There's rarely a day Sarah's not on time, but today's one of them. She's jogging up the track to the art house, the oppressive heat already making her sweat as she takes the steps two at a time. The bell has already begun to chime, and if she's not in the door by the last chime, she'll be getting a det from Mrs Ram. She was the kind of teacher who enjoyed catching out the good kids – who naturally believed every student was inherently bad, and disobedient, and that some were just better at hiding it. She would absolutely relish the opportunity to give Sarah a detention.
She's just rounding the corner, about to wrench the door open and proclaim that since the bell is on its last chime, she's technically on time, when someone comes out of nowhere and swings her around by the crook of her elbow.
"Hey- what the-" She begins, before there's a hand on her wrist, pulling her around the corner. She's about to continue protesting when she sees who it is. John B is standing in front of her, a grin on his face. "What the fuck?" She asks, finishing her half-started sentence.
He's pulled them completely out of sight, directly behind the art house wall, which has a thin path running between it and the mountainside that continues on up. It's a crowded space, and if it were anyone else, she'd feel cornered.
"Manhandling me even in broad daylight are we now?" She asks, grinning up at him cheekily.
"Thought I'd branch out." He responds, taking their proximity as an opportunity to run his fingers gently over her forearm – almost subconsciously. It makes her skin prickle.
"Well – branching out is making me late." She says, mustering up an irritated tone, but her eyes betray her, the edges crinkled by her smile.
"I think you might survive, if I'm being honest." He says, and he steps forward, closing what little space there was between them.
"Oh yeah? You sure about that?" Emboldened, she juts her chin up, meeting his eyes, a challenge. His eyes dart over her head just briefly, checking for- someone. Anyone. Any eyes that might be there.
"I'm certain." Is his answer, as he closes the distance entirely. He kisses her gently – and she can't help it as her lips stretch into a smile against his. He slips his arms around her waist, and she lets her fingers track their way up to the collar of his shirt, fingering the hair at the nape of his neck. It's always felt – well. Sarah always feels like there's a glow in her chest that's bubbling up, up, up, whenever he does something like this.
She pulls back slowly, reluctantly, and rests her forehead against his. "Bold move, John B."
He ignores the comment and kisses her again. It's less sweet this time, a little more tongue and teeth, Sarah's arms crisscrossing at the back of his head to pull him impossibly closer.
"I'm still late." She murmurs against his lips, but his mouth swallows the words, which is enough for Sarah – she at least attempted to protest.
It's the sound of the art house door slamming that pulls them away abruptly, and John B swiftly flattens himself against the wall of the building, throwing an arm across Sarah's midriff to push her back too.
She looks at him, eyes wide, slightly panicked. He puts a finger to his lips, but he looks completely at ease, brown eyes meeting hers steadily, unflinching. She can't help but notice the purple bruises under his eyes – she wonders if it's possible that he sleeps even less than she does.
The footsteps fade off into the distance, and Sarah lets out a sigh of relief – nearly every student at Rivers College spends their days holding their breaths, hiding in dark corners and away from prying eyes. It's the only way to not go insane from the strictness of it all; to forcibly take a little bit of autonomy back. And yet – Sarah will never get used to it, to the fear of being caught. John B lives on it though, thrives from it. It makes her feel more alive – just being around him.
"I think we're good." He says quietly, and he relaxes away from the wall. Sarah mimics the action.
"Did you actually want something? Or are you just very, very poor at impulse control?" She asks, teasingly. She reaches up to flick back a strand of his hair that insists on regularly falling across his forehead.
"Both?" John B asks, cheekily. She rolls her eyes at him. "I wanted to tell you to meet me at E unit tonight."
"With the faulty gas line? Is this a murder plot John B?" She's fairly certain the old unit is entirely locked up – otherwise kids would have been sneaking in there all year, but John B has a successful history of keeping her entertained, of pulling off these types of ridiculous stunts.
"Yes." He says deadpan, and then cracks a grin. "Come at one, all the teachers will have finished their rounds by then, okay?"
"I like that even murderers run on schedules. It's comforting." She glances around after she says it, despite them being almost entirely hidden from anyone's view. It's a paranoia thing, invoked by, well – the entire culture of the school. Satisfied they were still alone, she pulls him down for a quick kiss, letting her open palm rest on his cheek for one, two beats. Her heart flutters in protest when she pulls away. "I'll see you then." She murmurs, and then, before John B can pull her back in again – which she has no doubt he'd attempt, she's turning on her heel and rounding the corner, strolling into the art room ten minutes late like nothing even happened. Mrs Ram almost gleefully writes her up for a det. She chalks it up as yet another thing to blame on John B's influence. The list is getting concerningly long.
John B stands there for a little too long after Sarah walked off. He's not sure what to do with her – at all. Never has been sure, truthfully. She's just – there's so much fire in her, and it pulls him in. He can't look away from the smoke.
He thinks of Kiara, last night – early this morning - however it should be classified. Of the absolute panic she was in, eyes wild, shoulders shaking. Her panic had been palpable, and John B had been certain in that moment that they were on the brink of something terrible – that there was a chance – even a slight chance - that Sarah could bring everything crashing down.
But here – he didn't feel that way. Truthfully, he never had. It had been a combination of weed and sleeplessness that had coerced his mind into an odd paranoia. But to think that Sarah - his Sarah - would even be capable of ruining his friends, with himself included? It was ludicrous. Sarah knew how to protect the people she cared about – and god knows, she knew how to keep a secret.
The moment slips into his head, unbidden, as it so often does.
It had been one in the morning, and they had all been running around campus. In the first weeks of school they all had too much energy – it hadn't been beaten out of them, yet. They hadn't been pushed to the brink of physical exhaustion – from runs and hikes and mental duress.
Now, it was a select few, like the Pogues, who still had the energy to fuck around after lights out. In the first few weeks though, it had been mayhem.
The dorm raids had been continuous. JJ had put Pope's bed on top of the unit roof four times in a week – the boys had flipped nearly every single girl out of their bed on one night or another. Four people had been caught out and expelled. All in a matter of weeks.
It had been one of those nights, and they had been on their way to L Unit for a dorm raid – planning to flip the girl's mattresses, and steal their tuck boxes – because they were growing boys and constantly hungry. And constantly nuisances.
He had been running across campus, ducking out of the view of teacher's windows, laughing aloud like they weren't at risk of anything – because they hadn't been, then. God knows they couldn't expel the whole school.
He'd been paused, hidden behind the science blocks, checking for a clear coast when he had seen her. She'd looked – absent. Like she wasn't a part of the world in that moment. Her hair was loose, and it fell across her cheeks where her head was tipped towards the ground. She was perched on a rock, in the cluster of them that ran behind the back of the science blocks. The position was entirely out of sight of anyone, except him.
She'd looked calm, and slightly sad, but the moment had felt so terribly private – like he wasn't supposed to be there, looking at her, at all. Despite that, he didn't look away.
He had to slow his breathing consciously, trying to lessen the noise he was making. But she saw him anyway. She must have heard him – or sensed him. Who knows, really. But all of a sudden, she was looking straight at him, where he was draped in darkness against the wall.
Neither of them had said anything. She'd thrown him a soft, lopsided smile, in a here we are kind of way – it had felt like comradery – like being out, after dark, together, was enough to bind them in some way John B hadn't really understood in the moment.
Of course – like every moment – it had broken. There had been a muffled shout from one of the other boys, one trail over, and John B had stepped away, taken off to join the others, and it was gone.
Two nights later, he'd found himself back there – just to see if she was there again – because maybe, just maybe, she was a creature of habit.
She was. And she had smiled at him, that same soft, amused smile. And that had been enough for him – he'd kept going back. She was always there when he did.
JJ, and Kie, and the rest of them, were all going to be just fine, for the here and now, at least. Sarah would protect what was hers, and everything that entailed, John B was certain of it.
JJ is spread out on his bed when John B steps back into the unit, his head hanging off the side so the blonde ends of his hair are sweeping the floorboards. The upside-down view of John B amuses him, briefly.
"Hey man." He says, swinging up and around until he's sitting like a normal person should on a bed. "Where you been?" They shouldn't, technically, be in the unit, but John B and JJ have never really payed attention to any of those boundaries. They should, technically, be in class. But JJ was already written up for a det tomorrow morning, and the day after that they were hiking, so he wouldn't have to deal with the consequences of skipping until after the weekend. "You missed a terrible science class this morning – we dissected a bull's eye." JJ actually did attend science, because Ms Robinson scared the shit out of him.
"Sounds cool." John B responds, only vaguely engaging.
"It wasn't – we cut into it and it squirted straight into Pope's eye – he had to go to the nurse and have it flushed out." JJ cracks a smile then, remembering Pope yelling like a mad man. "Okay – I lied. It was a brilliant class. Man, it was really fucking funny. You shoulda seen him."
John B lies down on his own bed, hardly responding. His legs and arms are spread as wide as they can be in such a narrow single bed – there's a rumour, with a lot of truth to it, that Rivers has their beds specially made, just narrow enough to be ridiculously difficult to fit two people in – the running joke is you don't need contraception if you have a Rivers College bed – the bed in itself is enough.
And yet – JJ's managed to fit girls in his bed, as have most of the boys, under the covers after lights out. They're all aware how gross that is, realistically. But they're young, and they're at the equivalent of military camp where the most privacy you can get is the thin veiling of a duvet – and they take what they can get. A narrow bed can only prevent so much.
"Yo, dude – are you right?" He asks, when he gets no response to his Pope anecdote. Leaning over the end of the bed to get a look at John B's face, he watches as John B's head dips forward and up again willing himself to stay awake. "Bro – what's going on?" JJ asks again, unsure whether to just let him go to sleep instead of annoying him. He opts for annoying him. "Why are you so tired?"
John B looks at him, eyes loosely focused. "Um – because we were up until four thirty in the morning. And I didn't sleep until five – I feel like that just about covers it." John B responds, his voice heavy with sarcasm.
JJ nods, understandingly. He had taken a nap during morning chapel, out of sight in the back pew. "Yeah that checks out man – but, why didn't you get to sleep until five? I was knocked out by like four thirty." It had been a weird, lonely walk back to the unit without John B and Pope last night, after he'd left them at their tent.
"Kie came to see me." John B explains, stretching slightly and slipping further down his bed, until he's stretched flat.
JJ's chest gets a little tight – a little heavy. "Kie- Kie came to see you?" He asks confused. His voice comes off a little tight – a little too rigid for his usual self. John B seems too tired to notice though.
"Yeah- after we'd dropped her off, she came back up to my tent." John B has slipped into absent minded conversation, his eyes fully shut as he continues to talk.
"What did she- um. What did she want, like?" JJ knows John B isn't looking at him – doesn't even have his eyes open, but he can't help giving his shoulders a shrug – schooling his features into an I don't really care though expression. Because – he doesn't care. Kie has the right to – well. Kie has every right to be whoever she wants and be with whoever she wants. It's all her call. JJ has absolutely no say in the matter, and realistically shouldn't have an opinion. He knows that.
Nevertheless, the thought of Kiara, in a tent with John B, makes him suppress a shudder. As much as he knows – knows that Kiara would be better off with John B, his mind can't shift his instinct, which is that Kie with anyone would be so, so wrong. JJ doesn't delve too far into that feeling.
"She was freaking out man – all tense about Sarah Cameron, and trying to protect you, and then I spent the morning attempting to- uh, reason with Sarah – which, let me tell you, she is not an easy girl to like, reason with." John B rambles along, prompting a frown to fall on JJ's face.
"Trying to protect me?"
"Yeah – from Sarah. Because Sarah knew it was you in the dorm – and Kie thought she was going to tell and she was terrified you'd get expelled and have to – well. I mean, she was worried you'd be sent home." John B never was very good at tactical language, of saying the thing without saying it. Not like JJ. JJ learnt the importance of language so early on – they say it's a side effect of an abusive parent – kids develop nearly overly sensitive social skills – able to pinpoint the shift in a tone of voice, in an expression. It's always allowed JJ to read people like an open book, and to talk with a scary level of ease, even in the toughest of circumstances. He's not proud of it, or thankful for it. But it's how he is.
It doesn't stop him saying stupid shit regularly, sadly. But it does stop him being caught off guard when someone becomes angered, or upset, with seemingly no warning. JJ's always been able to spot the warnings.
"Oh." JJ responds, slightly delayed. They both know exactly what John B's not saying. That the cost of JJ being sent home would be so much more than the rest of them – that his dad would flip his shit. And JJ would have to deal with the consequences. JJ brushed the thought aside – if he didn't think about it, it wouldn't happen. "Well, thanks. For um- for dealing with Sarah. And Kie, I guess."
John B just nods, eyes still closed. JJ watches as John B's breath steadies out, chest rising and falling softly. His hands slowly uncurl out of the loose fists he had them in. JJ wants to ask more – to ask why Kie would go to John B for help – and not Pope. Or him. But JJ lets him sleep – god knows none of them get enough of it.
Pope's making his way past the library, on the way back from the nurse, who assured him four times that he couldn't get mad cow disease from a bull's eye juice (a phrase Pope desperately wished he hadn't heard used quite so many times today) when he catches sight of the freshly posted det list. The bright yellow paper rarely doesn't have at least one of the Pogues' names, so Pope has taken it upon himself to check it each day. He has assumed full responsibility for ensuring all of the Pogues show up for their dets – partially to attempt to salvage what's left of their academic transcripts, partially to prevent any of them incurring more for missing them.
He's entirely unsurprised by the appearance of all of their names on the det board – they had, after all, collectively skipped third and fourth period yesterday. God – yesterday feels a million years ago – as does the last time Pope slept.
If it weren't for the idiocy of his friends, he would be well rested with a perfect transcript – but sadly someone has to follow after them, and at least attempt to be the voice of reason. It's a hard job, and not everyone can do it. He's considering resigning, one of these days.
Sighing at the knowledge that he will once again be losing hours of sleep, in order to get up at 5.45am for his det, he's about to walk off when Sarah Cameron's name catches his eye on the list. What could the Kook Princess have done to get a detention? Pope is fairly certain she's able to talk her way out of anything – she'd been suspended once, to his knowledge, but other than that – the majority of the teachers here don't tend to like to dole punishments out to the prestigious names unless they don't have a choice.
Brushing the thoughts aside, he heads back up the trail to his unit, to inform the boys of the bad news. The one thing Pope didn't mind about dets – or any of the punishments they received, really, was that they tended to receive them together. And as long as it was all the Pogues – it was quite enjoyable. And, as a loop hole none of the teachers had really figured out just yet – it meant the boys actually got designated time to spend with Kiara, where they weren't hiding on chapel roofs or in abandoned units to avoid being caught. Being with Kiara – relaxed, in open spaces. It was some kind of comforting – so Pope couldn't really complain about the early mornings, or the sleepless nights of mischief with the Pogues.
But not tonight; there would be no night time shenanigans if they all have to be up by quarter to six tomorrow, that's for sure.
A/N: Ahhhh and there you go.
Spoiler alert: Night time shenanigans ensue despite the dets. Poor logical Pope will never understand his hooligan friends.
But there we go - as promised, as teased, as dangled like a carrot to encourage kudos and comments; I give you Jarah B. I love them.
Votes, comments etc are my lifeline. If you would like to further ensure the continuation of this fic, that's probs the best place to start.
My deepest apologies for the delay on posting this chapter - sometimes life runs with you, sometimes it runs away from you. Currently it is running away from me and I am attempting to catch up.
Lots of love,
L xx