JACKSON
I step out of the shower on a Friday night after practice, running a towel over my wet curls. Mark is sitting on his bed, spinning his fidget spinner and watching it with intense fascination, barely noticing that I've entered the room.
He didn't bother showering after practice, even though his clothes are covered in grass stains. I feel bad for the first girl he brings back here, because his bed is probably really fucking contaminated.
I throw on a pair of DePaul sweatpants, socks, and a soft t-shirt. "I'm gonna go see April," I say, lingering by our open door.
He looks up from his spinner as it continues to twirl. "Bring her over here," he says. "I don't wanna hang out alone on a Friday night. Plus, you're always in her room."
"Well, she has a single, so-"
"So you two can do the nasty all you want?" he says, eyebrows wiggling above his grin.
"She doesn't have an annoying ass roommate breathing over her shoulder…" I say, laughing. "But fine. I'll bring her here. Be back."
I saunter down the hallway, counting down the room numbers to April's 412. When I get there, the door is cracked just slightly and I can hear her voice before I see her. She's singing something but I can't recognize the song as it's muffled from inside the room, so I just stand still for a second and listen.
She really does have a beautiful voice. She still won't sing for me, but I've been trying. We've been spending a crazy about of time together this past week, ever since she came to my soccer game I've felt closer to her. Instead of just wanting to keep up our act, I find myself wanting to spend actual time with her. We're becoming pretty good friends, I think.
She has a ruthless mouth and sometimes says things she takes back right away, I've come to notice. She can talk circles around me, and while it would intimidate a lot of other guys I know, I like it. I love watching her show off how smart she is, whether that's being a mini-Mozart on the piano or owning all of her schoolwork. I love watching her in her element.
I also love showing off for her in mine, on the field. In high school, when my girlfriends would come and watch me play, it was because they wanted to flaunt my jersey and brag about who was theirs on the team. But April is there because she wants to be. I love looking up in the middle of a play to see that shock of red hair wrapped in my tartan blanket, during almost every game.
"Knock, knock," I say, tapping on the doorframe and speaking quietly so I don't startle her. She startles easily, and usually I like doing it. But I don't want to bother her while she's singing.
"Jackson," she says. "You can come in. It's open."
I swing the door in to see her sitting cross-legged on her bed, papers strewn out over her lap. "You doing voice stuff?" I ask.
"No," she says. "I was actually writing a paper of yours. Did you hear me singing?"
I grin. "Yeah."
She rolls her eyes at herself. "Just filling the silence," she says.
"Thought you liked the silence," I say, standing across from her. Her bed is raised on four posts, so I'm at eye-level with her where she sits.
"I like silence from you," she says, touching my chest with the pad of her pointer finger.
"Nah, you like my chatty ass," I say.
"Whatever you say," she says, then pats the spot on the bed next to her. "Wanna sit?"
I climb up on the bed next to her, glancing at the papers covering her legs. "I feel bad you're doing this," I say. "I can help. You shouldn't be doing it all."
"It's my end of the deal," she says. "I'm gonna hold it up."
"I know, but…" I trail off.
"You've been awesome with your end, and-and stuff," she says, curling the corner of one of the papers. "It's so believable. I really think he's getting jealous. He's talking to me a lot more than he ever has."
My skin crawls. "He is?" I ask.
"Yeah," she says, still messing with the paper.
"I don't see him talk to you in class," I say.
"Yeah, 'cause you're always talking to me then," she says, giggling and nudging my shoulder with hers. "We text."
"You guys text," I echo.
"Yeah," she says nonchalantly.
"When did he give you his number?" I ask.
"I don't know," she says. "A couple days ago?"
"What kind of stuff do you talk about?" I say, trying to sound as chill as I can. I wonder if it's working.
"Why, are you gonna document all this somewhere or something?" she asks, raising her eyebrows. "What's with the third degree? It means what you and I are doing is working." She stacks her papers and glances out the window, where the sun is just starting to go down. "I just hope he doesn't see through it, though. That'd be mortifying."
"Maybe we need to make our PDA a little more believable," I say, watching her mouth. Her tongue darts between her lips to wet them, and she glances down at my mouth, too.
"What do you mean, more believable?" she says.
"You're still new at kissing," I say. "Practicing never hurt anybody."
Her face flushes a little bit. "What, I'm not good?"
"No, no," I say. "I didn't say that. I just meant… it could be more natural, I don't know."
"Well," she says, curling her hair behind her ears with both hands. "I don't know, wanna make out for a while and see if I can get better?"
My stomach jumps. "Sure," I say, sounding casual. "Mark wants to hang out with us tonight, but he can chill for a sec."
"Okay," she says, leaning over to set her bundle of papers on her desk. "I… um… okay."
She lies down on her back with her head to the foot of her bed, eyes trained on me to gauge my next move. I'm a little caught off guard that she laid down, but not in an unpleasant way. I crawl over her with my hands braced on the mattress by her ears, then bend my neck to press my parted lips against hers.
Her lips are so soft. I don't know if I've ever felt anything softer in my entire life. She's gotten a lot better at knowing when and how to move them, so when I slip my tongue inside her mouth, it's not a shock to either of us. She makes a sweet little sound in the back of her throat, and I skim one hand up her blanket to interlace our fingers together, and she holds on tight.
I move to straddle her hips, keeping my weight off of her because I feel myself getting a boner that I know is unavoidable. I know this is all fake, and I'm fine with it staying that way. I don't have feelings for her or anything, but her body is insane. I'd be blind and stupid not to see that. And she doesn't even know how amazing it is, so that's what I always try and show her.
She never believes me, though.
She squeezes my hand and uses the other one to push my hips down by the small of my back, lowering my body so I can rest against her instead of hovering above.
"I just… I didn't know if you'd want- I have… I'm…" I stammer, which is really unlike me. I'm usually the one who's smooth with words, but that can't be said right now. All the blood is at my groin, not in my brain.
"It's fine," she says, adjusting her hips more comfortably underneath me. "I want you to be relaxed, too."
I smile and kiss her again, moving my hand away from hers to trail down her face, then to land on the side of her neck. I can feel her pulse beating like mad, and that reassures me that I'm not the only one between us whose heart is racing.
I swipe her bangs out of her face and press a few kisses to her eyebrows, and she shuts her eyes gently while smiling. "You're so beautiful," I tell her, tucking my face into her neck.
She takes in a sharp little breath and her hands freeze on my back.
"What?" I say, lifting up to look at her. She's chewing her lip, eyes concentrated out the window instead of on me.
"You don't have to say that kind of stuff, you know," she says. "If you don't mean it."
"Who says I don't mean it?" I ask, brushing an eyelash off the apple of her cheek.
"I mean, you don't," she says. "Because I'm not."
I chuckle. "Yes, you are," I say.
She rolls her eyes. "You're really good at keeping up the fake relationship game, okay, Jackson?" she says. "I get it. But you don't have to go so far with it. It hurts my feelings."
I screw up my face in confusion. "I… I didn't say it to hurt you," I explain. "I said it because I actually mean it."
"How could you mean something like that?" she asks. "I'm not beautiful. Nothing is beautiful about me."
I shake my head. "You're out of your fucking mind."
She sits up quickly, which forces me to adjust my positioning, too. "People call me smart. Funny, sometimes even cute. But I'm not beautiful. I know myself, Jackson, and I know what I am and what I'm not. I'm not a beautiful girl. I'm a smart girl."
"Is there some rule I don't know about that says you can't be both?" I ask, widening my eyes.
She opens her mouth, then closes it. Her eyebrows are set in a low, stubborn expression. "Why are you fighting me so hard on this?" she asks.
"Because you won't listen," I say. "I'm telling you you're beautiful, and you don't believe me. I'm not leaving 'til you do."
"I didn't ask you to go anywhere," she says, looking down and messing with a thread on her soft gray sweatpants.
"Well, even if you did."
She huffs. "You only think I'm beautiful because I kiss you a lot and give you boners."
My mouth gapes open as I laugh at what she's said. "Holy shit, wow," I say. "Okay, no. You're so off, dude. I think you're beautiful because… uh, I don't know. You are?"
"How."
"How?" I repeat.
"Congratulations, parrot," she says.
I scoff. "Your eyes," I say. "They're all… sparkly and shit. Like of course they are, in the light. But I mean, right now even. They're all shiny when you look at me. I don't know how they do that, but I really like it."
She bats her eyelashes and my stomach twists.
"Your hair," I continue. "I don't know why you freak out about brushing it so much, because it looks perfect when you don't even try. I love the color. I can always spot you in the bleachers, and that's my favorite thing."
I rest my back against the wall and she crawls onto my lap, her weight pleasant on my thighs. As I talk about it, I run my fingers through the tendrils of hair that lay over her shoulders, and she gently holds my wrist.
"Your lips," I say. "They're so soft. Like… insanely soft. I'd kiss them all day, if you'd let me." I smile and roll my eyes at myself, at how cheesy I sound. I don't care, though. I really want her to believe me; I want her to know how amazing she is so she can have some self-confidence for when she finds the guy who's right for her. "Your laugh," I say.
"Ugh, I hate it," she says.
"No, it's so sexy," I say, holding her face with my thumbs on her cheeks. She leans her head to one side, resting against me, blinking slowly. "You're so beautiful. And I'm gonna tell you every day."
"People will really believe us then," she says, leaning forward to press her mouth gently to mine. When she pulls away, she whispers, "Jackson."
"Hmm?" I answer, eyes closed and eyebrows raised attentively.
"Would it be weird if you… touched me?"
My eyes shoot open to look into hers. "Touched you?" I clarify.
She takes in a shaky breath and holds my wrist, then moves it lower from her neck to her chest, where she places my hand over her left breast.
I grit my teeth together. I can feel her heartbeat right under my palm, and she keeps her hand planted over mine. As I look at her, she nods a little bit and I squeeze her softly, my fingers moving hesitantly. She must be only wearing a sports bra, because I can feel her better than I would be able to through a regular one. Her breast is soft and its weight is comforting in my hand, and now I never want to let go.
I never thought we'd get to this step.
"I like that," she whispers, leaning forward to kiss me again. "Keep it right there, please."
As she pushes her tongue inside my mouth, I move to hold her other breast as well. She nods against me and I don't miss the way that her hips are grinding against my crotch, and I can feel my pulse beating hard between my legs. If we don't stop soon, she's going to make me come in my pants. And I don't think I can handle that kind of embarrassment.
But I also don't think I can handle stopping her. I'm enjoying this way too much, and I think she is too.
"April," I say, lips moving over hers. "Have you ever had an-"
"What's taking you two so long, goddammit?" I hear Mark's voice, and suddenly he appears in April's doorway. I must not have shut it all the way when I came in.
"Jesus, Mark!" I say, and April scrambles off of my lap to sit beside me.
"Oh, come on, don't act like I haven't seen it before or done it myself," he says, then winks. "Nice, by the way. Second base."
I lick my lips. I can still taste her Chapstick, and I'm not complaining.
"Anyway, you guys coming to the room? I set up Mario Kart. Lame ass game, but it's all for you, Kep."
Her eyes dart to me, and I notice that her lips are red and a little swollen. That familiar sense of pride blooms in my chest again, but I try to hide it. I don't need her knowing what a gross typical man I am.
"Yeah, sure," she says, hopping off the bed. "Coming, Jackson?"
April and I sit on bean bag chairs on the floor while Mark sits on his bed, all of us leaning forward with controllers in our hands. We play for a long time, and April is the queen of trash talking. After she wins for the fifth time in a row, she laughs in my face as she tips her head back and forth, then takes my chin in her thumb and first finger to give me a cute little kiss.
"Got you again," she says.
"Hey, you beat me, too," Mark says. "Where's my kiss?"
"Don't even start," I say, narrowing my eyes at him.
"Lay off, fucker," he says. "I'm joking."
April sets her controller down on the floor. "You guys play this round. I'll watch," she says, hoisting herself up onto my unmade bed.
"You sure?" I ask, looking over my shoulder at her.
"Yeah," she says. "I need a break."
Her break turns into even, deep breaths right behind my head, and after I beat Mark bad in the next round, I turn around to see that she's fallen asleep.
"Let's play COD," Mark says. "She's out. She won't complain about the guns or yell at you for killing people."
I laugh and switch the discs, and we play until my eyes start to grow heavy. I notice that it's past 2am, and April's been out for a good three hours at least.
"Think I should wake her up?" I ask Mark. She's scooted over close to the wall, facing out with her hands by her face.
"I don't know," he says, getting into his own bed. "Doesn't matter to me."
"You're a whole lot of help," I say, then lean over my bed. "Piano girl," I say quietly, not wanting to scare her. "April. April, wake up."
She makes a soft little sound, but doesn't open her eyes.
"Do you wanna go back to your room?" I ask. "Or stay here? I don't mind if you stay. But if you wanna go, I'll take you. I'm ready to go to sleep."
She sighs and rubs her eyes, flipping over onto her back. "Stay here," she says. "Sleepy."
"Okay," I say. "I'm gonna lay next to you then, if that's okay? Unless, if you want me to sleep on the floor. I can do that, too."
"Will you just shut up?" Mark groans. "Trying to sleep over here."
I glare at him through the dark, then look back to April to see that she's created a bigger space for me. "Oh," I whisper. "Thanks."
I crawl into bed and try to straighten the sheets, but it's hard without being able to see.
"Cold," April says, pulling her knees to her chest. After that doesn't help to warm her, she lowers them again and gravitates towards me just as I've fixed the covers.
I freeze when she touches me, though I don't know why. I've slept beside my fair share of girls, so I'm not sure why I'm freaking out about her being in my bed. Maybe because the thing we have going isn't supposed to be like this. It isn't supposed to be real. But I did make sure and ask her. And she said she wanted to stay. And I want her to stay. But should I want that? I don't know.
I just want to go to sleep. We can figure this shit out in the morning.
She insistently snuggles against my side as I pull the covers over us. I wrap an arm around her shoulders and she rests her head on my chest, nuzzling against me to get comfortable, then lays her hand on my stomach over my t-shirt. Her breathing finds its rhythm again almost instantly, and her legs twitch against mine as she drifts back into unconsciousness.
I can't help but watch her, just for a second. Her face is so calm and unworried - she's fucking adorable. My heart is doing something crazy, though, so I stare back at the ceiling and try to ignore the soft waves of her hair underneath my chin, the swell of her breasts pressed against my side, and the way she's curled one leg around mine. In a perfect world, I'd be able to ignore all of that and fall asleep.
But, of course, this is not a perfect world.
The next morning when I wake up, April's eyes are just blinking open, too. She's still tucked into my side, one cheek squished against my shoulder, with her arm slung heavy across my lower belly.
I bend my neck to look down at her and see her eyes only half-lidded. She pushes herself up a little bit and moves the hand that had been on my stomach to hold the side of my face, then she presses her lips to mine - all slow and sleepy. She kisses me once, twice, three times, then lays her head down in the crook of my neck and falls back to sleep.
Wow. Wow, wow, wow. Now I'm wide awake, lying on my back and staring at the ceiling with this small, warm body folded against my own. What was that for? Practice? It seemed way too routine, way too comfortable and familiar to be practice. And now, she's sleeping soundly cuddling with me. What's this practice for? Who are we doing this for besides ourselves? Mark? He's fast asleep and snoring a few feet away, he doesn't give a shit.
I tighten my arm around her and ghost my lips over her hairline. She doesn't even stir, she's already deeply gone again. I shouldn't be letting her stay like this, I know that. There's no reason for it. She doesn't have feelings for me, and I don't have feelings for her. This is pointless. We're friends, and that's only as of the last couple weeks. We're friends who hold up our ends of a deal for one another, and that's that. We make each other feel good along the way, too. That's called friendship.
But as I look down at her, all cute and asleep and serene, what I'm feeling is a lot more than friendship. And that freaks me out. I shouldn't be feeling all arm and gushy when I look at her face, not at all.
Maybe too abruptly, I slide out of bed to get away from my feelings and the motion wakes her up.
"Hmm?" she says, sitting halfway up and rubbing her eyes. Her hair is tousled and frizzy, sticking out every which way. "Jackson?"
"Hey," I say. "Morning."
She blinks hard. "I… I didn't mean to sleep here. I'm sorry. That was really intrusive of me to do."
I rub the back of my neck, staring down at the carpet instead of her cute ass sleepy self. I think I'll self-destruct if I look at her for one more second. "No, you were fine," I say. "Did you sleep good?"
"Yeah…" she trails off. "Really good. Better than I have since I moved here." She laughs a little bit. "Maybe I should sleep with you more often."
I look up from the ground and we lock eyes as she realizes what she said.
"Oh, well, not like that," she backtracks. "You know what I meant. Sleep. Like, sleep. Lay next to you and close my eyes. I really liked it for some reason. I slept like a rock."
I wish I could say the same. I spent most of the night acutely aware of her presence and hoping I wouldn't make a wrong move. I don't know why, either. And it was amazing to me that we woke up still all snuggled, because with other girls I always used to move away as soon as I could. With April, though, I hadn't wanted to.
"Well, my bed's always open," I say with a smile. I glance at the clock and see it's nearly 11, which means my game is in a couple hours. "Hey, you coming to the game?" I ask.
She looks at the clock, too. "At 1?" she asks. I nod, and she slips off my bed. "Sure. It'll give me some time to go practice." She pets down her crazy hair in attempts to tame it, but it doesn't do much. "I'm gonna go… do that, then."
"I'll come get you in a little bit," I say. "School of Music?"
"Uh-huh," she says, looking over her shoulder. "As always."
After she leaves, I jump in the shower and for the first time, wishing that I could talk to Mark about this. I can't, though, because he thinks that mine and April's relationship is real just like everyone else does. There's no one I can talk about my feelings with - no matter how hokey that sounds. Their weight is pressing down on my shoulders, and I wish I could shake it off. I can't, though. And it just gets worse every time I think about her.
Which happens to be a lot.
I take my time walking over to the School of Music after I'm all prepped for the game. I like the sound that my cleats make on the pavement, and I like looking around to see the leaves changing. It's early October now, and the colors out here remind me a lot of April's hair.
My face screws up as I wonder, why the hell am I thinking about April's hair?
I find my way to her normal practice room and watch her for a second before I knock on the window. The sheet music poised on the piano stand says Arabesque No. 2 by Debussy, and her fingers are absolutely flying over the keys as she concentrates. I can't bear to interrupt her, so I wait until she's finished to make my presence known.
"Come in," she calls after I rap my knuckle on the glass.
"You should've seen how fast your fingers were flying, piano girl," I say, sliding next to her on the bench. I mimic the way her hands were moving, and she holds back a smile. "I think you burnt some rubber."
"Shush," she says, gathering up her papers and putting them in her music bag. "You ready?"
"Uh-huh," I say. "Got your blanket-"
"Oh, it's my blanket now," she says, hoisting the small bag up onto her shoulders.
"Well, you're the only one who uses it," I say. "You made it smell like you, by the way."
"No, it definitely still smells like you," she says.
"Whatever," I say, smiling. She pulls the blanket from my bag and wraps it around her shoulders, and we walk side-by-side to the field. Once we get there, she gives me a little wave and goes to her normal spot on the bleachers, and I jog onto the turf to join my team.
I score the first goal, and the first thing I hear is April screaming her head off. I look over and she's jumping up and down with the blanket still around her, cheeks flushed from the crisp air. I'd score a million goals if it meant I'd get to see her react like that every time. I'd definitely be lying if I said I didn't love showing off for her.
Some time passes where the other team catches up to us, and by halftime we're tied. While I'm sitting on the silver bench on the sidelines with my water bottle, April makes her way down the bleacher stairs and stands in front of me.
"Did you hear me cheering?" she asks.
I nod and glance around at my teammates who all think we're the perfect couple. Keeping up the image is on the forefront of my mind, so I set my water bottle down and pull her close with my hands on her hips. She's standing and I'm sitting, so I spread my knees so she can fit between them. With her hands on my shoulders, she leans down and rubs the tip of her nose against mine with a cute little smile on her face.
"What," I say, squeezing her waist.
"It's cool watching you out there," she says.
"Yeah?" I say.
"Yeah," she says. "I like it."
"I like you watching me," I say, reaching up to tug gently on the ends of her hair.
The sound of the whistle blowing interrupts us, and April gives me a quick kiss before I stand up from the bench. "Good luck, baby!" she calls out, then heads back up to her spot.
With renewed energy, I fly out onto the field and score a goal within the first six minutes of the third quarter. But when the ball flies into the net, I don't hear April freaking out like usual. With my eyebrows screwed up in confusion, I look up in the bleachers to see if she's still there. I see that she is, but she's not alone anymore.
She's not alone, there's someone sitting next to her. Someone, who I can recognize from all the way out here on the field, as Alex Karev.
I stay frozen where I stand by the goal, even as the game continues around me. My eyes are burning into the two of them; she's turned towards him and their knees are millimeters away from touching. She has a big, dumb smile on her face as their heads are bent together, and he's showing her something on his phone that's making her laugh.
What the fuck is he doing here?
I tell myself that I'm mad because to my team, she's my girlfriend. What are they supposed to think when they see her flirting with another guy?
My face gets hot and I ball my fists up at my sides, trying to will away my anger. She's not my property. I'm not some pig who thinks like that, but that's not why I'm so angry. I'm angry because Alex is a douche and she can't see it. I'm mad because she came here to watch me, and now all she cares about is him. Why is he even here anyway? Did he know she was going to be here? Did she tell him herself? I don't think she would do that, but I don't know. We've only known each other for a month or so. How much can I really know about her?
"Avery! Pay attention, would you?" my coach shouts, and I notice that my team has gravitated to the other end of the field. I shake my head to clear it and trot down to where the action is, but my mind isn't on the game anymore. It's on last night, how her body felt pressed under mine, how her breasts felt in my hands, how nice it felt to sleep next to her. I know it wasn't supposed to mean anything to me, and it doesn't. But for some reason I can't help but feel a little betrayed.
I don't score any more goals for the rest of the game. In fact, I don't even look up to the bleachers until after the last whistle is blown.
We lose. And when I glance up, I see that April is alone again with an 'at least you tried' look on her face.
Everything in me wants to walk off the field with my friends. I don't want to go up and talk to her, because I know how I'm going to act. Pissed. And I also know that I have no right to act that way, but I can't help it. Seeing Alex here really threw me off my vibe. If it weren't for him, we probably would've won this stupid game.
I trudge up the bleacher stairs anyway, and can see April walking slowly towards me in my peripheral vision. "It's okay," she says, before I even reach her. "Everyone has to lose sometimes."
"Yeah," I grunt, and pick up the music bag for her. I don't make eye contact as I start walking up the stairs ahead of her, and she has to skip to catch up.
"Did it really bother you that much?" she asks as we walk out of the stadium.
"I don't really care," I say.
"You sound like you care," she mutters.
"Well, I don't," I say, hitching the bag up higher on my shoulder.
"If you don't wanna carry that, I can," she says. "You already have your soccer bag. You don't have to carry both."
She goes to reach for it, but I keep a tight hold. "I got it," I say. "Don't worry about it."
We walk in silence for a little while, our feet leading us towards our dorm. I can feel her eyes on me, but I don't look over. I keep staring down at the sidewalk, willing my twisting anger to pass. But it doesn't.
"What's up with you," she asks, and the air has changed between us. I can practically feel the eggshells that we're walking on.
"Nothing," I murmur, keeping my head low.
"Yeah, right," she says. "You won't even look at me."
I pick my head up and make pointed eye contact, just to spite her. "Why was Alex there?" I ask, finally spitting it out.
Her forehead crinkles show up from confusion. "Wait, seriously?" she asks. "That's why you're mad?"
"I'm not mad," I say.
"Okay," she says sarcastically. "Sure."
"I'm not mad," I repeat.
She eyes me, and I can tell she still doesn't believe me. That's fine. She doesn't have to. "Whatever," she says. "He was there because he was walking on Belden and said he saw me, and he stopped to say hi."
"He saw you through the bottom of the cement bleachers," I say, deadpan.
"Yeah," she says. "No, well, I don't know! I don't know how he saw me. That's not the important part."
"And what is?" I ask.
"That he stopped!" she says, eyebrows up. "It's a good thing. He actually asked me to hang out later."
I clench my jaw and feel like I might explode. I don't even know what to say.
"Like, finally, right?" she continues, evidently oblivious to my prickling anger. "So I said we should, later tonight in my room."
In her room. The place where the two of us always hang out, that I had always thought was special. Well, I guess that idea's out the window now. "Cool," I say, under my breath.
"Yeah…" she says, voice dying at the end. "I think so, too."
We walk inside Clifton and swipe our IDs, then get on the elevator. My mind is whirring as I try to figure out a way to get her out of hanging out with him, but I can't come up with anything. The best I can do is get her to myself for a few more hours before the afternoon turns into the evening, so that's what I plan on doing.
She unlocks the door to her room and starts cleaning instantly as I stay leaning against the doorjamb. "Do you wanna uh… go on a run with me, or something?" I ask.
She narrows her eyes at me as she folds and refolds a shirt, replacing it inside a drawer. "What?" she says. "I don't run. You know that."
I take a deep breath. "It'll calm you down," I say. "Then you'll be chill for, you know, later."
She gives me a weird look. "I'm chill right now," she says.
I roll my eyes. "Yeah, sure."
"What!" she says. "I am."
"Yeah, because neurotically cleaning your already-spotless 4x4 dorm room looks super chill," I say.
She flops on her bed, her arms out to either side. "Ugh," she says. "Me and physical activity don't really mix. Just like you and the piano don't really mix."
"Hey," I say, my tone a fake warning. "I rocked the hell out of 'Mary Had a Little Lamb,' so you better take that back."
She chuckles, and that makes me smile. I love getting a laugh out of her.
"Fine," she says dramatically after a second or two has passed. "Let me get my tennies on."
"Your whatties?" I ask, leaning forward on the footboard of her bed.
"My tennies," she says, sitting on the floor and pulling her sneakers on.
"Those are called sneakers," I say.
"My family calls them tennies," she says. "And you will not tell me otherwise. It's a Kepner thing."
I extend my hand. "Well, come on then, Kepner thing. Let's go."
I start out at a slow jog, and April keeps up with me even through her complaints. From her sweater and jeans she changed into leggings and a hoodie, and as she runs the sleeves roll down and cover her hands. She uses the extra fabric to keep warm, and I pretend to think that she's an idiot. But I really think it's super cute.
I pick up the pace as we go down neighborhood streets, and can tell she's struggling a little. Maybe I'll tire her out so much that she won't want to hang out with Alex later. Or maybe I'll keep her out too late and she'll miss him in the lobby of the building, and won't be able to sign him in. I'd be okay with either of those things.
"Jackson!" she shrieks, and I notice that she's fallen far behind. When I glance over my shoulder, I see her doubled over with her ass facing me, and I force any and all inappropriate thoughts out of my head.
"What?" I call.
"I can't…" she gasps, then collapses on her butt to rest in the grass along the sidewalk. "Ouch, I have - I have! Something in my leg! My leg!"
I hurry over to her, thinking that she might have sprained something. But when I get closer, I can visibly see the muscle in her calf spasming - she's just having a charley horse.
"Okay, calm down," I say. "Geez. It's just a charley horse."
She flattens onto her back with her hands on her forehead. "And what the heck is that?!" she shrills.
"It's your damn - hold on," I say, then pull her leg into my lap.
"Ow!" she whines.
"Shush," I say. "I'm gonna massage it out."
I knead her calf muscle in my fingers, and the sounds she makes from the way it feels are so sexual that I can't see straight. I know how it feels for a charley horse to come on so fast then be willed away, but I don't think I've ever made sounds like this because of one.
She's trying to kill me.
"Is it gone?" I ask, still massaging.
She peeks out at me from under her arm. "It feels like it might come back," she says, knee bending a little bit. "Just keep going for a little bit longer."
I keep going until all the stiffness is out of her leg, and she's breathing normally again.
"I hated that," she says. "What even was that?"
I explain it to her, and she shakes her head. What I want to do most is crawl over her body and kiss her senseless in the grass, but I won't do that. I won't let myself. Plus, it's not what she wants.
"Can we go back?" she asks, somewhat pitifully. "And can we walk?"
We take our time walking back to Clifton, and I dread every step. When we get up to the fourth floor, she unlocks her room and makes no move to invite me in, casually blocking the door with her body.
"I'll talk to you tomorrow, after church," she says. "Maybe you can sit with me while I write one of your papers."
"Cool," I say, growing sullen again.
"I'm gonna go now," she says. "I gotta take a shower before-"
"Night," I say, and turn around to walk to my room. When I get in, I slam the door behind me just a little too loud, and Mark peeks his head out of the bathroom.
"Geez, dude, what the fuck?" he says, looking annoyed. "I thought I was being shot at."
I kick my shoes off and throw my dirty shirt into the hamper, not turning around to acknowledge him.
"Damn, what's got your panties in a twist?" he asks.
"Fuck off," I murmur.
"Whoa, whoa," he says. "Don't be taking out whatever anger you have directed at your woman on me."
"How did y-"
"I know these things," he says. "Wanna talk about it?"
I change into sweatpants and shake my head.
"Fine," he says. "I don't care if you don't wanna talk, but don't bite my head off for no reason. I didn't do anything wrong here. Well, maybe I did, but I'm not the one with the boobs that you're pissed at. So leave me out of it."
He closes the door to the bathroom again and I open my laptop, putting on my headphones to watch Netflix so I can get my mind on literally anything else. I don't want to be thinking about what April and Alex might be doing in her room. I don't care if they're talking, touching, or even looking at each other… I don't want to think about any of it.
But of course, I can't concentrate. I tell myself that going on a walk will help, but I don't want to go outside again. So I decided to just walk around the fourth floor, innocently enough. I leave mine and Mark's door slightly ajar, and start strolling around the circular floor.
I go the opposite way that I normally do, knowing full well that I have a destination in mind but at the same time pretending that I don't. When I get to room 412 though, my footsteps slow down. I hear them inside - the musical rise and fall of April's excited voice and Alex's low, grumbling tone. What does she see in him? I have no idea what she could possibly see in him. She has to be out of her mind.
I can't quite hear what they're saying, and I think that's probably a good thing. I can hear her laughing, though - but it sounds forced. Too high and too loud. That's the last straw; I pick up my pace again and walk back to my room.
I don't know how long I lay there on my phone, not doing much at all except for obsessing over what's behind 412's closed door. Mark left to go to a party, as most normal college students would on a Saturday night, but I don't make a move to go anywhere. I know if I wanted to, I could. I could find somewhere to go, something to do. But I don't want to move. I want to stay here and wallow, while pretending that I don't care.
Just before 11, I hear a rushed knock on the door as I'd just gotten up to brush my teeth. I frown towards the sound, wondering if it's Mark having come back too drunk too early. I pad over and turn the knob, about ready to chew him out, only to see April there on the brink of tears.
"Hey… hey, what's wrong?" I ask, feeling my stomach churn with anxiety.
It only takes those words for her to start crying. Her mouth turns down and she reaches her arms out for me, sobbing out one word only.
"Jackson," she cries, and I close the door and lead her to my bed so we can sit down.
"What is it?" I ask, one arm around her shoulders. She stares ahead for a moment, then collapses against me, resting one hand on my chest and tucking her face into my neck. I can feel her tears on my skin - warm and relentless. "What happened?"
It's hard for her to get any coherent words out, but she says the only thing I need to hear to know what happened. "Alex," she sobs.