that hard," he says, then elbows me in the side. "You do it."
"Shut up," I say, then turn to look at him to find him already looking at me, dead on. "Okay, I'll compromise. I'll teach you how to play 'Mary Had a Little Lamb.' But that's it."
He smiles with his mouth open. "Lit," he says. "Let's do it."
I take in a deep breath and say under my breath, "Even though I already told you I wouldn't teach you…" I glance over at him with only my eyes. "You really think you can get everything you want, don't you?"
"Correction, I don't think I can," he says. "I knowI can. Now where do I put my fingers?"
We make quick, meaningful eye contact, and he busts up into giggles.
"That's what she said," he chuckles.
"Okay, offer revoked," I say. "I'm not teaching you if you're gonna be nasty."
He jostles my shoulders and I fight a smile. "Come on, piano girl," he says, all whiny. "Just 'Mary Had a Little Lamb.' That's all I ask. No more dirty jokes, promise."
"Fine," I huff. "Give me your hand."
I take his hand and lay his pointer finger, middle finger, and ring finger over three black keys in the middle of the piano - F sharp, G sharp and A sharp. "Press down on A sharp," I say.
He looks at me, dumbfounded.
"Oh, right," I say. "Okay, well. Let me help you the first time."
I rest my fingers over his, not missing the way his twitch once we touch. I press down on his ring finger, then his middle, then his pointer, and finish the pattern of the simple song at a very slow tempo, singing along softly as we go.
He stays still the whole time. He doesn't flash me cocky grins or nudge me playfully, he just lets me play the keys through him. When the short song is over, he turns his head slightly to look into my eyes, and the softest smile I've ever seen graces his lips.
"You have a pretty voice," he says.
I look down at the keys, feeling bashful for some reason, even though I know my voice is nice. I wouldn't have the major that I do if it weren't.
"So you've officially played your first song," I say, breaking my hand away from his. "Think you can do it on your own?"
"I don't really want to," he says. "Will you sing something else?"
I shake my head slightly. "I-I don't feel like singing right now."
He groans a little and rolls his eyes. "Fine, spoiled sport. You're lucky, anyway. It's almost time for my game. That's actually why I came to find you, I wanted to ask… do you wanna come?"
He stands up from the bench and I track him with my eyes. "What, to your soccer game?" I ask. I notice for the first time that he's wearing his uniform - white shorts, blue socks, and a blue and white jersey.
"Yeah," he says, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Why?" I ask, resting one bent knee on the bench.
"Uh, I don't know," he says. "I figured… we're friends, I talk about it all the fucking time, maybe you'd wanna see what I do almost every night."
"Oh… I…" I say. I scan his body and look at the uniform again. This is the first time that either of us have said out loud that we're friends. It's kind of a weird feeling, and I'm not sure what to think about it.
"I mean, it's not like you have to," he says. "Alex isn't gonna be there or anything. This-this isn't part of the plot, or anything weird. I just wanted to see if you'd wanna come. That's it. That's literally it."
"Is it cold out?" I ask.
"I don't know," he says. "Yeah, kinda."
The temperature has dropped considerably since the beginning of the week, such is fall in Chicago. It was only around 50 degrees when I left to come here this morning.
"I have a blanket," he says. "My bag's outside the door."
"You brought a blanket?" I ask. "Did you just assume I was gonna come?"
He shrugs. "Well, I was kinda hoping."
"You were hoping?" I ask.
"I mean… yeah," he says. "How about you stop with the goddamn questions and just tell me if you're coming or not."
I stand up from the bench and throw on my fall jacket. "Sure," I say. "I'll come."
The April at home never would have been caught dead at a sports game, but here I am. There aren't many people here to watch the boys play soccer against Creighton, so I sit in the front row bleachers with Jackson's tartan blanket wrapped around my shoulders.
It smells just like him. When no one's looking, I find myself pressing my nose into the corners and breathing in the smell. I've spent more time with him this week than anyone else, and I find that he can really make me laugh. Even more than that, he's really good at calming me down when I get anxious about school or my family. He always seems to know just what to say, but I have no idea how.
I watch Jackson stretching on the field, bending at the waist to touch either of his cleats. When he stands up straight again, he flashes me a smile and a wave as his teammate and roommate, Mark, passes by.
"Oh, your woman came, did she?" he says, slapping Jackson on the back. "So supportive."
Jackson shakes his head and I smirk at their interaction. Another one of his teammates passes as we're making eye contact and looks up at me, too. He says, "Aw, Avery's little girlfriend came to watch her boy play. How sweet."
My lips part as my mouth gapes a little bit. So Jackson has apparently told his whole team about us. I'm not sure if I should be mad or amused, so I go with the easier emotion. Amused.
When the game starts, Jackson scores goal after goal. I find myself paying attention the entire time, not becoming bored for a single minute while he's on the field.
During the last quarter, the two teams are tied and the seconds are ticking down. As they get lower and lower, Jackson gets control of the ball and starts dribbling down the field, and I can't help but lean forward where I sit and follow him closely with my eyes, watching him dart quickly around other players and maneuver the ball expertly.
"You can do it, you can do it," I say under my breath. "You got this, Jackson, you got this…"
He kicks the ball just as the buzzer sounds, and it flies into the opposite team's net. I shoot up from the bleachers with my arms raised over my head, screaming my head off for him as the blanket tumbles to the ground.
"Yes, Jackson!" I scream, stomping my feet. "Woohoo!"
I stop screaming and start laughing, my mouth wide open in a huge smile. He's standing at the edge of the field, beaming up at me with shining eyes, shaking his head slightly.
I lower my arms and pick the blanket back up, wrapping myself in it again as he gathers his things. Once he's all packed up, I skip over to meet him on the track so I can launch myself into his arms.
"You did it!" I cheer. "Did you hear me screaming?"
"China heard you screaming," he says, spinning me around. He sets me back down on the ground, and I can feel his teammates' eyes on us.
It's the image. We have to keep up the image.
He holds my jaw in his hands and kisses me sweetly, smiling through it. We pull away and he goes back for a second, then a third.
"You glad you came?" he says, pushing back my flyaways.
"Yeah," I say, and we start to walk. After we take a few steps, I open the blanket and welcome him to my side. He rests one heavy arm over my shoulders and I wind mine around his damp waist. "You're a boss out there."
"See, now you know," he says. "I can be good at stuff, too. Not just you."
I press my lips together and chuckle, looking up at him.
"Dimple," he says, poking it.
"Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her," I hear, and look over to see Mark chanting where he stands leaning against the fence on the outside of the field.
Jackson rolls his eyes, but doesn't fight it. He squeezes my shoulder and kisses me, lingering with his mouth over mine for a few seconds after we've parted.
My smile still hasn't died from my face and my heart is thumping through my chest, threatening to burst through any second. I've never felt these wild kind of emotions before.
It's the image.
We have to keep up the image.