College is coming soon, and Blake Warner is sure that his life is embedded into the dead-end that is Merritt Hills, Georgia. His mother has assured him millions of times, that money has nothing to do with where his future leads.
But whenever he lie...
| E X P E C T T H E U N E X P E C T E D | • • • 0 . 1 2
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Jackson was quiet. Almost too quiet. So quiet to the point where Brooks had been cautiously watching him in the corner of his eye, for ten minutes straight. Jackson could feel this, but didn't speak on it, only simply conjuring a lecture in his mind.
It was moments like these, where Brooks regretted ever telling Jackson about any silly, little, stupid decision he'd ever made.
Brooks turned to Jackson, who simply breathed in and out, his fingers clenching around the steering wheel to his favorite car. "Why are you staring at me?"
Brooks shrugged, his fingers picking at the tread on the sweatshirt Jackson had let him borrow for the time being. "I feel like you're angry at me."
"That's because I am." The Andre was instant, and had Brooks feeling as though he'd done something personally wrong toward Jackson.
"Well," he began, "Blake isn't so bad to me anymore. And we have this deal, where either I suck it up and make a friend for the summer, or he goes back to the ruthless guy he was during high school."
"And middle school," Jackson didn't bother sugarcoating it, as he'd had to sit, and watch Blake torment the one guy who had been nothing but a good friend to everyone around him. But even then, Jackson had always had deeper, bigger reasons to hate Blake.
But that was something he'd never speak about.
"Right, and middle school. But we've honestly been having fun, Jack. I promise. I have yet to be tripped, taunted—well, only a little, but it's fine." Jackson's jaw clenched at how naive and oblivious Brooks seemed at the situation.
Blake was going to reel Brooks in, make Brooks believe he could trust him. Jackson didn't know how, yet—but he knew it was coming. The calm before the storm, he'd describe it as.
"Look, Brooks, I don't understand why you're throwing all of this away. I mean, you've got Rosetta Fitzgerald trying to get at you every chance she gets, and you're in the running for Mr. Merritt Hills. I just . . ."
Brooks slumped back against the passenger seat, when Jackson's car pulled into that long familiar driveway, that had Brooks' heart beating erratically, once more.
Jackson hiked the stick into park, turning to Brooks who looked reluctant to walk into his own home. But since he was just a little boy, that big, almost empty house, seemed like his parents' and no one else's.
"Come on, Brooks. You've gotta go inside at some point—"
"Jack, just—don't be angry at me, alright? Blake's not as bad as we all thought, I swear. He's just a little rough around the edges. Hug?" Brooks held both arms out, as Jackson struggled to keep the goofy smile from climbing onto his lips.
He leaned in, Brooks' thin arms circling the crevice of Jackson's neck. Meanwhile, it was as though Jackson forgot how to breathe. But still, he couldn't help himself as his arms made their way around Brooks' waist, his lips close to Jackson's ear.
"Thank you, Jack. I'm so glad we're friends."
At that moment, Jackson swore he could've cried at that word. That horrible, horrible word. Friends.
