Infinite (Strange and Beautiful, Book 1) (10 page)

Hearing
Maggie’s story made me worry for my sister, and, not for the first time, I
wished that our parents would catch her coming home drunk some night. I
wouldn’t have to face her wrath if I ever had to rat her out, and maybe she’d
finally stop.

Maggie
ended her story with how she went to a rehabilitation center to get sobered up.
The baby was, thankfully, healthy and free of any birth defects the doctors had
worried about. She missed her high school graduation but was able to get her
GED. She was now in her last year of college and planned to be a social worker,
and she spoke at schools to warn people against making the same mistakes she
had because “things could have turned out much differently” if she hadn’t made
it to the hospital when she did.

Even
though her speech wasn’t the bore fest like many others, she had to end with
the usual spiel. “If you know someone who is using drugs and is in need of
help, please trying talking to them, or if you already have and need
assistance, please talk to an adult. Your parents, his or her parents or the
school counselor. I know that no one wants to be a nark, but speaking up could
save a life. Wouldn’t you rather have a friend that’s angry and alive than no
friend at all?”

As
heartfelt as her words seemed, my mind made the snide remark that I’d need a
map just to find the counselor’s office. Of course, that was assuming the map
would actually help, so directionally challenged was I. Sadly, there were still
times when I found myself lost in the labyrinth of hallways.

Once
we were dismissed, everyone headed for his or her locker. We only had about
five minutes before the final bell rang, so no one was in a huge hurry. Tegan
and I waded through the crowd and said goodbye at my locker. She had horseback
riding lessons after school. She’d invited me to come along, but I still had to
work on my review for the newspaper. Class had been a total waste due to my
distraction at Mark Moses’ destruction, so I thought I’d better stay home and
get to work on it before Annabelle changed her mind and revoked her offer and
reassigned the article to someone else.

I
threw my schoolbooks into my bag carelessly. I was certain teachers had no
comprehension of just how much those things weighed. Maybe one or two of them
wouldn’t be so bad, but together it felt as if my bag weighed at least twenty
pounds. For someone Luke’s size, that wouldn’t be too bad, but I was sure I was
going to have serious back problems as an adult. I hoped my future husband had
good health insurance, but, according to Dad, that was hard to come by.

Before
I shut my locker door, I glanced at myself in the mirror that Tegan insisted I
have even if only it was just for her benefit. I had avoided my reflection before
going to the assembly, but I checked now to see if it was still obvious I’d
spent a solid twenty minutes crying in the restroom during lunch. My eyes were
still just a little puffy and red, but my skin, at least, wasn’t blotchy, and
my nose wasn’t red and runny.

This
was one occasion in which I hoped Skylar wouldn’t notice anything odd. I didn’t
feel like explaining, but that, of course, would mean she’d care, and I doubted
she would. She’d probably say something like, “It’s just a stupid
Harry Potter
book anyway. Don’t be a baby.”

After
all, Skylar seemed to have absolutely no regard for literature. If it had been
a Green Day CD, I’d probably be able to win her sympathy.

As
I was about to shut my locker door, I paused, catching the reflection of a tall,
thin very delicious looking boy. I closed my locker and spun around, nearly
jumping out of my skin because Jackson was standing right behind me. Talk about
objects in the mirror being closer than they appeared.

“Hi,”
he smiled. I’d wondered since that first meeting if it all had just been a
fluke, but his smile was definitely still breathtaking.

“Hi,”
I replied. I wondered what he was doing in my hallway, but before I could open
my mouth to ask, or say something incredibly embarrassing, he spoke up.

“I
remembered talking to you about these,” he said, holding up a book in each
hand. I looked at the cover, reading the title, of the book in his left hand.
It was
Looking For Alaska
by John Green. In his right, he held
An
Abundance of Katherines
, also by John Green.  He stacked them one on top of
the other and held them out for me to take. When I didn’t immediately reach for
them, he said, “I said you could borrow them.”

“Oh,”
I smiled. I remembered the conversation clearly. I just hadn’t expected him to
follow through. Pleased that he seemed to be sincere, I took the books.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“No
problem,” he shrugged. “Just be careful. My sister got them for me for my
birthday,
Alaska
last year and
Katherines
this year.”

“Oh,
right,” I nodded. I held the books to my chest, and I knew without a doubt I’d
guard them with my life. There was no way Mark Moses—or anyone else for that
matter—was getting his hands on these books. They’d have to kill me first. Of
course, the thought Mark Moses might actually try to kill me, did cross my
mind, but for Mr.
Extremely-Deliciously-Kissable-Lips-Jackson-Whatever-His-Last-Name-Was, I was
willing to go that far. “When was your birthday?” I asked as an afterthought,
and also to keep myself from staring at his mouth like a lunatic.

“My
birthday was actually last Saturday, but my sister gave me
Katherines
early,”
he explained.

“Oh,
happy belated birthday.” For a moment I wished I’d known, so I could have
gotten him something, but then I realized that probably would have been weird
since I really didn’t know him very well.

“Thanks,”
Jackson shrugged and smiled somewhat bashfully, as if talking about his
birthday made him shy.

I
didn’t want to make him uncomfortable because I didn’t want him to go away, so
I said the first thing that popped into my mind. “My birthday is Friday.”

“Cool,”
he grinned, and since I was so close up I noticed that his front bottom teeth
were just a little bit crooked while the top ones appeared perfectly straight.
I was wondering if he used to have braces as he asked, “How old? Sixteen?”

I
wanted to crawl into a hole and die as I corrected him. “Fifteen, actually.”

“Ah.”
His dark brows furrowed and he combed a hand absently through his already messy
hair. When his hand came away, his blue-black hair stood up, seemingly defying
gravity, for a moment before it flopped back down.

“It’s
not nearly as exciting as sixteen, I know, but I get to take driver’s education
next summer.”

“Well,
that’s something to look forward to,” he nodded.

“That’s
what I keep telling myself,” I smiled. Then I glanced at his pale yellow
t-shirt and noticed that there were five jars that each had the word ‘mayo’
across the center of each. It took me a moment, but then it clicked—Cinco de
Mayo. I laughed a little, and then I glanced back up at Jackson’s face to see
him frowning slightly, clearly confused. “Sorry.” I blushed, looking away and
motioning to his shirt as I explained, “I just got the joke.”

I
kind of wanted to bang my head against the lockers, but then Jackson just
shrugged and said, “It’s cool.”

He
looked amused, but as far as I could tell, he didn’t think I was a complete
idiot. God bless his kind soul. He deserved an award. Every time I had an
encounter with him, I’d managed to say something stupid, yet he hadn’t made fun
of me. I silently wished he would be my future husband.

“So,
did you have a good birthday?” I finally asked, hoping to avert his attention
away from my moment of stupidity.

“Yeah,
it was pretty good. Seventeen’s not as exciting as sixteen was,” he teased, not
unkindly, “but at least there’s next year.”

“Yeah,
it’s another milestone,” I smiled. “Then it’s not exciting again until
twenty-one, I’m sure.”

“Probably
so. Then after that you’re just old and don’t want to have anymore birthdays.”

“Really,
you think? After twenty-one?” I couldn’t ever imagine a time when I wouldn’t
want to have a birthday. My family didn’t have big parties like we used to, but
I still thought it was fun to open presents. Besides, how could cake and ice
cream ever not be exciting?

“That’s
what my oldest brother claims anyway,” Jackson shrugged. “He’s only
twenty-four, but I’m pretty sure he’s going through a quarter life crisis or
something.”

“You
think he’s going to live until he’s . . .” I took a moment to calculate, “ninety-six?”

Jackson
considered a moment. “Yeah, maybe. Our great-grandparents lived until they were
in their nineties.” He pursed his lips, as if to mock me with their
kissableness. “I probably won’t live that long, being a smoker and all.”

“You
really need to get on that,” I said in the most serious tone I could muster,
thinking of the motivational speaker. “Do I need to go see the guidance
counselor about you? I’m worried, Jackson. This could just be the beginning of
a journey down a dark, dark path.”

“Well,
I’ve haven’t stepped up to sleeping with people so they’ll buy me cigarettes,
so I think we can hold off on that,” he winked—yes, actually winked—as the bell
rang.

I
couldn’t help but grin as a thrill went through me. I couldn’t believe he was
actually going along with my silly banter, as if we were really friends and
hadn’t only spoken a couple of brief times.

“Okay,
but if you start propositioning me for money for nicotine, I’m going to the
guidance counselor,” I warned, resuming the serious tone.

“Dully
noted. You have my full support on that decision,” he said, cracking a smile.
“So, are you going out to the parking lot?”

I
nodded, trying to hide my disappointment that our conversation was coming to a
close. To my surprise he said, “Cool, I’ll walk with you if you don’t mind.”

Yeah,
right. Like I’d actually have a problem with that? I kept my cool and smiled
the least maniacal smile I could manage as I said simply, “Sure.”

My
inner fan girl was squealing like those crazy girls they always showed at ‘NSYNC
or Backstreet Boys appearances. It might have been ridiculous, but Jackson
really was that hot. Also, I noticed he smelled really good—like soap, boy,
Pantene shampoo and a hint of cologne. I could only assume he wasn’t taking a
gym class this semester, or he was more conscientious about deodorant than Luke
and all of his friends.

I
couldn’t shake my surprise that Jackson didn’t mind being seen with me. After
all, my own siblings wouldn’t even admit to being related to me. Of course, my
opinion of Jackson was that he was way cooler than Skylar and Luke put
together. The fact he didn’t seem to care what people would think of him for
walking around with a spastic freshman like myself was only a small part of his
cool factor. He also read—actual books, not just comics like so many other
guys—and he was incredibly nice. Oh, yeah, and gorgeous.

“How
old is your sister?” I asked curiously as we followed the crowd migrating
toward the exits.

Jackson
seemed a little surprised by the question. “Which one?”

“You
have more than one?”

“I
have two,” he replied.

“And
a brother as well?”

“Two
brothers, actually,” Jackson corrected.

“Wow,
five kids,” I murmured before remembering my original question. “I was asking
about the sister that bought you the books, but you can tell me how old the
other one and your brothers are too if you want. You know, so they won’t feel
ignored.”

“They’d
be so pleased to know you were thinking of them,” Jackson laughed. “Clare is
the one who bought me the book, and she’s fifteen. My other sister, Chloe, is
five. As for my brothers, Eric—the one going through the quarter life crisis—is
twenty-four, and Jordan is twenty.”

“Wow,
so you’re the middle child, huh?”

“I
am,” he nodded, “which gives me a license to misbehave and blame it on being
ignored.”

“Is
that so?”

“Nah.”
Jackson shook his head. “Well, maybe it was kind of true when I was younger.
Now I’m the oldest kid in the house. Makes a difference.”

I
considered that a moment, wondering if things would be different once Skylar
and Luke moved out of the house, but I wasn’t sure it would be the same for us
since I was the youngest and would be the only child left at home.

Then
I realized that Jackson’s sister was my age. I wondered if I knew her. Also, it
might help me figure out Jackson’s last name. “Does Clare go to school here?”

“Oh,
no,” Jackson shook his head, “she goes to a private Christian school.”

“Why?”
I wondered aloud, unable to curb my curiosity. Then, trying to sound less
curious, I teased, “It’s so she won’t end up a smoker like you, right?”

That
earned me the wonderful sound of Jackson’s melodic laugh. “Oh, yeah, that’s
exactly it,” he grinned.

Then
he sighed, “No, really, she used to go to public school in elementary, but her
best friend started private school in middle school, and she wanted to go where
her friend was. It was kind of this big thing, but Clare argued her case,
signed up for some scholarships and stuff, and in the end our parents let her
go there instead.”

“Your
parents sounds pretty cool,” I commented, thinking of my own parents who
probably would have shut the idea down without giving me—or my siblings—a
chance to state our case.

“I
guess. I could have gotten worse.”

I
realized I probably could have too. As far as parents went, mine could sort of
be sticks in the mud, but they were good people.

“And,
apparently, your parents like kids,” I commented.

“You
think so?” Jackson grinned. “I think my mom was just looking for more little
dishwashers.”