~The Tree at the Edge of the Schoolyard~ Ace Merrill x OC

-1956, age 15-

John sat on one of the trash cans out the back of the diner. A cigarette between his lips as he listened to the babbling of his posse of dumbasses. The air was brisk, bringing with it the promise of falling leaves, and afternoons huddled against the tree at the edge of the schoolyard with his best friend. Friend, that term was quickly growing foreign to him when he thought about the girl; her dark hair, and big doe eyes, her habit of chewing on her cigarettes and the way her soft hands held onto his when he was in need of comfort. He couldn't help but get lost in thoughts of her.

The previous night he had woken from a very strange dream. In this dream he found himself closer to the girl than he had ever been before. Her slightly chapped lips pressed to his and his calloused hands feeling down her dark bared skin to her butt and thighs, skirt riding up in the heat of the moment. That morning he had awoken with a very unfortunate erection, seeing as the girl had only ever been his friend, and she probably would never see him in the way he desired. Still he couldn't help but wish that she wanted to run her hands through his hair as they kissed, maybe feel over his mildly muscled shoulders as he held her close.

He was whisked out of these thoughts by the exact same girl he had just been fantasizing about. Before he had a moment to say anything, Betty's hand was clenching around his wrist, dragging him around the diner and across the street, ignoring the calls of John's friends. Despite his questions and protests, the teen didn't stop until they had reached their tree. She whirled him around and took his other hand so they were facing each other, barely a foot apart.

Now in the sudden stillness, John noticed tears streaming down her face, and goosebumps forming on her bare arms. Quickly shedding his jacket and draping it over her shoulders, the boy laced his fingers with the girls.

"Betty, what's wrong? You alright? Did anyone say anything to you, just tell me who and I'll kick their ass into the next county. No, the next state! Betty what's going on-" he continued rambling until a soft shaky voice cut him off.

"My old man's dead." There was a silence that not even the birds could penetrate.

John's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Isn't that a good thing?"

Betty began shaking her head, more tears trailing down her face, dripping from her chin and leaving wet spots on her blouse. "My momma, she... she-" her voice seized up as the lump in her throat overcame her.

Right away John dragged the girl to his chest, enveloping her in his arms and leaning back against the tree for support. Why was it the only times he got to feel her embrace was when either of them were crying? He didn't dwell on this thought, however, as Betty's voice, high pitched and congested from crying, sounded again. "I have to move Johnny."

He froze, muscles tensing. "You what?"

"Move. I have to move to California with my momma and I can't do anything about it." Betty pulled away from John slightly, wiping her eyes and taking off his jacket. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Johnny. We're leaving this afternoon. Momma just went crazy and started packing everything up the second the cop showed up at the door and told us the old man was in a car accident. I could only just get away." She began walking off, not wanting to face the boy, or cause him any more pain. Although more selfishly she didn't want to see his face; it was the face of someone she could honestly say she loved, and she didn't want to see it in pain. Barely a second after she pushed John away he grabbed her wrist forcefully and pulled him back to his chest, and before she could resist they were kissing.

Their lips molded together perfectly as the pair melted into each other's arms, not pausing for a moment to think. Neither of them wondered if it was wrong or doubted that the other person wanted it. From the moment their mouths touched both the scruffy white boy and the doe eyed black girl knew they needed each other. When they finally pulled apart for air John realized he was now crying too, silent tears staining his pink cheeks.

John sunk to the ground, pulling Betty into his arms once more as if the embrace would keep California from taking her away. One of her hands cupped his cheek, gently wiping the tears away as his eyes searched hers, noting every ounce of emotion in them. He wished they could stay like that forever: the girl curled up in his lap as they sat among chewed up cigarette butts, tree roots, and countless memories.

He couldn't resist bringing her face to his for another searing kiss, wrapping his jacket around her figure once more. He thought back to that morning, and the dream he had about the girl in his arms, and it didn't seem to matter. No amount of skin she revealed to him, or pleasure she showed him could be equal to the sheer love he felt in that moment.

When they pulled away once more, John reached into the pocket of the jacket draped around Betty's shoulders and pulled out a switchblade. He opened it up, causing the girl's eyes to widen slightly in worry until he twisted around and began carving into the tree. Once he finished carving, he pulled back and looked at Betty to see her reaction.

Now in the trunk of the tree was a large "B + J" inside a heart. It may have been cheesy, it may have been childish, but at that moment it was perfect. Simply a tribute to over eight years of memories shared under the tree at the edge of the schoolyard.