Hangover as hell, I still go to school the next day. Not because I'm avoiding Mom and Dad or going to come back in mid-afternoon. If I stay home and call in sick to school, they're going to see the mess and they're going to know it's me. Maybe I don't think they would listen to the story that the robber came when I was asleep and messed up the whole house without stealing anything.
Even thinking the words, I know they're stupid.
It did not matter that I had the raging headache or the dreams about flashing lights on the highway.
A squirm under the harsh lighting of the biology lab. I'm doing chicken scratches.
I like it here—no social interactions, no annoying teacher telling me how I should transfer to a gifted school and how he'll miss me when I graduate, which is about two months from now—but whatever.
Weirdly, I don't give a fuck. The prospect of having a future is oddly confronting.
I fumble with the paper, and I end up doing a weird infinity sort of shape. I stare at it, frowning. Why did I do that?
"Rachel." I raise my head towards the voice. Mr. White, the teacher and cast me a look, "It's the end of the day."
I pack up all my stuff including the notebook that I've been drawing in. I go to the hallway, I see him. It's Jacks.
He still wearing the same clothes from the party, a sweatsuit that looks like it was made for him and the thin T-shirt that clings to his muscles. He has a sort of confused expression, and I try not to stare at him, but he locks eyes with me. His eyes going wide, and he goes right towards me.
Before he has the chance to say anything insulting, I go first. "You were an asshole yesterday, you know that?"
Eyebrows shoot up as if he didn't expect me to be this upfront with him, so I bear on my anger getting the better of me, "Calling me a whore? Seriously? I should have known you'd be the picture definition of an asshole jock, Jacks." I toss his name as if it's a curse.
Now that I'm looking at his face the well of anger just burst free. "Rachel," he starts, but I cut him off, not letting him have even a single word. "Where were you all day? It's practically the end of the day. You know what? I don't care. Fuck off where you came from, asshole."
I give one look behind me, but he disappears as if he were never there. I look around, the hallway is empty, and I feel like I'm going insane.
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Mom was pissed as hell, yelling and threatening to ground me until I leave for college.
She did the usual speech. 'We are very disappointed in you. How could you do such a reckless thing at a time like this? I thought that if we let you have some responsibility, you would prove yourself capable of handling yourself.'
Always testing me, never capable. Why did I have to prove myself? Shouldn't she just let me be?
Dad was quiet. It's harder to fight with him. He's like a panther crouching in a tree, waiting until the right time to strike to land the final blow.
I was in my room scrambling that infinity shape that has been stuck in my head for days now. Ever since that mind-blowing experience with Jacks.
Maybe I shouldn't have been such a prude. Maybe I should have just taken it. It wasn't the act itself that was confronting. It was the way he talked to me after.
And the worst part was that it was my first time. The embarrassment of it still annoys the hell out of me. My first time with someone, and I end up with an asshole like Jacks.
A hot, unbearably attractive asshole, but an asshole nonetheless.
Searing hot rage—a searing hot wave of pain washes over me and pricks on my spine.
I walk back and forth, ancient, closer to the window, something tugging at me to look outside, and something is out there—not someone, it's Jacks.
I peer down at him. He is wearing the same clothes he was wearing a few days ago when I saw him in the hallway, but he has a more serious expression about him. He seems paler. Because we haven't seen him for days now, I crease my brows. Why is he here? I want to open the window and shout at him to go away, but the expression on his face makes me wait.
I quietly descend down the stairs, giving a quick glance at the glowing television from the living room. Dad is falling asleep in front of the television again, and I quietly unlock the door, stepping outside.
I get closer to him, and God, even in the dark, he looks gorgeous. Stop thinking about how gorgeous he is, idiot.
I wear the best give-no-shit mask that I can muster, but it's weak. Crossing my arms and giving him a cold stare, I say, "What do you want?"
He fumbles with his own hands, looking flustered. He was acting like this at the party. Why is this happening with him lately?
Usually in school he looks so in control. I get the strangest urge to reach over and touch him, but I keep that shit under lock and key.
"I have no idea what's happening. No one is seeing... seeing..." His breathing is suddenly hard.
He looks at me as if I'm the answer for all his prayers and makes me slightly uncomfortable. I shift from one foot to the other, my voice going soft. "What's going on, Jacks?"
"Listen, after your party I don't remember anything, and I keep forgetting. It feels like I'm fading and out of reality because—"
He looking at me hard and and can't get the words out. I just wait until he has the courage to say what he needs and can leave. "No one can see me. You're… You're the only one who has been able to communicate with me for days now."
I snort now, trying to join into the joke. He stares at me, his shock turning into anger. "Do you think this is a joke? I'm serious." His fists go to balls of anger. "Listen to me… I am not joking… I've been in my parents' house for days now, screaming at the walls because no one can hear me or see me."
Something breaks at in his words, and I look up because suddenly the streetlight flicker in and out as if in unison with his words. He takes a long breath, trying to calm himself. He doesn't seem to realize what is happening around us because suddenly it stops. "I went to school to see if anyone there could see me, but you were the only one."
"You're messing with me." Still trying to figure out what this game is here.
He's shaking his head as if not even acknowledging my response anymore. His hands running streaks along his hair. "This is useless. I'm going crazy, aren't I? Just like—"
He stops, caps a hand over his face, and just sighs. It sounded tired and lonely. "Listen, I don't know what's happening. I came here to ask you if you know, but I'm clearly going insane, so I'm going to go."
I tried to grab hold of his hand, but the lights in the street flickered even more eagerly. He didn't seem to notice. "Wait, what do you remember?"
But he didn't hear me because it seemed to disappear from thin air, and it was as if he was never there once again.