Jackson crept through the halls. It had to look like creeping. The only person who looked around as nervously and alertly whilst moving through a place was definitely creeping.
'I don't see what the big deal is,' Kenny said. He was much more relaxed as he walked beside Jackson. 'You like her, she likes you, just ask her.'
'What if she says no? Or what if she was just pretending to be nice to me this whole time so I could give her my heart just for her to rip it up into tiny little pieces and stomp on it in front of me?'
Kenny stopped, staring at Jackson. 'Are you okay? Like in the head?'
'That's not helping.'
'No, what's not helping is you acting crazy. What the fuck are you thinking? Rip your heart out and stomp on it… you've been watching too many shitty high school dramas.'
Jackson sighed, shoulders slumping. Maybe he was overreacting. That thought didn't stop him from constantly checking the hall and it's branches for any sign of Jasmine. He didn't even really know why he was so vigilant. It's not like he'd have anywhere to hide from her if she did suddenly pop up.
'That's your problem,' Kenny said.
'What is?' Jackson replied, eyes still darting around.
'Your pessimistic. You're always looking for the negative in things, sometimes ONLY seeing the negative.'
Jackson frowned. Pessimistic? It wasn't pessimistic to expect the worst, was it? That was just … pragmatic … right? He was still contemplating the semantics when they reached their lockers.
'Oh shit,' Kenny mumbled, looking over Jackson's shoulder. 'There she is.'
'Where?!' Jackson almost jumped out of his skin, getting behind Kenny and looking down the hall … only Jasmine wasn't there. He knew she wasn't even after a fraction of a second. It wouldn't have mattered if just a single lock of her hair was sticking out, he would've locked onto her right away.
Kenny laughed, shaking his head. 'Seriously, just ask her out. Even if she says no it's gotta be better than being this jumpy.'
Jackson shoved him, grumbling. But maybe Kenny had a point … he definitely did. Jackson sighed again. He could look for her on his break … though maybe he did need to see Ms Cotton after all.
Jackson made the mistake of watching the clock during his classes; each one lasted an eternity. Finally, the bell released him for recess. Sitting at the front had its advantages, like being one of the first out the door when class was dismissed.
He waved Kenny off, then made a bee-line to Ms Cotton's office. Fortunately, she wasn't busy, and he was let right in.
Ms Cotton was warm and pleasant, especially so for a student councillor, but her office was aggressively neutral. A space that was plain in an attempt to be as welcoming to ALL, ended up being more off-putting than if there were skulls and satanic symbols hanging off the walls. Even its smell was repugnantly bland. Not even sterile like a doctor's office or hospital waiting room, more like how the colour beige would smell. At least Ms Cotton herself was nice.
Jackson took the seat she offered him, and she sat opposite, a soft smile on her face. Her smile calmed his nerves a touch. It was remarkable. She really managed to come off as a friendly aunt, rather than someone who was studying you like an insect pinned to their wall … which she was. But at least she made that pin feel welcoming.
'What did you need to talk about today, Jackson? I'm glad your leg's doing better.'
He reached down, scratching at his shin. When training got tough, there was still the occasional ache, but he'd almost forgotten the pain of his leg snapping in two. Almost.
'Uh, thanks. I um, just wanted to come talk to you, well it's about a couple of things, actually.'
'Let's talk about them.' She sat back, looking quite casual. The way she was so relaxed, you could almost look past the pen in her hand and the notebook in her lap.
'Uhh… well, first, I think I might be pessimistic?'
'What makes you think that?'
'It's something a friend brought up. I guess it resonated with me and made me realise something. Ever since my … incident … I guess even before it, I've always been focusing on the negative side of things, and the worst that could happen.'
'Hmm. I see, and you think this might be having a negative effect on you.' Her pen scratched across the paper quickly; she spoke only when her eyes were on him. 'Give me an example. Why did your friend bring this up?'
'Um … well, recently… there's this girl I like. But I've been putting off asking her out, talking myself out of it because I'm worried about what would happen if she rejected me.'
'What do you think is the worst that could happen?'
'She'd probably slap me in the face, laugh at me, and never talk to me again.'
'Okay. Why do you think she'd do that? Is this a fellow student? You don't have to say who.'
'It is. I just … I don't know why I think that. I'm just, worried. I really like her, and she's a great friend. I've never … I've never had a girlfriend before, so I'm nervous about that, but I just, I don't wanna lose her.'
Ms Cotton nodded, her pen working away. Jackson wished he could see what she was writing. Would it make him feel better?
'So that's the worst outcome you imagine,' Ms Cotton said. 'How about we try a mental exercise. What if you imagine a neutral outcome—one that's neither good, nor bad—what does that look like?'
Jackson frowned. He was quiet for a moment. 'I guess that would be … she says no to being my girlfriend, but we stay friends?'
'Seems fairly neutral to me; things would stay the way they are now.'
'I guess so.'
'Now what would be the best outcome?'
Jackson laughed. That was obvious. 'She says yes.'
'Right, she reciprocates your feelings, and you start going out. That'd be wonderful, wouldn't it?'
'Of course.'
She smiled with him. 'Now, I can see three outcomes for this scenario of you asking this young lady out. One of which, is bad, the other two, are acceptable aren't they?'
Jackson nodded. Slowly.
'Seems the good outweighs the bad, right?'
Again, he nodded.
'Next time you have pessimistic thoughts, or find yourself focusing on a possible negative outcome, I want you to stop, and think about a neutral, then good outcome to the same situation. I'm sure, once you do this, you'll see which one is more reasonable, and more likely, rather than fixating on the worst that could happen.'
It was simple, but often times what you needed to hear was the simple truth. '… Thanks, Ms Cotton.' He stood, smiling broadly, ready to find Jasmine and deal with whatever her answer was.
She remained seated. 'There was something else, wasn't there?'
'Oh. Right.' He slowly sat back down. 'Uh, that one's a little trickier maybe …'
'Let's work it out together then.' She leaned forward, eager to hear what he had to say.
'This one's about another friend—just a friend. I think there's something … I don't know, it just feels like there's something he's not telling me. Something that's hurting him. Not hurting, like, physically, but I don't know how to explain it.'
'Like how the memory of your … incident … might still hurt you? Does it?'
'Yes! Like that, except … well, personally, I think I'm past that now … or maybe I won't ever be, but I'm okay with talking about that.'
'So you think your friend has gone through a similarly traumatic experience, is that right?'
'I guess so.'
'Have you asked him about it? It's a he, this friend, right?'
'Yeah, yeah. Uh, no. I-I haven't asked him, but yes, it's a he.'
She jotted down her note, then sat back, setting her pen aside. 'In this situation, I think you should be upfront, and tackle the problem head on, so to speak. Be direct, ask him about it. But if he doesn't want to talk about it, respect his boundaries. Let him know he can open up to you whenever he's ready, and whenever he wants. Or, if he feels the need to talk with a more neutral party, you know where my office is.'
Be direct. Again, it made sense. But it could be painful if Kenny still wasn't ready to … no. He was being pessimistic again. Maybe it would hurt Kenny, but maybe it wouldn't, and he simply wouldn't be ready to talk, or at least not want to talk with Jackson. Then, maybe he was ready to talk, and just waiting for someone to extend that helping hand to him … would not that same gesture have helped Jackson before he took that fateful bike-ride?
'Thanks again, Ms Cotton.'
'Anytime, Jackson, that's what I'm here for.'
He stood, this time without forgetting anything, and left the little office. Be direct. That's all he had to do, with both Jasmine and Kenny. He frowned as he walked through the halls. Maybe doing both at once, or more accurately, both in one day was too tall a task right then.
"Sorry Kenny. You'll be okay for a little longer, won't you?"
Maybe it was selfish, but Jackson settled on a goal. He had to find Jasmine and talk with her. Though the bell signalling the end of recess, also meant he'd have to wait until lunch to do so.
Lunch came and went, and Jackson didn't find Jasmine. Kenny was there, and Ms Cotton's advice came to Jackson's mind, but he pushed it back. He didn't know if he'd have the energy for three important talks that day, and after preparing himself for Jasmine, he wasn't in the right state to help Kenny.
He had to wait until after school. He was free then. Football practice had eased off the further into the off-season they went. There was still a weekly session, but they'd have to wait until tryouts in the summer for it to pick back up again.
Jackson decided it was best to wait at the gates for Jasmine. She beamed at him, waving him down, more than happy to let him join her as she stepped through to the carpark.
'Hi.'
'Hey.'
'I…' Did he tell her he was looking for her at lunch? Wouldn't that be weird? '…How was your day?'
She groaned. 'Busy. I'm so glad it's over. There were these damn pop quizzes, and so much crap to get through, and then I couldn't even relax at lunch 'cause I had to help Lucy with some stuff. It'll be so good to let loose and bash some drums tonight to get all this frustration out.'
'Tonight?'
'Yeah, band practice. You don't have football practice?'
He shook his head. Band practice? Would that complicate things?
'Oh god, I'm so sorry! Here I am, blabbering on and on about myself, and I'm not even keeping up with you. How was your day, Jackson?'
Her smile could melt a man's heart—it definitely melted Jackson's. 'I-It was good. Um, but there was something I wanted to tell you. I wanted to talk about—'
The dying roar of an engine stunned Jackson mid-thought. An old black muscle car pulled up alongside them. The thing had its fair share of bumps and scrapes, but growled ferociously. The driver's window rolled down and a woman climbed halfway out, looking over the top of the car at them both.
She was an aberration. The sides and back of her head were shaved, leaving only a long, spiky mohawk on top—black with green tips—except there were also locks of hair left at her temples, framing a pale, angry face. Okay maybe the expression was neutral, but thick eyebrows were styled in a way to keep a perpetual look of rage, and the heavy ring through her septum certainly made her look like a bull about to charge. There were more piercings dangling from lips and ears and even those heavy brows. She wore a t-shirt for a band Jackson didn't recognise, though the sleeves were cut off. Her fit was finished off with torn stockings and a plaid skirt, with black boots up to her knees covered in straps on a platform that gave her another four inches of height. Green eyes were narrowed to pinpoints at Jackson.
'This guy bothering you, Jazz?' the punk said.
Jasmine laughed, though Jackson's felt as if a knife was at his throat. 'No way! Steph, this is Jackson, the guy I've been telling you about.'
'Really? THIS is the guy?' The punk, Steph, looked Jackson up and down like he was a piece of rancid meat someone was trying to sell her. He gulped. She shook her head, muttering something he didn't catch. 'Whatever. Get in. You still coming to practice, Jazz? Or is this MALE dragging you off somewhere?'
'Don't be like that, Steph. Jackson's cool, promise. Of course, I'm still coming. It's cool if Jackson watches, right?'
Though Jasmine didn't give much time for an answer. She pulled the passenger door open, shoved the seat forward, and climbed into the back. If anyone was doing the dragging, it was her as she pulled Jackson in after her.
Steph twisted around in her seat, still glaring at him. He smiled at her, nervously. Her eyes drifted to Jasmine, and then the hand she had clasped around Jackson's; fear turned him to a statue. She was definitely going to rip him from the car and ground his hand into mush with those boots.
Still looking like somebody had just kicked her favourite puppy, Steph turned back around and pulled onto the road, tyres squealing like banshees.
Jasmine sat back, happy as can be, seemingly unaware of the tension suffocating Jackson beside her.
'Oh, Jackie, what did you wanna talk to me about?'
He blushed. It definitely wasn't the right time to talk about THAT. He glanced towards the rear-view mirror. Green daggers met his gaze and he quickly looked away.
'Uhh… I think um … m-maybe that's … more something I needed to talk to you about … alone.'
'Scream if he tries anything,' Steph said.
Jasmine laughed. 'As if. Jackie's not like that, Steph. Trust me, you'll love him once you get to know him.'
'Haha y-yeah, sure. Um, Jasmine's said a lot of great stuff about you, Steph, a-and she really likes this band you guys have … so um, you know, any friend of Jasmine's is a friend of mine.'
Steph grunted. If someone didn't roll down a window soon, Jackson was sue he'd choke to death. Was Jasmine oblivious, or messing with him? No. Maybe he was overreacting again.
'Uhh, so Steph. Nice ride. It's yours? H-How old are you?'
'Of course it's mine.' Those green daggers, made of ice rather than steel, tried to stab at his heart again. 'And I'm nineteen, not like it's any of your business.'
'Ah … okay.' He never should've opened his mouth. And he didn't for the rest of the ride. Thankfully, Jasmine asked to put some music on, and Steph obliged. The engine's roar was now joined with the wails of scratchy vocals; Jackson couldn't tell if they came from a male or female singer.
Steph pulled up to an old brick house, in a neighbourhood full of barking dogs, and chain link fences rather than white pickets. Lawns were either brown and short, or overrun with plants like some kind of wild, colourful jungle, and more cars were parked across those lawns than in their garages. That's exactly where Steph's car went, across the lawn.
The garage door was wide open, and a flickering light illuminated it. Two other girls, sat on an old, sagging couch.
Jasmine introduced them. Izzy was the tallest of the group, even without heels. The lanky bassist with half her head shaved, the other stretched down to her hip in red and black horizontal stripes. Her clothes were pure black, though she was as pale as a ghost.
Candy's rainbow coloured hair looked like she'd just stepped out of a wind-tunnel. Her ripped clothing and tall boots were also painfully colourful and bright, though she was the shortest of the group. Even her freckles seemed to sparkle.
A set of drums sat against the back wall, and a few guitars and basses hung over the couch. There were speakers set up in the corners. Posters of more bands and singers Jackson didn't know or had only vaguely heard of covered the pock-marked walls, and stacks of boxes full of records and CDs sat on shelves.
Steph walked in, boots kicking up dirt, then thunking heavily on the cold concrete of the garage. Jasmine and Jackson scurried in after her, though she almost closed the shutter door on their heads. Steph moved to the back of the room without a care. She pulled a mic stand in front of her, and yanked a guitar down. 'Let's tear this shit up!'
The others moved quick, though cast a few curious glances Jackson's way. Jasmine pulled him to the couch they'd left and sat him down before she took her place at the drums.
There was a brief tune up before Steph turned to the other members and said: 'Bomb This.'
Jasmine counted them in, then all hell broke loose. Jackson gripped the couch so as not to clamp his hands over his ears. It wasn't painfully loud, just jarring. With the way the noise bounced around the enclosed space, it was like the music was pummelling you.
Then he settled in, and could actually LISTEN.
They were good. Not great; it was clear they were amateurs, and while that played to their advantage in a way, it was far from a finished product.
They were raw, and rough. Even he could hear the odd mistake in the frantic jumble of cords and notes. But it all worked, and somehow added to the appeal. Their energy, and fire—their music—was authentic.
It was an angry, explosive song. He couldn't keep up with all the lyrics Steph was screaming into the mic, but got the gist of it. Most of it had to do with fucking the world … literally? Something about pussy being the biggest bomb of all and how she was gonna drop it on America.
But the beat, the rhythm, the mad dash of each violent and rapid strum and hammering blow on the drums, that's what pulled you into it. Jackson could feel that mad energy swelling inside him. There was an urge to smash something, and scream along.
Whilst Steph was the ringleader, calling the shots, Jasmine was the heart of the music. She led the charge, and—with her machine gun drum beats—pulled the others into oblivion.
Captivated, Jackson lost track of time. It was a long song, and they must've gone through it thrice, always keeping that same explosive energy, before Steph told them to take five. A mini fridge tucked away in the corner of the room provided refreshments.
Jasmine brought Jackson a can of soda, sitting beside him, a thin coating of sweat clinging to her body. She panted heavily, but was smiling as she asked: 'What do you think?'
He had to pick his jaw up off the floor before answering. 'That was … fucking amazing! You were totally awesome!'
She giggled, cheeks darkening a touch. 'Not bad for a crazy girl with a couple of sticks, huh?'
'It was amazing …'
It was all so spectacular he was at a loss for words. Her bright, vibrant grin didn't help matters. His heart beat as loudly in his head as her drums had. Suddenly, he blurted it all out.
'Willyougooutwithme?'
Somehow, her grin grew wider. 'I was beginning to think I'd have to ask you.'
His cheeks burned. 'Does that mean…?'
She rolled her eyes but grabbed his shirt and yanked him forward. Her lips met his in a rough tangle. His eyes widened at his first kiss. It was like he'd been throw through the gates of heaven at mach ten. It was perfect.
He melted against her, taking her in his arms. She did the same to him, and their embrace deepened. It really was heaven. Her lips were so soft, they felt so right against his. And even though she had a salty taste from the sweat dripping into their kiss, it didn't matter. He couldn't get enough.
He'd completely forgotten about the rest of the band just across the small room.
When he was thrust out of heaven, and fell back to Earth, breaking away from Jasmine's lips, Steph was looking at him like she really was going to kill him.
At that moment, he'd have died happy.