The next few minutes happen like a roller coaster ride: fear at the start, excitement as the danger inches closer, anticipation that doesn't prepare you for the sudden drop no matter how much you try, a wild and quick thrill, and disbelief and adrenaline when it finally ends all too soon.
"They're shutting down the party," I guess frantically, and Jason nods. My heart is beating so fast I feel like it's going to jump out my throat.
"That's why I parked down here away from it. Just in case cops showed up."
Sure enough two O.C.P.D. cars, sirens blaring and lights flashing, are racing down the street towards us. Someone in the area must have tipped them off or complained about the noise and now they're on their way to the warehouse. They're also about to pass us. We're standing on the sidewalk in a small pool of streetlight... but in the dark, we're in plain sight.
"Fuck. They're probably gonna stop us," Jason realizes, saying what I'm thinking aloud.
"Because they're looking for us." I shield my eyes from the beam of headlights fast approaching.
"No, because they can see us," he corrects, glancing around at our open surroundings. There's no place to duck into or hide behind.
"We can't get caught. Not with these." I hold out the bag of uppers, which feels heavy in my hand now. My voice sounds oddly calm and logical, like I'm stating facts and trying to sort through them, despite the very un-calm and ill-logical goosebumps raising on my arms and the back of my neck. I've never been in this situation, obviously.
But I'm still so caught up in this thrill, which is probably why I can't anticipate what happens next.
"We're not." Jason swipes the bag from me and chucks it down the sidewalk like a linebacker. A second later he wraps his arms around my waist, backs me up to the curb, and presses me against the nearest car. Then he leans over me, hooking one hand under my knee and pulling my leg to his hip as he starts kissing me.
No. Making out with me. I'm aware of the cool metal of the car on my back; his fingers pressed against my skin; the passion and heat and soft lips going on with our mouths. Words can't describe how surprised I am at Jason's sudden action - so surprised that I don't even think I kiss him back right.
"Hey! What are you kids doing out here?" an authoritative voice yells.
Jason pulls away from our tryst - which lasts about a minute - and we both squint into the beam of light shining in our faces. Once my eyes adjust I see that one of the police cars has stopped in the middle of the street, a few feet behind us. The policeman is outside it hanging over his door and blinding us with his flashlight.
"What does it look like?" Jason counters, planting his fingertips on either side of my shoulders. He sounds annoyed. "You can probably see better than me. Would you get that thing out of our faces?"
The policeman narrows his eyes and lowers the flashlight. "It looks like you're sneaking around in the night, young man. This isn't the time or place for..." He straightens his holster and clears his throat, uncomfortable for a moment. "Canoodling."
I have to press my very tingly, sort of numb lips together to suppress my giggle. Canoodling? His choice of words is just funny and out of place in the tension of the moment. Canoodling sounds like a combination of canoeing and doodling, doesn't it?
"Oh, I see," Jason replies, arrogant and entitled. He's playing this role very well. "You don't like PDA, officer, is that it?"
The cop scowls at his smugness. His gaze wanders over to the end of the block, in the direction of the warehouse, then back to us.
"This isn't about me, son," he warns in a parental tone. "This is about the suspicious and raucous activity going on down the street. How do I know you and this young lady aren't involved in this party we got a call about? That warehouse is in restricted area."
"Maybe we are, maybe we aren't," Jason bargains, shrugging. He sounds confident and unfazed and controlled, all at once. "Do you have proof? And it doesn't matter anyway, since all you're doing is clearing the party out. And checking for substances, no doubt. But we've got nothing on us and you have nothing on us. We were just... what'd you call it? Canoodling."
As I glance between him and the policeman, I feel like we're back in the Anatomy classroom on my first day, when Jason pulled his skateboard stunt and everyone applauded his performance. I realize suddenly that a lot of what he does is to make a point about himself. And that's not necessarily a bad thing, even if what he does to make it is... well, bad.
The officer obviously sees Jason's point now, because he tilts his head back, conceding. He turns the beam of the flashlight to my face for a second and jerks his chin at me. "What do have to say about this, young lady?"
I'm kind of freaked out at this run-in with the law, but the calm and logical part of me takes over, kind of like my twin does. "We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, officer," I admit. I push myself off the car and lace my fingers through Jason's. "But we weren't doing anything wrong."
The cop straightens his holster again and finally relents at my innocence. We're just a couple of dumb kids to him. That's what Jason was trying to make him think - that's why he kissed me so suddenly, so the cop would see.
"Alright, you kids get out of here," he instructs, jerking his thumb behind him."You shouldn't be out in the streets at all at this hour. That reminds me..." He pulls out his walkie-talkie. "Gary, let's talk about setting up a curfew for these teenagers. It'll cut down on the complaints and activities, that's for sure... Over." He looks back at Jason. "As for you, young man. If I see you again you better have a more valid excuse than luck, timing, and a pretty girl. For your sake."
Then he gets into his car. Jason watches him as he drives off and turns the corner. Then he actually rolls his eyes like the whole thing was exasperating for him. I exhale with something like relief.
"That was close, huh?" Jason asks me, grinning and tugging me along.
"Yeah. Close." My voice sounds odd and distant, like I don't have control of it. I surely don't have much control over my limbs - I'm only moving because he's pulling me.
He glances over his shoulder. "Sorry for grabbing you like that. It was the best way to throw the cop off."
Shit, I'm not complaining. That's what he thinks I'm shaken up about? Him making out with me? Yeah, his lips and hands are very distracting, especially when they're on me, but that's not why I'm a little panicky and dazed and overwhelmed.
"It's okay," I assure him. "You don't have to apologize. That was..." I nod, impressed. "Just wow Quick thinking. And good acting."
"Not all of it was acting." The corner of his mouth lifts with a smile. He looks me up and down. "So you're good?"
I swallow hard. "Yeah."
"Then why are you shaking?" he wonders, stopping beside his car and holding my hand up by the wrist. Sure enough I'm trembling a little and I didn't even realize it. But I know exactly why.
"It's just adrenaline and energy." I steady my hand and lower it, but Jason doesn't let go. "From getting stopped by that cop and getting out of it. Barely That was crazy. And close. Like, we just had drugs on us ten minutes ago." I pause, feeling a familiar bundle of nerves unraveling and spreading to my fingers. "And my Adderall jitters are making it worse."
Jason furrows his brow. "I thought you were out of Adderall." Before I can answer realization dawns on his face. "Oh. We were supposed to get you more uppers. I wonder where they went when I threw them..." He glances down the dark and empty street and frowns slightly.
I shake my head and turn his face back to mine. My palm rests on his cheek for a moment, and we look at each other, acknowledging how close we are - how protective his fingers feel around my wrist and how hesitant mine must feel on his face - before I drop this hand as well.
"I upped my doses this week. And I totally forgot about getting more, anyway," I confess, absentminded. I was too caught up in all that happened. "Maybe it's a sign that I don't need anymore."
That's probably a lie, but a comforting one I'm telling myself for now.
Jason regards me with careful, curious eyes. "It's bad news, you know."
"What? Taking uppers?" Or doing everything we just did?
He nods gravely. "If you take too many it'll drive you crazy. Your mind starts overthinking, imagining stuff, creating problems that don't exist. I tried them for a little while last year because - why not? Why not take uppers when you feel so down? But it only made it worse. I just... made up new things to get down about."
Oh. That's what Miley was talking about when she said taking Adderall made his depression worse. It gave him "new things" to feel depressed about - on top of the reason he feels it in the first place. What is that reason, I wonder? I'll ask him later. I have to ask the right questions, at the right time.
"I think I need to get off of them, then," I decide quietly, holding Jason's intense gaze. "I just.. don't know how."
"I'll help you." His mouth quirks up into a typical but reassuring smirk. A pause, then he tucks a loose curl of my hair behind my ear before walking around his car to open my door.
"Can I drive?" I ask shyly, wrapping my arms around myself. I rock back on my heels.
He raises his eyebrows and leans on the door, watching me over the hood. "This car? My car?" He sounds amused.
I pout my lips. "Yeah, your car. You can tell me where to go. Driving will calm me down. And help work off my nerves. Please?"
Understanding passes over his face, and a part of him looks weakened by my pleading. He probably can't resist that - I can be as cute as a puppy when I want to be.
"Sure, baby girl," he agrees, accepting his defeat, and tosses me his keys.
Surprised but satisfied, I catch them as he walks back around the car and still opens the door for me - except this time it's on the driver's side. He gestures inside.
"Go ahead, show me how you ride," he taunts. His gaze drags over my body and he smirks mischievously.
My skin prickles at his innuendo - he has a lot of them up his sleeve, doesn't he? I smirk back and boast, "You already did last night."
Then I settle into the car and turn the key in the ignition, very aware of the pleased way Jason raises his eyebrows and presses his tongue against his cheek. He drapes himself over the passenger seat in that sexy, carefree way he sits, puts on his seatbelt only after I remind him, and tells me to take it easy on his wheels. Once he directs me to the highway, I roll my eyes and drive.
The comfortable silence and attraction between us in the car is the same, but it's different being in the driver's seat. I'm concentrating on the dark, unfamiliar, but open road instead of on Jason or what's he saying. Wondering if he's watching me like I watch him from the passenger seat, I peek out of the corner of my eye. He's gazing at the night through the window. Before I turn back to the windshield, though, he glances over at me.
"Eyes on the road," he orders. He raises his eyebrows and points.
"I promise I won't crash your baby." I pat the dashboard. It's a sleek, smooth, sexy automobile, and I feel kind of awesome and important driving it. "I can handle it."
"You sure about that?" He sounds devilish and amused.
"I can handle a lot of things, Jason," I declare, returning his wicked humor. "I'm stronger than I look."
The car fills with silence while the sensual tension in the air elevates. It's like there's a thermometer between us that keeps rising and rising to dangerously heated temperatures.
"I know," Jason finally replies, and when I dare to glance at him again he's nodding and smirking like he's impressed. "You showed me that the past two days. Anyone who whips a car around like that, is down with picking up a shipment, and sticks by my crew even when her cousin is with our rivals - is cool with me."
Shock leaves my face slack and flushed. Does this mean I've proved myself? I didn't think it would be this fun and worthwhile, especially at a new school. But proving yourself to strangers is easier than with people you know. The people you know expect a certain thing from you and know what you have to offer. The strangers who are now my friends offered me something and expected something back, and I gave it to them because I like what they offered.
My mind races. And then... curiosity replaces my surprise. I press my lips together anxiously. Should I ask?
"If you wanna ask me something, TK, ask me," Jason speaks up. "I can tell it's just burning you."
Oh, I'm burning alright. From both the fire in his gaze and the heat radiating throughout my body as he looks at me. That's how it is whenever he looks at me like that.
"Where'd you learn to handle cops like that?" I ask, gripping the steering wheel and merging into the middle lane.
He snickers. "My dad. You just gotta convince them that you're innocent. The law says innocent until proven guilty. Don't act guilty, you won't look guilty, and they won't get a chance to prove that you are," he explains logically. "That's all before you get caught, though. When you're just suspect."
"So your dad has dealt with the police a lot."
"Yeah, he's had to," he answers vaguely.
"Is that why McCann has a bad name around the streets?" I recall what Nina said about the Wreckers getting Jason's dad involved. "Because of your dad's involvement with the police?"
He gives a short laugh. When he speaks his tone is as dark as the road I drive on. "No. You can blame the Wreckers for that. When they were trying to get revenge they thought it was a good idea to let everyone know who Frank McCann is. On the side, anyway," he adds hastily. "He can get these people what they want by any means necessary and still have what he wants at the end of the day."
He pauses for a moment, and I peer at him in my periphery. His chiseled jaw works as he explains with a distant gaze out the windshield. I turn my attention back to the road and wait for him to continue.
"My dad made sure his shit was still secure when word spread," he goes on. "And threatened Nina and anyone else who thought about going to the cops."
"So he cleared your name?" I ask hopefully.
"Not exactly." Jason props his feet up on the dashboard. His white sneaks are so fresh they're bright in the darkness. "That's impossible; my dad's notorious in some places. And to certain people. Mention McCann and they go crazy. Demands, threats, old feuds. If they knew I'm his son, forget it, I'm dead. I'm Bizzle to them and that's it. Jason to the ones that know me better."
Like José and the Wreckers, I think. I nod, seeing now more than ever why their nicknames are more than just nicknames. If gangs, streetwalkers, and drug dealers knew he's the son of crime boss Frank McCann, he'd probably be worse off then the criminals his dad deals with.
"Does your dad know what you do?" I wonder suddenly, incredulous.
Jason chuckles - probably at my disbelieving tone. "What, like skateboard?" he points out. "Skip school sometimes? Claim the skate park and basketball court? He knows I'm a teenager, TK."
I scowl at his sarcasm and push down harder on the gas pedal. When he doesn't say anything I peek at him again. He's smirking, as usual.
I glide over to the fast lane and increase my speed as I say, "You know what I mean, Mr. Sarcastic. Emphasis on the ass."
He lets out a laugh then that's so cute I want to bake cookies for him.
"He knows of, baby girl," he replies, reaching over to lift my leg up a little and ease my foot off the accelerator - he does it so gently that he doesn't disrupt my driving at all. So he did notice I sped up.
"He's the reason I'm so fucked up," Jason admits, leaning back in his seat again. "You grow up with a guy who organizes crimes and keeps people out of trouble, but you can't stay out of it. Ironic."
He doesn't sound spiteful, just kind of annoyed like it is what it is. I should know by now that that's the truth. I wish I could be as accepting and worry-free as him. I think I'm the one that's fucked up, actually.
"So... What was Career Day like for you in elementary school? Did your dad show the class rap sheets that he's cleared? Or Take Your Children to Work Day? Did you visit jails?"
"No, TK." Jason shakes his head in my periphery, chuckling again. "A crime boss oversees the crime, but never gets involved. He barely even talks to the convicts. He has a main job as a businessman. The CEO of McCannics."
"McCannics? That's clever."
"I guess."
"Is it a car company?"
"Nah. Government weapons dealer. I'm talking rifles, machine guns, AK-47s. Not just pistols licensed to normal people, like hunters. But his crime business? It's more dangerous than the weapons." He snorts.
I blink out at the road, stunned and enlightened. I remember when I asked him about dealing with guns, and he told me not by choice. It's because he grew up around them. That's... I don't know. It goes both ways: you can either be terrified of them because you've seen what they do (which is my case) or you can be comfortable with them because you've been around them your whole life.
Which one is Jason?
This news also ultimately explains why Jason and his crew are called Bangerz. The other reason. Frank McCann deals with all kinds of them. So what, did he bring unloaded AK-47s for show and tell? Did Jason visit gun ranges and classified areas to see demonstrations? How many times does he have to hear the word gun and imagine what it looks like and sounds like and does? How often do the police, government officials, and maybe even criminals show up at his house? God, what about his mother? She nurtured the sensitive, well-mannered side of him. I guess he gets all his trouble and danger from his father.
A pang of sadness lances through me. This sounds so scary. "I'm sorry, Jason," I say quietly. "That must be hard."
He doesn't answer right away. I look over at him and see that his feet are still propped up on the dashboard and he's looking down at his shoes thoughtfully. He straightens his chains. At last he nods, accepting my sympathy, but he also shrugs - accepting the circumstances as they are.
"It's okay, TK, really," he murmurs. He sounds distracted. "If anything I learned a lot about self-defense. Leadership. How to be street-smart. Especially since I'm an only child."
"Didn't that make it harder?" I frown, feeling awful for him. "Or scarier?"
He folds his arms behind his head like he's stargazing. Maybe he's looking for answers, or comfort, or a sign. "Guns aren't scary, baby girl, not to me. What's scary is when they get in the wrong hands, and are used for the wrong reasons."
At first I can't fathom having no fear at all like this, but I focus on driving and consider his words. After several minutes I begin to understand why he would feel this way. My Uncle Jerry, for example, deals with guns in the military - bigger, scarier ones than the pistol I saw - but he uses them for protection and aid. What frightens me is the gun that's used to murder and threaten, the one that's used to take away the people I love.
I just wish my nightmares could see this difference. Maybe then they would stop. And I could sleep like a normal person.
The silence in the car stretches on for a few miles as our thoughts consume us. Finally the silence gets too loud and Jason, surprisingly, is the one who breaks it with a question.
"What does your dad do, TK?"
"My dad?" I repeat absentmindedly.
"Oh, shit." He sits up and his voice softens. "Sorry, baby girl. Really. We don't have to talk about it."
"It's fine. I like talking about them." I pause. "My dad was a therapist and my mom was a private school professor."
"Wow. That makes a lot of sense."
"What do you mean?"
"You're... smart, loyal, compassionate, ask good questions. A lot of them," he adds, sounding like he has smirk on his face. "But good ones. And you're about love and positivity. I think you get that from them, baby girl."
I flush - at him noticing those things about me - and smile shyly, nodding. I actually don't feel too sad, just nostalgic.
"Yeah, you're right," I tell him. "I probably inherited a lot of that. Danny's the same way. Except he doesn't ask enough questions before he goes and does something. He acts on a whim. My parents had to teach him not to do that too much," I laugh, shaking my head.
"And what did they teach you?"
I tilt my head as I ponder. I'm delighted that he's the one questioning me now. It means he really is curious and maybe wants to figure me out, too.
"Well, my dad taught me how to drive. He always told me I had a lead foot and that I need to ease up on the gas."
"He was right," Jason notes in a humored tone.
"But I'm going the speed limit! Going too slow is just as bad as going too fast! I don't wanna get stopped by a cop again - "
"Baby girl, you gotta calm down. Seriously. I'm just messing with you. You're doing fine." I see him roll his eyes and grin. He's holding back a laugh.
I pout both at myself and him. Sure, driving is working off my nerves - but his sarcasm is aggravating and never ends. I like it, though. I like him.
"My mom taught me how to cook," I mention casually, returning to his question.
"You can cook?" He raises his eyebrows at me.
I giggle. "Of course I can. If I didn't Danny and I would eat Chinese takeout or pizza every night, 'cause he sure as hell can't. Why are you so surprised?"
"I'm not. I'm glad. If you cook for me there's a pretty good chance I'll keep you," Jason promises.
He'll keep me? Does that mean he wants me otherwise? I don't know why I still get puzzled and shocked when he says stuff like this. He cares for and likes me, as I do him. The electricity between us even across a room, the sensual tension when we're alone, the effortless conversations and good moods we have with each other - I haven't been imagining those things.
I glance over at Jason. His lips are curved into a smirk of appreciation, and he drags his honey-eyed gaze over my body, tilting his head like he's wondering if there's more of me than what's he's seeing.
Oh, there's plenty of me left to see - and I choose to show it to him and him only. That's how close and attracted I feel to Jason McCann right now. So I look him up and down too, quickly taking in his soft styled hair, his adorably thick eyebrows, his perfect jawline, his artistic sleeve of tattoos, the way his skinnies sag and fit just right, even the freshness of his sneaks. This boy likes me? What a compliment.
"If you like what I cook you then there's a pretty good chance I'll stay," I promise back, returning my attention to the road ahead - but not before seeing the grin that spreads across Jason's face.
When I finally pull up to the townhouse it's one thirty a.m. and pitch black. Clouds drift overhead, blocking out patches of the sky. Jason walks me up to my front door and when he glances at his watch, he whistles.
"One o'clock is your curfew, isn't it?" he says, running a hand through his hair. If he's trying to fix it he fails, because it ends up looking kind of messy and cute. "If Danny's mad you can tell him it's my fault."
I shrug. "Actually, I'm eighteen, so technically I don't have a curfew. I just do it out of respect. And so Danny doesn't have a heart attack."
Jason pouts - like, actually pouts. There he goes with that evil spell of his: a precious angel one minute, a sex god the next, sometimes a wicked devil in between. What heavenly hell did he come from? Can he take me there?
"Lucky you," he mutters. "I'll be eighteen in March. Which means that when I get home my dad's gonna chew me out for being an hour late."
"I'm older than you? How cute."
He grimaces, embarrassed. Oh my God, I want to pinch his cheeks and ruffle his hair and hug him around the waist. "Cute? I'm not cute. You're cute. You're adorable, actually. But I'm... dangerous. Reckless. Destructive," he points out, like he's reading off a list of his offenses.
I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. Maybe I bruised his ego a bit when I called him cute. But it's true! Then again, I feel kind of childish and naïve now that he called me adorable.
"You should know by now that that doesn't scare me off," I justify.
He looks at me sort of helplessly before a smirk forms on his mouth and he shakes his head. His eyes search my face. "Did you get scared tonight?"
"No," I reply, fairly certain. "It was just a little anxiety and shock, that's all."
"You sure? I don't want you to have nightmares of shipments and police sirens."
"The only thing I'm gonna have nightmares about is that awful seizure music in the warehouse. And that officer's mustache. He looked like Hitler."
Jason laughs and puts his hands in his pockets. I wrap my arms around myself again, gripping my elbows. We're having one of those awkward moments when we don't know what to do with our hands. Oh my gosh. This is a first. And so typical of a new couple.
"I had fun tonight," I say, looking at him and smiling. "Thank you."
His eyes gleam. "You're thanking me for having fun?"
"No, for taking me out. Getting us out of trouble with the cop. Letting me drive your car."
"Oh, that?" He shrugs like it's nothing, and then smirks at me. "You're welcome. It was fun for me too."
Suddenly recalling all that he's told me today - about his past, about his depression, about his dad - I step forward and hug him around the waist, squeezing. Mm, he smells nice. He hesitates for a moment like he's unsure, before wrapping his arms around my torso and hugging me back.
"Be careful," I tell him when we pull away, glancing around at the dark night.
He nods. "I'll call you when I get home, baby girl."
"Call me when you're getting ready to go to sleep."
A smile plays at the corner of his lips. "Aight. Later, TK."
"Later."
Inside I find Danny asleep on the couch with the TV bright and on low volume. I'm not surprised; he always does this, especially on the weekend. I close the door quietly, creeping past him undetected. But as soon as the bottom stair creaks under my foot, I hear him stir.
I freeze in my tracks and wait until he rolls over and goes back to sleep. It's not like I'm going to get in trouble for coming in so late, but like I told Jason - I do it out of respect. As long as I don't wake Danny up or disturb him then I can keep my freedom and his trust.
After taking my makeup off (I look more like a raccoon without my eyeliner, thanks to the dark circles of fatigue under my eyes) I take a shower with Jason's chain on - I'm never taking this off. I also make sure I don't get my hair wet. It feels a little strange changing up my routine. This would be the time I'd be taking my nightly dose of Adderall, if I had anymore left. And I would be finding something to keep me occupied (homework, TV, a book, my laptop) instead of laying on my bed and getting comfortable.
Last week I moved the picture of my parents that was on my dresser to my bedside table, and I look at them now as I wait for Jason to call. They're patient, smiling, and warm in the photo like they were when I wanted to talk. So I do.
"I miss you guys," I whisper, resting my cheek on my favorite pillow. "I know you're probably checking up on Danny and me anyway, but I have so much to tell you. We're doing pretty good. Danny's working hard at the hospital. If he keeps it up they'll help him pay for med school while he's still working there, like a kind of internship. He didn't wanna take it because he didn't want to get too busy for me, but I told him he was crazy to refuse it!" I laugh a little to myself. "He just wants to keep an eye on me. I'm okay, really. School's good. I feel good about midterms. I'm starting my college apps soon. And I made some friends at my new school." I pause. "Don't get mad, Dad, but I think I might have a boyfriend. I hope. Because I really like him. And Mom, he's not like other boys I've met. Remember when you said a boy should make you feel better about yourself than you already do? That's how he makes me feel."
My phone rings then. I answer it and lay it over my ear, not moving from my comfortable position.
"Hey," I murmur.
"Hey," Jason replies in a husky voice. Whoa, is he falling asleep already? It's hot.
"Are you falling asleep already?" I wonder.
"No. But I'm gonna make sure you do tonight. And for the rest of the week. You definitely need it."
I sigh. "I'll try. But what's so different about the next few days? I've gone this far without sleep," I point out.
"You need it for midterms. The party. Your health," he offers.
"Tell me about the party."
"It's a black light party. José locked down the loft for us. There's gonna be neon paint, everyone's wearing all white, Khalil's deejaying. It'll be fun. Which means you need rest."
"Okay, okay. What do you suggest then, Jason?"
"First of all, you need to try stuff that helps you fall asleep. Are all your lights off?"
"Uh..." I reach over and turn off my small lamp. "Now they are."
"Are you comfortable? Not too hot or cold? What are you wearing?"
I press my lips together to suppress my laughter. "This sounds like phone sex."
"Yeah. All you're missing is some music," Jason says naughtily.
My heart hammers in my chest, and I swallow hard. "But - but I'm talking to you," I stammer.
"It helps though, right?"
I think back to the first time I took a nap in his car - that classical music he was playing was no accident.
"Yes, it does," I admit.
Jason yawns. "Have you tried a wave machine?"
I laugh out loud. "A wave machine? No. That'd drive me crazy."
"What about candles?"
"Leaving them lit all night? That's a fire hazard."
He snickers. "I give up, TK. Just close your eyes and relax. And listen to my voice until you fall asleep. We're doing this the old-fashioned way."
It's not like I have any other choice, so I follow his directions again. I hug my pillow and let my eyelids fall shut, keeping my phone on my ear. The sleep comes unexpectedly and more easily than I thought it would. Maybe it's because I'm truly tired, and the last of my Adderall is finally burning off, and I feel secure knowing that Jason is on the other end of the phone.
I ask him to talk to me about something that relaxes him, since he's trying to help me do exactly that. He starts telling me about one of his Ridiculousness skate tricks, and I feel myself smile at his enthusiasm. He likes the sound the wheels of the skateboard make when he sticks a move or shreds on pavement. I ask him why this calms him, and he says it's like reassurance - that his feet are on the ground even if his head is in the clouds.
Bang! When I wake up with a sudden shock, I sit up and glance around my room. It's dark and silent. I look at my phone and see that it's past five a.m. - and my call to Jason is still connected. It's been about three hours since I fell asleep. Wow. New record.
"Jason?" I whisper into my phone. I listen hard and hear him snoring lightly. I smile at how adorable he sounds and lay back down.
"Good night," I murmur, and decide to go back to sleep again. Because even though I think I had a nightmare for a minute there, I don't feel scared.