Chocolate and Black Raspberry with a cherry on top!
Author: Empty Hands
Title: Firsts
Challenge(s): Chocolate #19:solitude; Black Raspberry #20: every cloud has a silver lining
Extra(s)/Topping(s): A Cherry on top! (Jaxen POV)
Rating: G
Story: Left-handed Love Letters (no index yet...working on it)
Word count: 1402
Author’s Note: Please read The Bookstore before reading this piece if you don't want to be completely lost :) This is written from Jaxen's POV and is my first venture into his POV. Feedback = love!
Music is a huge part of this story and this song factored greatly into this piece
Summary: Jaxen has seen it all. On his first day in just another high school, he meets someone who will change everything.
I could hear the whispers follow me down the hall. The voices didn’t upset me. The staring eyes didn’t either. It’s what I had expected - everything about Kernan High School had been as I had expected. The familiar institutional feel of the concrete block walls reminded me of my old school in Bradenton, and the masses of cookie-cutter kids made the culture shock minimal. Then again, how different had I expected Jacksonville to be from Bradenton? Only 250 miles separate the two cities, though Jacksonville dwarfed Bradenton by a wide margin. Maybe that’s why Dad moved us here, I thought as I took my seat in Mr. Braddock’s Study Hall. Jacksonville was just far enough away from Bradenton to escape overbearing and over caring family members while still being enough like home to be familiar. Hmm, I thought, maybe he was onto something after all.
The idea of Study Hall on my first day at Kernan seemed a bit ridiculous. Without exams to study for or homework to rush to complete, I was at a loss for what to do. Do what you always do, dumbass, I mumbled to myself as I reached down to retrieve my sketchbook and pens from my tattered messenger bag. I doodled mindlessly for a few moments, running over the day’s events in my mind. So far today, most of my new classmates had steered clear from the new addition to the senior class. I chuckled darkly as I remembered one tiny freshman girl actually run the opposite direction when she saw me in a deserted hallway. I wasn’t offended - more grateful than anything. Attention was the thing I dreaded the most these days. My desire to blend into the background was reflected in everything I did - even in my clothing. I had purposefully chosen my comfortable black hoodie and a simple pair of jeans for my debut to Kernan this morning. Nothing too eye catching, nothing too flashy, and certainly nothing that would incite any conversations about my life. My sister, Eleanor, was the exact opposite. I had no doubt that she would spend the entire day telling the eighth grade class that her name was Ellie, not Eleanor, and discussing her favorite books and music. Smiling, I remembered the bright red sundress she had chosen this morning. Combined with her curly blonde hair and green eyes, she looked so much like mom walking down the stairs from her room. My smile faded - she looked exactly like Mom this morning. So much so, it had been hard to look at her. I knew Dad had thought the same thing; his unceremonious exit from the kitchen upon her entrance told me everything I needed to know.
I sighed and tried to focus on the happy times - the time before Mom had gotten sick. It was hard to ignore the din of the classroom, but before long, I found myself back on the beach with my family. My whole family. Then I was sitting in the pew of our second home - the little riverfront chapel Mom was so dedicated to serving. I flipped the page of the sketch book in front of me and began sketching the intricate pattern of the silver cross I wore on a long chain around my neck. It had been Mom’s most prized possession and the one part of her I couldn’t bear to part with. I kept it hidden under my shirt in public, but it was my constant reminder of her, my constant connection.
A familiar sensation broke me out of my reverie. Someone was watching me again, I sighed to myself. I listened for whispers for a moment, suspecting some curious girls to be the culprits as usual. But I heard nothing. Odd, I thought. I looked to my right and then to my left. At the desk to my left sat a burly, red-haired boy. His hair was curly and fell haphazardly into his eyes. His letter jacket made the automatic stereotype of jock unavoidable. A meathead, I thought to myself, great. This can’t end well. I moved to cover my sketch out of instinct.
“That’s really good. Your drawing, that is.” A look of surprise spread over my face.
“Thanks,” I said, “It’s really nothing.” The burly boy laughed gruffly.
“Right,” he rolled his eyes. “I wish I had talent like that. Maybe then Mrs. Snow would stop glaring at me.”
I recognized the name of my new teacher from class that morning. “You Take art?” I asked, suspicion coloring my tone. This guy didn’t seem like the kind who could find his way around a palette and brush. Or even a book.
“Pshh- jocks can be cultured, too, bro!” I couldn’t help but laugh with him at his blunt reference to the stereotype. “Besides, I got kicked out of chorus,” he added under his breath. I shot him a questioning look. “It might have something to do with my inability to carry a tune. But that’s just speculation.” We laughed. Even if he was a jock, this guy was funny. Very little made me laugh these days. A moment of silence passed as Mr. Braddock walked around the room, making sure nothing too chaotic was happening in his classroom. Once he had passed by, the jock thrust his hand in my direction.
“My name’s Cornelius - but everyone calls me CJ.” I took his hand and shook it.
“Gabriel - but I go by Jaxen.”
“Good decision.”
“You, too.”
For the rest of the period, CJ and I discussed life. Well, sort of. CJ never asked for my life story, as most people would. Instead, we talked about music and books. I was surprised to find that beyond appreciating art, CJ also enjoyed a wide range of literature, a taste very similar to my own. We were about to compare notes on Dante’s Inferno when the shrill school bell interrupted our discussion and signaled the beginning of lunch. Instead of briskly walking off like the rest of the anxious students, CJ stayed behind and waited as I packed up my messenger bag. For a brief moment, the thought that I could actually be friends with this seemingly unorthodox athlete entertained my brain. It was an odd but pleasant feeling. As we walked out of the classroom and entered the busy hallway, I thought of Ellie. I hoped she was making friends. Maybe, I thought, maybe we could be normal after all.
“Now,” Cj said, bringing me out of my thoughts. “If you really want to discuss Dante, you’ll have to talk to my best friend. She practically sleeps with the book. I owe all of my literary knowledge to her constant nagging,” he said, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance. His gaze shifted to a spot in the distance and his smile widened. “Speak of the devil!” He laughed at his own pun while pulling a slender girl gently by the arm, guiding her away from an open locker on the other side of the hall. I looked up and couldn’t believe my eyes.
“Amelia?”
“Jaxen?” Her voice was high with surprise, but her smile was the same one I had seen in the bookstore that night. CJ looked back and forth between us quickly, clearly confused.
“Either I’m incredibly talented at introducing people or you two already know each other,” CJ said, his arms crossing over his chest, observing the surprise on our faces. Amelia looked up at her friend with a wide smile.
“Err, yeah. Jaxen came into the store the other day. Our classics section is incredibly grateful. How did you two meet?”
“Study Hall with Braddock. Jax here was sketching this cool cross and I had to put my two cents in.”
“Naturally,” Amelia said with a sort of kind sarcasm. “It’s physically impossible for him to mind his own business,” she said looking at me and playfully nudging the large football player.
“Ready for lunch?” Amelia asked CJ after he had stopped feigning pain from her gentle push.
“So you need to ask?” They both laughed and then looked at me expectantly.
“You’re coming too, right?” Amelia asked. “I mean, you’re welcome to join us.” She shrugged and smiled warmly. All I could do was nod.
As I walked down the hall with a football player on my left and a bookworm on my right, I couldn’t remember feeling more at home in months.