APRIL
On Sunday morning, I wake up with a warm and sturdy body beside me. Actually, it's not really beside me at all, it's more like resting on top of me.
There's not much room in my twin bed, but Jackson and I did our best to make it work. Last night, I threw off all of my decorative pillows that he claims have no practical use, and cleared off any excess blankets. That made a little more space, but still. It's only a twin bed and he's not exactly small.
I'm lying on my back, and Jackson's head is between my neck and shoulder, his hairline just touching my jaw. The arm underneath him is numb, but I try not to pay it any attention. For some reason I'm really enjoying him this close to me, and I'm usually not a very touchy person.
He has one arm slung heavy over my ribcage, his hand tucked underneath - sandwiched between my body and the mattress. Under the covers, our legs are tangled together and our bodies are creating so much heat that it's more like a sauna than a bed. I smile to myself at how soundly he's sleeping, his shoulder rising and falling with each of his deep breaths, and I lift my free arm to run my fingertips down his bare side.
Of course, he didn't sleep with a shirt on. He claimed that it would be impossible, and I didn't put up much of a fight. And I'm still in my cami, so our sticky, sweaty skin is all pressed up against each other. But I don't mind at all.
In fact, I kind of like it.
I shift onto my side to get more comfortable, and his forehead crinkles. "Morning," I whisper, tracing the shell of his ear with my pointer finger.
His eyes haven't opened yet, but he takes in a deep, cleansing breath.
"Did you sleep good?" I ask.
He nods slowly, eyelashes fluttering. When his eyes open, I smile at their familiar warmth. "Hey," he says, voice all gravelly.
"You're very warm," I tell him, and hug his head closer with my numb arm.
"More like hot," he slurs, chuckling at his own joke as his eyes drift shut again.
I scoff and lay a flat hand on his chest. "How's your head?" I ask. "Still sore?"
"A little," he says. "A kiss probably wouldn't hurt."
I match the devious smirk on his face. "Kisses make everything better," I say. "It's a proven fact."
I slide my arm out from underneath him so I can prop myself up on my elbow. I frame his face with one hand and bend to press my lips gently to the swollen spot on his forehead, and he closes his eyes as I do.
"I think I need another one," he murmurs, reaching up to thread his fingers through my hair. I press my lips softly all over his face - from the swollen spot, to his temple, the apple of his cheek, his chin, and finally, very tentatively, his lips.
I pull away and smile at him, then lie on my back again. This time, he turns on his side and looks down at me, his eyes searching my face, but I'm not sure what for. I blink up at him, leaning into his hand as he runs my hair through his fingers, then he drags his fingertips down my cheek.
"Your hair is really soft," he says.
I make a little sound, a tiny laugh. "I use good conditioner," I say.
He leans forward and presses his nose to the side of my head, and I can hear him taking in a long breath. "Smells like it," he says.
I feel my cheeks heat up with a blush that I try to hide as he lifts his face to look at me again. "It-it's…" I stammer. "Coconut. A-and vanilla, or something."
"Or something," he repeats.
I turn on my side now, too, so we're both facing each other, and trail my fingertips down his arm. Once I get to the end of it, I take his hand and draw circles over the veiny surface, making nonsensical shapes and patterns as I look into his sleepy eyes.
"I want you to relax today," I say. "You need it."
"You need it," he says, lips puckering in a cute smirk.
"I don't," I say. "I need to go practice my piano at some point today."
He wraps an arm tight around my waist, pulling my body as close as possible. "Not anytime soon," he says
With my face in his armpit, I can't help but laugh before I yank myself out of there. "You stink," I tell him, poking his shoulder. "You need a shower, Mr. Closed head injury."
He groans and rolls over, blinking up at the ceiling. "I barely wake up, and you're already kicking me out of bed," he says. "What happened to relaxing?"
"After your shower, then you can lay back down," I say.
"With you," he adds.
"Probably not," I say. "I don't wanna wait too long, or else the practice rooms will fill-"
"With you…" he says again, turning to trail one hand down my back until it rests over the swell of my butt. "Or I don't get in that shower and you'll have to smell me all day."
I roll my eyes. "Fine," I say.
He makes a little satisfied sound as he starts to sit up. "Thank you very much," he says, swinging his legs over so his feet touch the floor. "Now, I'm off to use your girly shampoo...whoa."
The 'whoa' comes when he stands up, and he has to outstretch his arms to either side of his body so he won't topple over.
"Hey, hey, hey," I say, scrambling up out of bed to support him. "Concussions can make you dizzy, it's normal. It's okay. I'll just… let me help you to the bathroom."
He puts some of his weight on me as we walk the distance to the bathroom door, and I steady him before turning the water on. "You need anything else? There's an extra towel right here, all the soap and stuff is in the shower. Do you want music, or something?"
"You singing would be good," he says, still leaning against the wall.
"Jackson," I say, rolling my eyes. "I'm not just gonna sing for you whenever you want, that was a one time-"
"I'm gonna slip in that shower," he says. "I'm a liability. You're gonna get in trouble if I fall and bust my ass in your shower."
I scrunch up my forehead as I look at him. "Your point?" I ask.
"I need you to come with me," he says.
"Come with you?" I ask, wide-eyed. "In the shower?" I shake my head. "I can't do that. Anyway, there's no way I could stop you from falling. I-I'm little, I can't hold you up, I can't."
He sighs. "I need you to," he says. "Plus, I've already seen you naked."
A violent blush blossoms across my cheeks, neck and chest as he speaks the truth. "I-I…" I stutter. "But I…" I look up and meet his eyes. "I haven't seen you."
"Doesn't seem very fair," he says, slipping out of his socks using only his feet. I already know I won't put up much more of a fight; he'll win this dispute. My body is feeling intense want for him, and there's nothing I can do about that. I'm not ready to go all the way, we figured that out last time, but I want… something. That's for sure.
"Fine," I say.
"That didn't take much cajoling," he says.
"Big word for you," I say, raising my eyebrows and turning around to pull off my camisole. I don't know why I snapped at him like that, but sometimes I can't help it. Things like that just come out.
"So mean to me," he says, and when I turn around in just my underwear, I find that he's pulling his boxers down. I can't help but stare, either. I have to. I've never seen a penis before, and I'm not really sure what to make of it. It doesn't look exactly like I imagined it would, but it's not unpleasant really. It's kind of standing halfway up, but I feel weird staring for too long, so I look away. "I don't care if you look," he says.
"Oh," I say quickly. "Well, um, yeah, no. I shouldn't. That's weird. I… um, let's get in?"
He chuckles at looks at my state of undress. "You gonna wear your underwear to take a shower?" he asks.
I cross my arms tighter over my chest, self-conscious even though he's already seen me like this once before. But it's daytime now, and everything feels more real. We're not about to have sex, but this feels even more intimate.
I want to do it, though. I want to be this close to him. I'm not sure why, I'm not sure of its purpose, except for the fact that I'm keeping him safe from falling in the shower. Yeah, that's it. That's why I'm getting in here, naked with him.
"Oh, right," I say. I bend at the waist, preparing to take them off, then my eyes dart back up to him. "You can go ahead and get in first."
He takes my advice and pulls the curtain back, then disappears behind it. I take my underwear off and kick them in the corner next to his boxers, then take a deep breath. I count to ten and pull back the curtain to get under the water with him.
Inside the shower is warm and the lighting is dim, but I can't lift my eyes from the floor.
"You okay?" he asks.
"Yes, Mr. Concussed," I say, steeling myself and finally looking at his face. His eyes are sparkling and happy, and that makes me happy. I don't feel like covering myself anymore, it feels different behind this curtain. It feels like we're in our own little world, which I really like. "Hand me the shampoo?"
"I can get your hair," he says, reaching behind him for the bottle.
"I was gonna do you," I say, taking the shampoo from him. "You go first. You're the one with the injury, you come first."
He smiles to himself and doesn't argue with me. I squirt some into my palm and rub the both of them together, then motion for him to turn around. He does, and I start to work my fingers through his soft hair as he leans his head back, and I can feel that the front of my hips are gently touching his butt.
I wonder if he notices, too.
"Okay," I say, after I'm done lathering him up. "Rinse."
He sticks his head under the water, turning back around so he can see my face. He gives me a small smile, and I make a bold move and lift my hands to lay them flat on his slick chest. As the water runs over his head, he takes my wrists and moves my palm to his mouth so he can kiss it, letting his lips linger there for a long time.
"Your head okay?" I ask.
He nods and takes the shampoo bottle from where I set it on a ledge and squirts some into his own hands, turning me around by the shoulders so he can work it into my hair. His hands feel amazing on my scalp, my eyes practically roll back into my head from the sensation. No one has ever washed my hair for me before, not like this at least. This isn't just caring; this is sensual. This is the most intimate thing I have ever done. This is the closest I've ever felt to another person ever before in my life.
"That feels…" I practically moan. "So good."
"So good?" he asks, his voice very close to my ear. "That good?"
I nod and lean my back against his chest, pressing my lips together as I melt into him. He finishes much too quickly, and as I'm rinsing all the soap out, he winds his arms around my waist from behind and kisses the side of my neck with his mouth open, tongue gliding over my skin.
"So good…" I moan, eyelashes fluttering. "Really, really good."
He moves his lips down to my shoulder, and I can feel his teeth graze me slightly. There's insane heat pooling between my legs, and I want something done about it. I need him to make me come again.
"Jackson," I whisper, raising my arm to hold the side of his head. "Can you… can you...?" I let out a shaky sigh. "I don't really know how to ask this."
"You want me to touch you?" he asks, fingers spread wide over my abdomen. I nod slightly, pulling my bottom lip into my mouth. "I want to," he says. "But I don't want you to freak out like last time."
"No," I say surely. "No, no. I'm not going to. I just wanna feel…" I pause. "That again."
"I can help you out," he says, and one hand sneaks up to hold one breast while the other slips below my hips. "Loosen up, piano girl."
His words kill me. They practically kill me. I widen my legs a little bit and feel his hand between them, so I lean further back against his chest. Before I have much time to register what's happening, his fingers are inside me and my eyes shoot wide open.
"Oh, god," I moan, and he presses his lips to my cheek. I have no idea what he's doing, but it feels amazing. With one of his hands on my chest and the other with fingers inside me, I can't control the sounds I'm making.
He pushes them deeper, which makes a desperate whimper escape me. "Jackson," I say, breathlessly. "Jackson."
"April," he says, a smile present in his voice.
I match it. I love the way his body feels wrapped tight around mine, around me and inside me. His fingers do something nearly magical and I see those same sparks I saw last time, and my legs quake and my breath comes in short bursts as I have the second orgasm of my life.
And it's just as good as the first. While I'm still coming down from it, his fingers keep pumping and he presses slow, wet kisses to my neck, and I think if I feel one more thing, I'll go overboard. This is all so much.
In the back of my mind, I hear my phone ringing, but I barely notice it. I'm too busy feeling all the ways that Jackson is worshiping me, and I don't want to break out of this reverie anytime soon.
"No, this is her suitemate, Amelia," a voice says, sounding cheerful. "She's here, but she's kinda busy. I think she's… uh… she's with her boyfriend right now."
My eyebrows furrow together and I begrudgingly step away from Jackson to peek my head out of the shower, my hair a mess. "Who is it?" I ask.
Amelia pulls the phone away from her face to answer me. "Your mom," she says. "Says call her back when you can."
"My mom?!" I shriek. "You just told- oh, my god." I replace the shower curtain and glance at Jackson, who looks way too amused. "She just said the word 'boyfriend' to my mom," I say, through gritted teeth.
He swipes wet hair away from my face with both hands and whispers, "I just made you come like crazy," he says. "Can we forget about your mom for a second?"
"I heard that," Amelia says. "And I heard it happen, too, just so you know."
"Please go away," I insist, through the curtain.
"Fine, fine," she says, her tone light and laughing. "Have fun!"
I hear Addie and Amelia's side of the bathroom close, and I plunk my forehead down on Jackson's chest. "This is bad," I say, winding my arms around his waist. I can feel him… like, him, pressing against my thigh, but I can't think about that right now. "So bad."
"What's so bad about it?" he asks, trailing his fingertips up and down my dripping back.
I lift my face up. "When I call her back, she's gonna have like, ten thousand questions. About you."
One side of his mouth pulls up in a grin. "Let's cross that bridge when we get to it," he says. "But until then, I need you to conditioner me."
I sigh and reach around him for the bottle, and feel him watching me. It doesn't feel so weird, being naked around him anymore. In fact, I barely notice that I am. It just kind of feels natural.
"I don't know why Amy had to say that…" I say, rubbing my palms together. "Turn around."
He does, and tips his head back so I can reach. I work my fingers through his curls and his shoulders relax as I massage his head, and I smile to myself. I like that I can do that to him. I like that he feels safe and free to be vulnerable around me. He's so different now than when we first met, after just a little time of getting to know each other. When I think about it too hard, I can't help but recognize how harshly I judged him upon first glance. But then I think, it was with due right. He had acted like an asshole.
But now, I know that's just a wall he puts up. He's the furthest thing from an asshole that anyone could ever be. He's soft, caring, and really affectionate. He'd be a great boyfriend for any girl, that's for sure. And for right now, I'm glad he's still pretending to be mine. I really like spending time around him.
And he's going to have to pretend for a little while longer, after what Amelia just let slip to my mom.
"Rinsy," I say, pushing him gently under the water. He looks at me with it trickling over his face, his nose all scrunched up in the cutest way possible. "I'll loofah you," I say. "While you're doing that."
I suds up a loofah with green apple scented body wash, and skim it over his shoulders first. My eyes follow where my hand leads, and I can't help but linger at the defined muscles of his chest to make sure they're extra clean. His back is also something to marvel at; the line down the middle is doing crazy things to me.
Almost involuntarily, I lean forward and slowly press my lips between his shoulder blades. I wrap my arms around his waist and link my hands together over his belly, pulling myself as close as possible. Our bodies are flush together, and right now, I don't want it any other way.
I let out a long breath as I rest with my cheek against his back. "You need conditioner, too," he says, and I unlock my arms from around him.
We finish up in the shower, and I hold his hand as he steps out, just in case he gets dizzy again. I walk back into my room first and sit on the bed after changing into leggings and a cable-knit sweater, my hair slicked down on my shoulders after I brush it.
"You okay?" he asks, stepping back into his sweatpants.
I lean back against the wall, crossing my arms on my lap as my lower lip pouts out.
"Aw," he says, stepping close to the bed. "Do you need a hug?"
I flop down onto my side, my arms lax above my head. "Why did she have to say that?" I say. "This just makes everything so much harder."
"I know," he says, lifting one leg at a time onto the bed until he's hovering over me. "But like you said earlier, kisses make everything better."
He closes his eyes and covers my mouth with his, opening it and breathing into me. I drink him in, closing my eyes too, and wrap my arms around his shoulders to pull him closer.
"This can't be good for your head," I say, tucking my face into his neck so I can kiss it.
"Who cares," he says, putting his full weight down on the front of my hips.
Interrupting us, my phone rings. It's my mom's ringtone, the one I'd recognize anywhere that I barely heard earlier. "No..." I say, pulling my lips from his neck and leaving a wet spot behind. I flop my head back onto the pillow and let out a long groan. "Not right now."
The ringing stops, and he goes at me again - making a bold move and holding my right breast in his hand to squeeze it. I squeal into his mouth as electricity rockets between my legs, and he grins against my lips. "I know you like that," he says, and I nod.
Then my phone starts ringing. Again.
"Oh, my god…" I say, turning my head to the side so his lips skim along my cheek. I turn back and look at him, mouth all puffy, and sigh. "She's not gonna stop," I tell him.
He plunks his chin down between my breasts, at the beginning of my ribcage. He keeps his hand where it is on my chest, and I'm glad he does. I like it. "So you gotta answer?" he says, swiping his thumb over my nipple that's hardening beneath my bra and sweater.
"I already know what she's gonna say," I whine.
"What?"
I flit my eyes up to my Taylor Swift posters, then back to him. "I don't wanna tell you, because it's gonna freak you out," I say.
He shakes his head, which makes my torso shake.
"Yes, it will," I insist.
"Try me," he says. "Not much freaks me out. I mean, I look in the mirror every morning, don't I?"
I roll my eyes. "Shut up."
We both laugh and he traces my jaw as I turn my head to the side again. "Just tell me," he says. I bite my lower lip, deep in thought. "Those lips are for me to bite," he says, gently pulling it out from between my teeth. "Come on, out with it."
"She's gonna be all excited about the fact that I have a boyfriend," I say, finally. "I guarantee you, by now everyone knows. Mom's told Dad, Libby, Kimmie, Alice, probably even Liam…" I cover my face with my hands and let out an exasperated sound. "The end of the quarter isn't that far away. I know what she's gonna do! She's gonna invite you to have Thanksgiving with us."
Silence.
"See," I say. "She hasn't even officially done it yet, and you're already freaked out."
"No, I'm not," he says. "What do I care? Free food. And it's home-cooked, I bet it's amazing. I can't remember the last time I had a Thanksgiving meal at home instead of at some fancy restaurant."
I blink open one eye to look at him. He's not kidding.
"Okay, well, I-I…" I stay, tripping over my words. "We shouldn't get ahead of ourselves. I don't even know if that's what she's gonna say."
"You sounded pretty sure a few seconds ago," he says.
"Let me just… let me just call her back," I say, reaching for my phone that sits on my nightstand. "She might not say it, I don't know."
I dial my home number very slowly, and in true Karen Kepner fashion, my mom picks up before the first ring can even finish. She doesn't waste any time with getting to the subject of Jackson, either.
"So, what's this about you having a boyfriend?" she asks.
I glance down at the boy who's still resting overtop of me. I furrow my eyebrows at his hand, still claiming my breast, and jolt my shoulders so he'll get the hint to get off. I know he understands what I mean, but he keeps it there just to spite me. In fact, he gives me a squeeze for good measure.
I debate telling my mom the whole truth. That it was a big trick just to get another boy to notice me, but now it's evolved into something… else. But how would I even begin to explain that big 'else' to her? She wouldn't get it. Idon't even get it, and I don't think Jackson does, either. Have we turned into friends with benefits? Is that what we are now?
"Um, yeah," I say. I center my eyes on Taylor Swift again. I can't look at him while I'm on the phone with my mom. It feels wrong.
"Well, your father and I need to meet him!" Mom says, all excited. "Bring him home for Thanksgiving."
"Mom, he might have plans-"
"I don't," Jackson cuts in.
I narrow my eyes. "He doesn't," Mom says, obviously having heard him. "So he should come have it with us. It's only right. You'll bring him, won't you, honey?"
Jackson looks at me expectantly, and the silence waiting for me on the phone is just as questioning. "I…" I begin, then my voice breaks off. "Sure."
"Excellent!" Mom says. "I'll set an extra place. He can stay with us for as long as he wants. You have such good taste in people, sweetheart, so we can't wait to meet him."
"Mom, we-"
"I don't wanna hear any excuses," she says. "We're all so excited for you! Your very first boyfriend. This is great, April. This is so great."
"Yeah," I say, not sounding quite as enthused.
"See you when you come home!" she says, voice growing higher. "We can't wait to see the both of you."
I hang up the phone and toss it to my desk. "Oh, my god," I groan.
"What?"
"You heard it all," I say. "She's so insane. She thinks we're getting married, or something. At least that's what she made it sound like. Like, geez."
He chuckles.
"No, I'm not even kidding," I say. "She thinks we're serious. Like… really serious. To her, you're my first actual boyfriend. She's freaking out. She's basically already planning the wedding." I raise my eyebrows helplessly. "This is so messed up."
"What's messed up about it?" he asks, slipping the hem of my sweater up to touch my stomach. I don't stop him.
"Everything!" I exclaim. "We're not even dating, and here it's not a big deal. We don't have to put on much of a show. We just kinda…" I blush. "I don't know what we're even doing. What are we doing right now? We're friends who touch each other."
"Good friends," he says.
"Well," I say, looking off to the side. "I don't know what's going on. And I wasn't even worried about it… until now." I shake my head. "I can't let my family see through me. When we go there… we have to be dating. Like, hardcore dating. More than we did for stupid Alex. This has to be really believable for them."
He's so calm. None of this is bothering him, and I have no idea why. "That can be done," he says.
"How are you so calm right now?" I ask, my neuroses coming out in my voice.
He shrugs. "Being with you is easy," he says. "I'm sure it'll be cool to be around your family."
I massage my temples and blow air out of my puckered lips. "Cool is a word for it," I grumble.
"What do you guys do for Thanksgiving, anyway?" he asks.
I give him a look. "What do the middle class do, you mean?"
He rolls off of me and instead, lies beside me. "Yeah," he says, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Do you eat turkey on crystal platters, or is that just a rich person thing?"
"I hate you."
"Do you guys do those quaint little handprint turkeys?" he asks, egging me on.
"Enough out of you."
"We do them," he says. "But instead of paint, we use gold leaf."
"Oh, do you now?" I say, flipping over onto my side. I shove his chest and get pulled back into thoughts about being at home with him, acting out our huge lie to my family's faces. "Jackson, this has to be really real," I say.
"What do you mean?"
I sigh. "They have to believe us," I say. "If they catch me lying, I'm dead."
"They're not gonna catch you lying," he says. "Or us lying."
"They have to really think you like me," I say.
"I do really like you," he replies.
I squint at him. "You know what I mean."
He lays an arm over my side and pulls me close. "I know what you mean," he says, the tip of his nose pressed to mine.
I'm feeling too many emotions to center on just one. My heart is flopping around in my chest like a fish on land, and my thoughts are speeding around my brain at top speed. I'm so confused. My heart and my mind are telling me a thousand different things, and I don't know where to begin.
"Like this," I say, pressing my palm flat to his chest. "What's this? No one's around, no one's watching, we're not pretending for anyone. Why are we all close like this?"
He blinks at me a few times, seemingly caught off guard. "Do you not like it?" he asks.
"No, n-no," I say. "That's not it."
"Then what's wrong?" he asks.
I run my tongue over my lips and can't help but let my eyes wander to his mouth. "I like being with you," I say. "Like this. I'm just not sure what it means."
"I'm not sure, either," he admits, his hand slipping beneath the back of my shirt. He draws a line down my spine and traces the waistband of my pants before settling his hand on my butt.
"Does it have to be something?" I ask. I don't know what the rules are about these kinds of things, about relationships. I've never been in one before, and I know he doesn't want whatever we're doing to turn into one. We made that rule in the beginning. I'm not about to be the one to go back on it.
"Not if you don't want it to be," he says, eyes now darting to my mouth.
"I…" I begin, then cut myself off. I don't know what I want to say.
"You…" he mimics.
I let a short breath out of my nose. "I don't know," I say, then wrap one of my legs over both of his. "Just kiss me."
He moves his hand away from my butt to hold my face, then presses his lips gently to mine. Our kisses are slow and extremely intimate as we explore each other's mouths and bodies without rushing, and I love it. My hummingbird heartbeat is throbbing inside my chest as he swipes his thumb beneath my eye, over my cheekbone, and he makes a small, affirmative sound as I bite down on his lower lip.
"I really…" I say breathlessly, as we part. He blinks, waiting for me to continue. "Really like kissing you."
He chuckles and kisses my chin, taking small sections of my skin between his teeth as he goes lower. "I like kissing you, too," he says. "A lot."
"As much as other girls you've been with?" I ask. I'm shocked as soon as the words come out; I'm not sure where they came from, but they weren't voluntary. I want, more than anything, to be able to take them back. But they're out in the open now.
Luckily, he barely reacts. He just moves his head below my jaw and runs his tongue over the swell of my throat, which makes me gasp. "More," he murmurs.
We make out for a long time, until the heat between my legs is absolutely throbbing with desire. I don't know how to ask him to get me off again without sounding greedy, though, so I have to go do something else to get my mind off of this.
"I have to go practice," I say, as his hands are buried deep into my hair. I scramble off the bed and find my footing once I'm standing, and give him a flighty smile.
"Right now?" he asks, wiping his mouth.
"Uh, yeah," I say. "My piano recital is a couple days before break. I have to get my pieces down perfect before then."
"Okay," he says.
"You should take a nap," I say. "And when I come back, you can sit with me while I work on one of your papers."
"You don't have to keep doing those, you know," he says.
"I want to," I say, putting on my shoes. "Anyway, if I stop now, Professor Torres will notice the change. We both know that I beat your ass in music theory."
He snorts. "Okay, cocky shit."
I throw on my fall jacket. "I'll be back," I say.
"I have one request," he says, just as I'm almost out the door.
"What?" I say, looking over my shoulder with one foot already in the hallway.
"Sing to me when you get back?" he asks, his eyes sparkling.
I roll my eyes but can't help my smile as I walk out the door without answering him. I lock it behind me and head off to the School of Music, and I find myself really liking the fact that he'll be there waiting for me when I get back.
I go into my normal practice room and pull out a piece at random. I get to work on Jeux d'eaux by Ravel, which is one of my favorites. When Jackson sits next to me on the bench and watches me play this one, he always marvels over how differently my left and right hand can move from each other.
It makes me feel good when he says stuff like that. It makes me feel special that he notices.
When the note get really soft and quiet, I smile while I remember what Jackson always does. He raises his eyebrows, hunches his shoulders up to his ears, and makes his fingers tiptoe gently across the music stand in front of my sheet. And when it gets loud again, he sways his head back and forth in time, and I do my best to concentrate.
He doesn't make that very easy, though.
His favorite part of the whole song is about halfway through, when I slide my left hand down the keyboard to hit a myriad of notes in succession. He always does a little 'whoo!' after it's over, like it was so exciting for him. I roll my eyes now as I think of it, but at the same time wish he was here to do it. The practice room is quiet and a little boring without him next to me.
As I play, I get lost in my thoughts. I had tried to broach the subject of my confusion earlier, but I don't feel like it's any clearer now than it was then. He's obviously just as lost as I am, and we're both going along to get along. He doesn't have feelings for me, though, I can see that much. We kiss behind closed doors because it feels good. Not because love each other or even like each other like that, it's nothing that complicated. We do it because it makes our bodies feel good.
I can say that much for myself, but I guess I'm only assuming for him. We made a rule that we wouldn't fall in love with each other, and I won't break it. I know he won't, either. That's just silly.
I stay in the practice room, thinking and playing, for a long time. It's almost dinnertime by the time I finish, so I pack up my things to go. And as I walk back to Clifton, I think of a way I can surprise Jackson.
When I get up to the fourth floor, I'm already smiling as I unlock the door. I clear my throat and start singing before I even get fully inside, knowing that he'll love it.
"You've been on my mind," I say, singing the first Adele song that popped into my head. "I grow fonder every day, lose myself in time…just thinking of your face-"
I stop singing, noticing the silence in the room. My twinkle lights are on and there's a big lump under my blue comforter, and when I walk up to it I see that Jackson is sound asleep, still taking the nap I was talking about earlier.
"Oh," I whisper to myself. "You're asleep."
He doesn't even stir. I watch the slow rise and fall of his chest as he's in a world far away from me, and feel something weird bloom up and twist in my stomach as I look at him.
"I'll be right here when you wake up," I say, and lean over to kiss his forehead as he sleeps.