by Garza, Amber
It was Jackson.
“Juliet,” I responded, writing it on the sheet.
“What a coincidence,” he responded, so close his warm breath fanned over the back of my neck.
I finished writing, plucked up a script, and then turned to face him, my lips curling in an amused smile. “Why? You’re trying out for her too?” Pressing the script to my chest, I maneuvered around him. “I gotta say, you don’t have a chance of getting the part. I’m a pretty damn good actress. Plus, I suspect I’ll look better in a dress than you will.”
“Oh, you think so, do you?” He joked back.
Students started crowding us, so I shoved my way out of the crowd and headed toward the door. My backpack thumped against my back with each step.
“Piper,” Jackson’s voice stopped me before I could step out of the class.
“I’m not really trying out for Juliet.” He ran a hand through his hair, muscles bulging on his upper arm.
I hated that I noticed it. “You don’t say?” I slipped back into my usual tone – sarcastic and a little bored. It had become my defense mechanism for years. Act like you don’t care, and maybe you won’t. The goal was to protect my heart, although I didn’t know how well I’d done of that. Bentley’s face flickered in my mind, and I almost fell over. Leaning over, I placed my hand on the wall to steady myself. No need to have a panic attack right here in the drama room. Shaking my head, I forced my thoughts back to the present. Back to this small town where no one knew me. Where no one knew the truth of what had happened. Oh sure, they all thought they did, but only I knew the truth. Well, only Bentley and I, but he wasn’t really talking, was he?
“I’m actually trying out for Romeo.” He held the script between the thick fingers of his right hand and the pages fluttered as students whisked past us, looking on curiously. When Jackson smiled, a dimple formed on his right cheek.
God, it was cute. I had read books about guys with dimples, but I didn’t know if I’d actually seen one. This guy was full of clichés.
“Romeo, huh?” I cocked an eyebrow.
“Don’t you think I’d make a good Romeo?” He asked.
“I don’t know. The only time I’ve seen you act in class you’ve goofed off. I guess I’ll know better at auditions.”
“Um...that’s what I was going to talk to you about.” He paused, searching my face, and I froze. A funny feeling descended in my stomach. I had the feeling that this was a significant moment. I’d had this feeling before. The last time was the day my parents told me we were moving here. And the time before that was when I met Bentley. “I was wondering if maybe you and I could run lines. You know, make sure we’re ready for auditions.”
I wanted to take him up on his offer, but I was scared. Scared of getting close to him. Scared of getting hurt. Jackson had no idea what I was like. He had no idea what type of person I was. If he did, he’d stay far away and stick to the sweet country girls he’s accustomed to. “Oh, I’m ready for auditions.” I smiled, pushing open the classroom door. Before stepping out into the hallway, I glanced at him. “Good luck.”
“I don’t need luck. I’m your Romeo, and I’ll prove it to you.”
That’s what I was afraid of.
Jackson
Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou, Romeo? I’ve got to say, I never thought drama would be sexy, but when Piper said this to me in rehearsal it turned me on in a way nothing else ever had.
It was weird that I had the lead in the school play. I was so going to get shit for this for the rest of the year. But it was worth it because of all the extra time with Piper. There was no way she could keep avoiding me now.
However, my dad lacked my excitement. He was pretty upset with me. I was his son, after all. I mean, if Courtney was in a play he’d be over the moon. But my dad felt that men were supposed to play football, hang with the guys and work out at the gym.
I remember the first time I told him I liked reading, and that I might want to be a writer someday. He called me a sissy. Literally. Isn’t that crazy? Clearly he’d never read a horror novel. No way are those guys sissies with the kind of shit they write. It’ll make you crap your pants and sleep with your lights on for weeks.
But my dad had never understood me. I’d gotten used to it over the years.
I knew how to play the game. Often I felt like a chameleon. You know the animal that can change based on its surroundings? I could do that. Sometimes it scared me how easily I could change my behavior based on who I was around.
Maybe that’s what really attracted me to Piper. It was clear from the moment I met her that she was real, that she wasn’t putting on an act. And it made me believe that I could be the same way. That perhaps she was the one person I could be myself around. Truthfully, I desperately wanted someone to really know me. The real me. Not the person that was expected, but the person I was deep inside. The one I had been afraid to let out.
Then again, I was now playing Romeo in the school play in an attempt to get Piper’s attention. See what I mean about the chameleon thing?
But I kind of liked being in the play. Sure, I told the guys I hate it. The teasing was already bad enough. If I told them I was having fun, they’d never let me live it down. Surprisingly I was pretty good at acting. It came a lot more naturally than I thought it would. Part of the reason may be because I liked Piper. It’s almost like I wasn’t acting. It wasn’t a stretch to act like I was attracted to Juliet, because I was.
The most difficult part for me was understanding what the hell our lines meant. But Piper understood it, and she’d been helping me understand it too. This afternoon in rehearsal while they went over a scene that we weren’t in, we sat in the back of class and Piper explained the lines to me. It took all my willpower to listen to her words. Her mouth seriously distracted me. Maybe if she took off that damn red lipstick. She had the perfect heart-shaped lips. As she spoke, I fantasized about taking my finger and sweeping it in the little dip in her top lip.
Her voice was beautiful – low and sultry. Phone sex operators had nothing on this girl. Her voice was truly sexy. Not that I would know about the phone sex operator thing. I’d never called one of those numbers. (Okay, once, but it was Zach’s fault. He dared me). But it was Piper’s passion that I loved the most.
And as she explained the play to me, her passion became contagious. I understood why she loved it so much. When she talked about forbidden love and forsaking all others to be with that person, I wondered if I would ever be brave enough to do that.
I’d like to think that I would chase the woman I love, even into death. But I had my doubts. I was a lot of things, but brave wasn’t one of them.
Courtney
I lie back on my bed, setting the journal down by my side. The curtains were still drawn, but I had switched on my reading lamp so the room was dimly lit. Eerie shadows danced on the walls. It seemed like the right mood for today. Dark and ominous.
The silence was becoming deafening. I never thought of silence as having a sound. The very definition of the word told us that it didn’t. But trust me, it did, and I had been hearing it ever since Jackson’s death. If Jackson were still here it would no longer be quiet. The house would be filled with his laughter, his voice. He’d entertain us with his animated stories and jokes. He was like that. The life of the party, my mom always said.
I sighed, my fingers brushing over the edge of the journal. But now I was wondering if any of us really knew Jackson. The boy living in the pages of his journal sounded like my brother and in some ways acted like my brother, but he wasn’t exactly my brother. Not the one I knew anyway.
This Jackson was deeper, more introspective, more sensitive, more real. Which I guess made sense. I mean, weren’t we all more real with ourselves than with others? I think we all wore masks sometimes. We had dark moments, dark thoughts we knew better than to share openly. My god, if we all shared every thought that came into our head we’d all hate each other. And I knew Dad was hard on Jackson. Theref
ore, I understood why Jackson felt he had to portray himself a certain way around here.
But it was the last line I’d read that threw me.
You see, I had always seen Jackson as brave. In fact, it’s safe to say that I thought he was the bravest person I knew.
When I was six and Jackson was eight, we were playing near the creek behind our house. Mom had gone out there with us, but she was picking berries and had walked a little ways off. She shouted for Jackson to keep an eye on me, and he said he would. I grabbed a rock and threw it into the creek. Water sprayed up, making me giggle. Jackson swung a stick in the air, using it like a sword. It sliced through the air swiftly. To my right I could see the yellow of Mom’s shirt, hear the sound of the bushes rustling as she plucked off the berries.
When I bent down to pick up another rock, a reptilian head popped up. Screaming, I jumped back. As I did, the rest of the snake’s body became visible, long and slick. My reaction scared it, so it lunged forward. Mom hollered in the distance, asking if I was all right. Jackson spoke softly, yet firmly, telling me to be quiet. Then he moved with deliberation until he stood directly in front of me, his body between me and the snake. My knees knocked together, fear for both myself and Jackson taking root in my stomach. With his stick, Jackson shoved the snake back. Miraculously, it slithered in the opposite direction.
Just as it did, Mom came bounding over, terror etching her face. She had dropped her basket, and berries rolled across the ground, painting the greenery with purple color.
I still didn’t know if it was a fluke thing that Jackson fought off that snake. In fact, I’d told some of my friends the story, and rarely did they believe me. But I knew it was true. I was there.
My brother saved me. And there wasn’t even a moment of hesitation. No matter the risk, Jackson didn’t weigh it. He took action.
So, you tell me. Was he brave?
Sitting up in my bed, I tucked my legs up to my chest, hugging them to me. My gaze swept my room. The room I’d had since I was born. But today it felt different, foreign somehow. I wondered if I would ever see anything the same again. Without Jackson, everything had changed. Moisture filled my eyes, and I didn’t fight it. The tears fell freely, wetting my cheeks and dripping down my chin. I didn’t even bother wiping them away. What was the point?
Last year I had my first boyfriend - Nick Porter. It only lasted a month, and apparently it didn’t mean much to Nick. While we were still together, he went to a party and hooked up with Melissa Smith. When I found out about it the Monday following the party, I was devastated. I ended up balling my eyes out the minute I got into Jackson’s car after school.
Jackson immediately pulled over and demanded to know what happened. When I told him, I thought he was going to pop a blood vessel he looked so mad. He started to get out of the car, saying that he was going to beat the shit out of Nick for hurting me. I had to beg him to stay out of it. In fact, I made him swear on his life.
Huh. Swear on his life.
Never again would I use those kinds of phrases with flippancy.
I think that was the last time I cried. Like really cried. Until now.
Now I couldn’t stop crying. And I wondered if I ever would. Jackson hadn’t even been dead twenty-four hours yet, but it felt so much longer than that. The hours were dragging, the clock seeming to move at a snail’s pace. Usually time sped past, and I felt like I had to run to catch up. Now I would give anything for time to move faster. Perhaps with distance, I would learn to breathe again. Maybe as days passed this hole in my heart would begin to repair, this crushing pain would dissipate. But right now, I was doubtful that would ever happen.
It’s funny, because Jackson and I were talking about the concept of time during our very last conversation. I hadn’t thought of that until right now. Lying down, my blond hair fanning out over the pillow, I closed my eyes and allowed the memory to wash over me.
Jackson sat on his bed, hunched over a book, a chunk of his light brown hair falling over his forehead. He wore jeans and a grey t-shirt, his feet bare. I leaned against the doorframe, propping my shoulder against it.
“Hey,” I said.
He looked up and smiled, resting his palm over the pages of the book. The words were now obscured, but I could tell it was poetry. One of the books Piper gave him. She’d been trying to get him into it for months. At first he had seemed reluctant, but the last month I’d noticed him reading it more and more.
“I’m surprised to see you here.” I stepped inside the room.
“I do live here, you know.” A teasing gleam filled his eyes. “I’m Jackson.”
I giggled, lowering myself onto his bed next to him. “Yes, we’ve met before.”
“Oh, good. I was worried maybe you were suffering from amnesia.”
“Nope.” I touched my head. “Memory is still intact.” Glancing over at the book, I nodded. “Reading poetry, huh?”
He nodded. “I think I’m starting to get it.”
“Piper will be so proud.”
There was a flicker in his eyes that I couldn’t place – regret, sadness, uncertainty. I wasn’t sure. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“Why aren’t you out with her right now?” He was rarely home in the evenings. He and Piper were always off somewhere together.
“I just needed a little time to myself. Time alone with my thoughts.”
“Time alone with your thoughts?” I chuckled. “Wow, this poetry’s really getting to you, huh?” That’s when I noticed the edge of a piece of paper sticking out from under the book. A blue pen sat on the bed next to Jackson’s thigh. I pointed toward it. “Are you writing poems too?”
He bit his lip. “Maybe.”
“Can I read them?”
He shook his head. “No. Definitely not.”
“That bad, huh?” I said knowingly.
“Oh, yeah. The worst.” He was bantering, but there was something else in his voice. A dark and serious quality that wasn’t usually present. I couldn’t read him like I normally could.
“So what’s the real reason you’re at home reading poetry? Did you and Piper have a fight or something?”
He shook his head. “No. We’re fine.” Lifting his head, his eyes met mine. “Have you ever felt like time was moving too fast? Like you just wish it would slow down or stop altogether?”
“Every day when I come home to do homework. With all my AP classes there never seems like enough time in the day to finish all my schoolwork.”
Disappointment flickered in his eyes, and I immediately regretted my answer. Had I missed the meaning of what he said?
“Yeah. That makes sense.” He smiled, and my concern drifted out the window. “I don’t have that problem.” Reaching up, he rubbed his hands in my hair, messing it up. “You got the brains in the family, Court.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m the smart one and you’re the popular one. If only you could give me some of your popularity, I’d happily give you some of my smarts.”
“Hey,” Jackson said. “Don’t ever try to be someone you’re not. You’re perfect just the way you are.”
My cheeks colored, and I lowered my head. “You have to say that. You’re my brother.”
“That’s not true. I mean it. Always be proud of who you are. Stick to your convictions and don’t let anyone pressure you. Okay?”
It seemed like such an odd thing to say, but I nodded. Then I laughed nervously, my eyes landing on the poetry book. “Maybe it’s time to put away the poetry. Go grab a pizza with your friends. You’re turning all sappy.”
His face grew serious. “Nah. I don’t want to go out with the guys. Not tonight.”
“Okay.” I stood, smirking. “Well, I’ll leave you to your thoughts.” Before walking out of the room, I glanced back one last time. I didn’t know what made me do it. I mean, I saw Jackson every day. But something seemed off about him, and it bothered me. So I stared at him a minute. He didn’t even seem to notice though.
He was already lost in his though
ts.
If I had known it would be the last time I’d seen him, I would’ve stood there longer. Hell, I would’ve stayed in his room all night. I would’ve made him keep talking. Perhaps I could have even kept him home.
But he didn’t stay home. He left about an hour after our conversation. I was in my room sitting at my desk doing homework, but I heard his feet shuffle down the hallway. Heard the click of the front door opening and closing, and the sound of the car engine starting in the driveway.
I foolishly assumed he’d be back soon. That I’d see him again. If I had known I wouldn’t, I would’ve done things differently. I would’ve told him what he meant to me; how much I loved him.
Or at the very least, I would’ve said good-bye.
Tyler
“Do you really think the cops are gonna want to talk to us?” I approached Zach at his locker between classes. He was reaching inside his open locker, his backpack sat unzipped at his feet.
“Keep your voice down,” he whispered, his eyes shifting around the hallway. Students whisked past, while others chatted by their lockers. No one seemed to notice us at all. They all milled about like it was any other day. It was weird how ordinary it all seemed. All of us getting our books out of our lockers and racing to class, going about our business like nothing had changed. Jackson would never open another locker again. He’d never read another book for English, or sit through math class, or take a quiz. I wanted to feel envious of him for that, but mostly I felt sick.
Zach reached in his locker and grabbed out his math book. That’s right. He had math next period. Just like Jackson. They’d had the class together.
I shivered. “We need to get our story straight, man.”
“You need to chill out.” Zach’s eyes darkened.
Panic rose in me like a wave when it rolls in at the beach. Once it crests, it can’t stop. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make this panic subside. It sat right in my gut, nagging at me incessantly. There was no shaking it. “We can’t let them find out what we’ve done.”