The only reason I'm to school after the weekend is for one purpose only.
Jodie.
Truthfully I'm fascinated by the idea of her and not enough by her. For instance, she's not even here but she's leading me on. Her lips, her eyes, her nose embroidered onto my brain. And her name cut into my arm.
I look down at it.
The scars have barely healed. Still such a frightening shade of red as the day I drove myself to put a knife so deep into my flesh. I wince as I remember the pain.
She looks so timid like a mouse so I don't want to scare her away. My one desire is to kiss her neck as I've thought about all weekend. I can teach her to be confident. Everyone is confident when they're in love.
I can feel my classmate's eyes on me as I walk down the halls. To the beat of each step, another student raises their head to get a good look at the guy that threatened Kyle, the quarterback. Anyone who was rumoured to do such a thing is obviously mad. That's why I've made front page-level gossip.
"Tate! You little shit!" I turn to see Michael, a couple of others and an angry Kyle calling my name.
I'm short compared to these 6-foot athletes. Just them raising their voice would startle me but instead, they look smugly at each other.
"What?" I reply. I wasn't up for doing this charade again.
"Your nose looks broken, from where I punched you in the face!"
This is the peak of all humour according to his friends. They laugh so violently in my face but I still wasn't getting the joke.
The halls of the school anticipate my next move. I cannot punch here so my hands lay firmly by my side. Physical violence isn't really my scene anyway.
Kyle grins at me. His eyes are wide like a madman and his mouth is stretched like the Cheshire cat. Why do I fascinate him so much?
"God, do something Langdon! Your such a fucking bore."
In that split second the bell rings signifying the first lesson of the day. Right before we get washed away by the sea of students, I stamp on his foot and once again make my getaway. This is all way too familiar.
I push past students, propelling myself forward. Without turning my head, I can feel the eyes of many irritated jocks following me down the halls. I race them so far I lose track of where I want to go. The crowds won't shield me so I stumble through the school doors into the outdoor seating area. As I scan the area for an exit I come to the conclusion that I've been caught in my very own mousetrap.
I let out a shaky breath. I'm going to be feeling the full force of a pack of furious jocks any second now.
Impatiently, my eyes flicker towards the doorway. Nothing pounces out at me so my breathing slowly steadies. I would suppose they didn't even bother to follow me. My fists unclench like I'm withdrawing my weapons.
So there I stand outside the school, with no intention of going back. For what feels like the first time in years I take a look at the sky. It's blue. What a surprise in LA. However, what really captivates is that I can spot the moon. It's so adamant not to disappear even though it's working on the sun's shift.
My ears prickle when I hear a sudden shuffle.
"Oh fuck!" whimpers a foreign voice. My eyes dart across the tables and there she lays behind one of the tables like a wounded deer. It's my Jodie. Her face is saddened by something that is troubling her terribly. She reminds me of those women in the paintings that never smile but you can never figure out what is the root of their sorrow. A modern-day Mona Lisa.
My feet work faster than my head and like a clockwork robot, I move towards her. To once again stare open-mouthed at her face.
She looks up at me inquisitively, batting away what might've been tears at the first scent of me. Then she holds up her cigarette lighter and rolls her eyes.
"I burnt myself trying to light a cigarette," she says with a slight tone of humour in her voice. She raises her wounded hand to show me.
I sit myself down behind the table, next to her and out of immediate view from anyone. I enjoy how her ruffled dress is sprawled around her in such a clumsy way as she sits like a doll with her back to the table's seats.
"I can light it for you" I offer.
Jodie smiles through her painted eyes. She slides the lighter across the concrete so our hands remain untouched. Like magic, she reaches into one of the many folds of her creased dress and reaches for her cigarette box. I study the way her tongue balances on her bottom lip, while she makes her crucial decision of which cigarette in the box to light.
To put it bluntly, the way her fingers trace the cigarette tips up and down is provocative and I'm tempted to ask her why she chose the cigarette that slides slyly between her fingers. Although I wouldn't dare to show my interest.
"Will you light it?"
Her lips part slightly.
"Yes, I will."
My voice is calm and steady to my delight and without a moment's hesitation, I switch on her lighter.
Have mercy on me, Jodie. Her rhythm as she slithers her upper body down like a snake to my outstretched and awaiting hand will play forever in my mind. It's not a figment of my imagination I swear but our eyes are fixated on each other and our minds listening to one another. A chain that must never be broken.
I count the colours that pass through her eyes. 4 shades of Violet, green, blue and silver blend together and after what seemed like a minute inside a second she pulls away from me. Jodie breathes the cigarette smoke, in the same way, I'm inhaling her. With a rabid excitement.
I go without a simple thank you which I don't particularly mind. Her enjoyment is more rewarding.
"What's your name? I was wondering" she asks the exact second the smoke is parting from her open mouth.
"Tate Langdon. Yours?"
I've thought about her answer many times. I've also seen it covered in blood.
"Jodie Conley," she replies as she invites me to shake her hand. I take it with a grin.
"What are you doing skipping lessons Jodie?" I say it in a fake patronizing tone.
"I've not missed a lot. Only a few lessons. But no one cares because it's Geography" she lets out with a sigh.
Innocently, she tilts her head to the side like she's about to ask a question.
"You can't talk anyway. Why aren't you in class, Tate?" she laughs.
"I'm not putting up with school bullshit anymore. It's so tiring."
I peer over at her nodding head.
"Do you agree?" I question. The more questions, the more I get to hear her speak is my theory.
"Yes, of course! That's smart and my thoughts exactly. It seems that the only way to have a good high school experience is to be a cheerleader or dating a jock. My chances are already screwed so your right. Why should I have to put up with this charade any longer."
She speaks like the feminist's Larry drools over on the Television. Wiseley and clearly. I couldn't put it any better myself.
"Exactly! I've been fucked up since the second I left my mom. Then my dad left me with a cocksucker and now she's on to her 5th boyfriend. You can blame the person but when it comes down to it, it's because of the life you were given."
She looks back at me intrigued.
Did I just find out she's a die-hard for conversations like these. I'm sure of it. The way her lips purse together with a smirk is my green light. What I've been yearning for ever since her sudden arrival into my life. I wish Jodie knew that it's not a sin to smile though.
Then at once, she lights out her cigarette, so briskly that this time I don't get the chance to take in all its glory. The structure turns to ashes all in one breath.
"I guess we both grew up on the wrong side of the American dream," she says with finally no resistance between us.