Trouble Comes in Twos (Finding Jet Book 1)

by Alice Mura

  “I guess it’s too soon to ask for a hug,” his dad said with a pained half-smile. Jet clipped his seat belt, leaned over to hug his dad quickly around the shoulders, then fled the car.

  “I love you,” Tony called, quiet enough so the other kids didn’t hear. Jet turned to wave.

  When he turned around again to face the building, he felt his stomach do backflips. This must be what it felt like to go to war. An entire school year lay before him. One-hundred and eighty grueling days of periods, crappy lunches, lectures about stuff that would never affect him as an adult, and the most meaningless thing in existence – school pride.

  He half-expected someone to stop him at the doors and tell him he didn’t belong there, but no one paid attention to him as he entered. Inside the front doors was an entry hall with metal-detector gates. The security guard frowned as he passed through, but Jet ignored him. The hall opened into a cafeteria where hundreds of kids sat at tables talking. The noise of so many people talking at once was deafening. Jet shrunk back against a wall. No matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t find a single person sitting by themselves. He did find a group of gay-looking kids sitting together, but none of them looked up as he crossed the room.

  At the back of the cafeteria, a few teachers stood as if holding a line of protesters back. When Jet tried to pass through, a big bald guy in a sweater vest put an arm out to block his way.

  “Whoa! Wait for the bell. You’ve only got a few minutes left,” said the man.

  “Um, I’m new to the school, and I’m supposed to go to the office and get my schedule.” It felt like he was being detained by a cop. His hands crept into his pockets automatically. The teacher’s eyes narrowed and stared at him a moment as if he could see the truth in Jet’s soul.

  “I don’t recognize you. Guess it’s possible you’re new here. The office is down the main hall on the left. Go straight there.”

  Jet nodded and walked past the man. A group of students behind him complained about not being able to go. The school looked like it had just been built. The hall was pristine, all the lockers were glossy with fresh paint, and there were even vending machines that looked like they worked. Nice. Jet could probably talk his dad into giving him a couple of bucks tomorrow for snacks. Neat black signs anchored to the roof directed him. Just like the teacher said, the office was on his left. Taking a deep breath, Jet entered.

  “Can I help you, young man?” asked a middle-aged woman sitting at a desk. She was chubby with curly brown hair and a friendly smile. The name plaque on her desk told him her name was Cindy.

  “Uh, I’m new, and I’m supposed to get my schedule here or something.”

  “Name?”

  “Uh, Jetsam DeVille.”

  “Really?” the woman looked away from her screen as she clicked away, then typed.

  “Yeah...my dad was an author and named me after the first book he ever sold.” Jet didn’t know why he felt the need to explain the origins of his strange first name to this woman.

  “That is an amazing story, Jetsam. I just sent your schedule to the printer. Give me one minute. Don’t go anywhere.” The woman got up and moved to the back of the office where a large, commercial copier booted up. The school seemed pleasant enough. The lady was really helpful. Not at all snappy and harried like the staff he was accustomed to. Still, the clicking of fingers on keyboards and ringing phones set his teeth on edge. Hopefully he would never end up in the office again.

  “Jetsam, sweetie, can you come here a minute?” The receptionist’s voice drifted through the hubbub.

  Jet circled the front desk, feeling like a trespasser. Had they finally caught him for stealing all the pens and eyeliner? Did his name trigger something in some kind of database? This was a government building after all. Maybe they shared information with the police. Records would have come through from his previous schools.

  The lady smiled and gestured through a doorway. “Jetsam, this is Mr. Nordstrom, the principal. He wanted to meet you.” Her hand pointed to a stout man with a thick, silver mustache and glasses. The principal stood as Jet approached. His plaid button-down threatened to burst over his gut, but his khaki legs looked like stilts by comparison.

  “I’m Mr. Nordstrom. Welcome to my establishment.” The principal thrust his hand into Jet’s and shook it vigorously. “Please, step into my office. Cindy, would you send in the first page who returns?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Jet sighed internally as he was handed off to another stranger. The dull resignation within him was familiar. Mr. Nordstrom’s office was furnished nicely with leather chairs and a couple of healthy-looking plants. Education certificates and photos of him with kids and adults lined the wall behind him. Large glass windows looked out over the front gardens. On his desk sat a Newton’s cradle and a brass statue of an amateur wrestler.

  “Take a seat. May I ask what your preferred pronouns are?” Mr. Nordstrom took a seat across from the desk. Jet was taken aback to find a man his age so forward-thinking.

  “Uh, I’m a boy...”

  “So he/him. Okay. That’s fine. I just wanted to welcome you to Redding West High. We’re very tolerant here, and I suspect you’ll fit right in.”

  “Okay?” Did every student get this speech? Or just the guys who wore makeup? Mr. Nordstrom was saying all the right things, but he spoke fast as if it was rehearsed.

  “We have a zero-tolerance policy for bullying and hazing. We have gender-neutral bathrooms on the second floor, as well as in the nurse’s office. As a new student, I urge you to take advantage of our extra-curricular activities. The world is your oyster, and I say shuck it.”

  Jet let out a single nervous laugh that made Mr. Nordstrom smile.

  “You like that one, huh?”

  Before Jet could answer, there was a knock on the door.

  “Come in.” The Principal called.

  The door opened to reveal a tall, handsome boy standing in the doorway. Jet stared. The boy’s brown hair was shaved on the sides and peaked at the top. The promising beginning of a beard shadowed his jawline. He had gray-blue eyes and a relaxed posture.

  “Ah, yes, Liam, this is our newest student, Jetsam. I wanted you to show him around the school before the first period.”

  “It’s just Jet.” Jet stumbled to his feet and stuck out his hand as he tucked a lock of hair behind his ear and smiled bashfully. Liam smiled back and shook his hand. He was so firm and strong. A powerful warmth rose in Jet’s chest like flowers bursting forth in a secret garden.

  “Should I go now, or...” Liam hooked his thumb behind him as the sentence dragged.

  “Yes, go now. Try not to be late for class.” Mr. Nordstrom shooed them away before closing the door. Jet rolled his bottom lip through his teeth and eyed Liam’s hand. His fingers itched to feel the heat in one of those strong palms. He jammed his hands deep into his hoodie as they walked back through the office. The chances of Liam wanting to hold his hand would be less than half a percent.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Oh, sweetie, your schedule and your locker combination.” Cindy got up and hurried to Jet, waving some sheets of paper.

  “Thanks,” said Jet as Liam held the door for him. What a gentleman. Jet’s stomach flip-flopped. For a moment, he wondered what it would be like to kiss Liam. He fought the errant thought down and settled for sneaking a second look at him.

  “So, where you from?” said Liam as they walked down the nearly empty hall.

  “Redondo Beach. My uh, my foster mother lives there.” Jet wasn’t sure if she should be telling people he was in foster care, but every part of him wanted to trust in Liam.

  “That’s like really far away, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. I just started living with my dad again. That’s why I transferred to your school.”

  “Oh. That’s cool I guess. What do you think of Redding?”

  “It’s cool, I guess. I don’t really know anyone yet.” Walking side by side made Jet conscious of their height
differences. Liam was nearly a head taller, in full adolescent growth-spurt season. Instead of feeling self-conscious about his own stunted growth, the difference made Jet feel feminine. He liked the thought.

  “That sucks. I’m sure you’ll make friends here. Everyone’s really laid back. Can I see your schedule?”

  “Oh! Sure.” Jet handed the schedule over to Liam, allowing their fingertips to touch.

  “Okay, almost all your classes are on the first floor. I’ll show you where everything is. To be honest, I want to make this take as long as possible. First period is English, and it’s sooo boring.”

  “That’s fine. I’m down for whatever.” Jet felt heat rise to his cheeks. He opened his mouth to correct himself, then stopped. He suddenly realized he was down for anything. They walked the hallways, Liam pointing out various classrooms and the year-group lockers. A bell chimed and the passageways flooded with students.

  “That’s the warning bell. It means you have five minutes to get to homeroom.” Liam chucked his head at some other students, greeting them with a grin. “Showing the newbie around,” he shrugged when they tried to chat. Jet’s shoulders hunched. Liam had friends and an easy-going vibe. He was helpful but was not meeting any of Jet’s glances. Either Liam was avoiding eye contact, or he just wasn’t into boys. His butterflies mustn’t be active. They stayed in the halls as the final bell rang, but Liam had run out of things to show him. Now they were just lurking without a reason to keep skipping class.

  “Just so you know, there are other trans kids here, and no one gives them a hard time,” said Liam out of nowhere.

  “I…I’m not trans!” Jet yelped.

  “Oh shit! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to misgender you or whatever.” Liam rubbed the back of his head and winced. “I don’t really know all the pronouns and stuff. You just came off as really girly.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’m not upset or anything. I guess I overreacted.”

  “Not half as much as the trans kids do when someone misgenders them. I saw a girl bitch out a teacher for using the wrong pronouns in front of the whole class.”

  “That seems like an overreaction,” Jet admitted.

  “Maybe. It seemed like the teacher was doing it on purpose. They got fired, and the girl’s family promised not to sue the school if they had an assembly about tolerance. It was really boring, but like, I get it. It probably sucks being trans.”

  “Yeah, imagine if someone called you a girl every day.”

  “Ha! That was every day of my freshman year. Then I had my growth spurt, and the jerks started to leave me alone.”

  “Aren’t you two supposed to be in class?” asked a female teacher, poking her head out a classroom door.

  “I am on official page duties,” said Liam, pointing to his yellow armband.

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to be standing around talking,” she said with a pointed lift of her eyebrows before closing the door.

  “Yeah…We should probably move somewhere else.” Liam led them upstairs, where they continued talking outside Jet’s first class.

  “You said there were bullies here?” asked Jet, watching Liam’s mouth as he spoke.

  “Uh, maybe ‘bully.’ A lot of kids got expelled in the months after the tolerance assembly. The school really comes down hard on bullying now. Just watch out for Jackson Spears.”

  “Who’s that?” said Jet, inching closer to Liam in hopes they might bump against each other.

  “Just this douche bag, closet-case asshole. Gives all the gay kids a hard time. Any anyone else who he thinks looks at him wrong. Does just enough to antagonize people without getting into trouble. Everyone hates him. If you see him, don’t make eye contact.”

  “But I don’t even know what he looks likes!”

  “Right. Hold on.” Liam pulled out his phone and started typing and scrolling. After a moment, he showed a Facebook page of a white kid with dreadlocks wearing all black clothes.

  “That’s him. Avoid him. Or punch him in the mouth for me. I fucking hate assholes like him. Had to put up with that shit for three years.” Liam started to seethe as he clenched his fist. He finally met Jet’s eyes and settled. “Well, you don’t look like you’d be into punching anyone.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile.

  “Yeah, thanks. I’ll avoid him. Guess I should probably get to class now. Sorry I couldn’t help you skip English.” Jet held his arms behind his back bashfully, looking up through his naturally-long lashes at Liam who seemed to be immune to his subtle hints.

  “It’s fine. Don’t worry. It was cool hanging out with you. I’ll see you around school probably.” Liam patted him on the back and strode to his classroom. Jet turned to face the door. He took a deep breath, banishing the longing to run after Liam. This was it. No turning back. Once he stepped into that classroom, his fate was sealed. He would have to reveal himself to everyone, be a part of this school community where he didn’t belong.

  Jet turned the handle and walked inside. The classroom was ordinary. Trapped inside were the usual fixtures; student desks, motivational posters, a globe, a desk and table at the front where a kid in a motorized wheelchair sat. Everyone stared at Jet as he entered. He badly needed to pee. Why hadn’t he brought up a bathroom trip with Liam?

  The teacher stopped lecturing to look at him. She was a gorgeous young woman with golden hair half braided. She dressed conservatively despite the heat, which seemed at odds with her long blond waves. She had been holding a textbook and writing on the dry erase board before Jet had entered.

  “May I help you?” She looked him over.

  “Uh, I think this is my class...” Jet’s voice came out closer to a whisper than he liked.

  “And you are?”

  “Jetsam DeVille.” He held out his schedule as some kind of proof. The class broke into murmurs upon hearing the strange name. Even in an era of unique names, he was used to everyone finding his name strange and having to explain it to potential friends. Why his dad ever thought Jetsam was a good name for a child, he would never know. Or maybe, he could ask him now they were living together again. Once he had looked his name up to discover it meant cargo a ship abandons during times of distress. That sounded about right when it came to his life. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to hate it. It was more like a badge of honor; he was surviving the wreck.

  The teacher studied the schedule briefly before handing it back. She moved to her desk and gave Jet a textbook and a syllabus.

  “If you have any questions about the program, please email me. Now, find a seat and try not to be late for my class next time.”

  Jet stepped carefully down the row of desks for a seat in the back. None of the guys met his glance, but most of the girls smiled at him, and a couple even waved. Jet politely nodded back and took his seat. First period was Algebra. Unlike most kids he knew, Jet actually liked math. He liked how everything made sense when explained properly and didn’t need to be interpreted like English or history. An answer was either right or wrong, not just a defensible argument. The teacher was just wrapping up the contents of the syllabus before going over her lesson plan for the week. It seemed like they were between topics, so the class was pretty painless. The last few minutes were given over to the students to work on some simple problems.

  A blonde girl with a fake tan leaned toward him. “Your eyeliner is perfect,” she said.

  “Thanks...” Jet mumbled.

  “Did your sister do it?” Her eyes widened in anticipation.

  “No, I do my own makeup. Been doing it for a few years now.”

  “O.M.G. get out! That’s so cool. I’ve been looking for a gay best friend.”

  Jet clenched his jaw. The last thing he wanted to be was some girl’s accessory. Thankfully, the bell rang, allowing him to escape the awkward conversation.

  “Let me give you my number,” the girl said as everyone got up to leave. Jet pretended to put the number in his phone then hurried to his locker to dump his book before findi
ng his next room. Each class felt the same: being introduced, strangers staring at him, teachers trying to catch him up on the topics. The teacher in the third class made the students play a get-to-know-you game by having them stand up and introduce themselves. Jet hated it as the only thing he was really into was drawing. He didn’t follow television, didn’t spend a lot of time on Youtube or social media. Half the foster homes didn’t have cable, and none of them had Netflix or Hulu. Seeing all the kids talk about pop culture and their expensive hobbies made him feel like an alien.

  Once the art class began, Jet quickly realized he had been placed in first-year art. At his previous school, he had already done three years of art and was far more advanced than this class. He squirmed on his stool as the teacher began an introductory lesson on cubism. First-year art would be an easy ‘A’ but art was the only class where he enjoyed learning new techniques. The teacher set the class to draw a still life made up of lamps, fake flowers, and a guitar. The teacher sat down in front of her computer. Jet stood up and crossed the room. Ms. Raizar was a middle-aged woman in a sundress with long curly hair who smelled like the incense his friends used to burn to hide the smell of weed.

  “Umm, hi. I think I might have been put in the wrong art class. I’ve already done three years of art.”

  Ms. Raizar looked at him over blue-rimmed glasses. “Are you sure you’re supposed to be in fourth-year art? It’s not some easy pass-fail course for lazy kids,” She leaned back in her chair.

  “I’ve taken three years of art. I don’t need to take this class,” Jet straightened.

  “Why don’t you show me something you’ve drawn, then.”

  “I don’t have any sketches on me, but I can draw something for you.”

  The teacher twirled her fingers to urge Jet to get on with it. He took a piece of construction paper and quickly doodled an original female character he had been perfecting for almost two years. She was thin, short, beautiful, and playful—all the things he wanted to be. She stood turned partly to the side, her hands clasped behind her back, shoulders invitingly wide. Her short skirt lifted as if with a breeze, the hundred lines making up the tartan all perfectly even despite the zigzags that showed the folds. On a whim, he tried out some glasses poised daintily on her nose.