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All created stories have to follow . We do not allow any sexually related material. The Doll Palace will be enforcing this rule and completely blocking access to the accounts that disregard our policy and create sexually oriented stories.
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Hi, my name is Jackson
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 | Blackened Eyes and Phony Smiles [01] |
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 5 with 3 vote(s)
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| Created: 2009-09-26 21:15:11 |
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- Another Puddle of Mudd song. Can't remember the song, however. I'm rushing this series, to see if I 'can' finish something. So its not very well revised, or written, so there's probably a dozen typos.
- Adelaide Hopkins, her view.
“Well, this is not for real, afraid to feel.”
“I have no idea what you're suggesting, Clara, but I'm sure as hell I won't like it.” I declared, crossing my arms over my chest as I turned on my heel, surveying my friend's face as she waited in the canteen line, positioned behind me and slightly to my right. Clarabelle Hues rolled her eyes and circled a finger behind her ear as I turned back around, facing the front of the line. A person at the canteen counter moved aside, heading of to enjoy his recess half-hour, and I skipped forward. After four years of high school, the canteen staff knew me well. Everyday, it was the same. A large chocolate milk. Sometimes, I'd order a double chocolate chocolate-chip cookie, or an iced coffee. Today, it was a chocolate milk. I didn't want anything else. I'd, for once, had breakfast. And I could still taste said breakfast. “Jackson's a sweet guy. We're friends. Kind of. Nothing more. Thanks,” I grinned as I accepted my change, and my beverage, and moved aside to wait for Clara. “So you can shut up about him. Please.”
“Wait, no, don't tell me.” Clara mumbled gruffly after ordering – today, it was nachos and a bag of sea-salt original chips, with, of course, her trademark small strong iced coffee – and glanced over at me. “You like what's-his-face. You know, that guy, who started just this year. He's in grade nine, with Minny and Debs. Ergh, what was his name?”
“Seth,” I offered, laughing as she accepted her recess from a plastic-cap wearing member of canteen staff. With her food tucked awkwardly in both chubby hands, Clara followed me toward the steps leading down, onto the grass, where we often sat when it hadn't been raining. Today, I was in luck. The ground was dry after a couple of rainless days and with the sun finally poking through the offending stormy-clouds of this morning, we could bask in the sun until class started, in twenty-five or so minutes. “And, just so you know, I'm not interested in him. Or anyone, for that matter, but if you must insist on thinking I like Jackson, for whatever perverted reason that obviously keeps you warm at night, I do think he's cute. I mean, not in an outstanding kind of way, but in a sweet, honest way. He's reliable. He's nice. He's a heck of a lot better than that last guy you dated. What was his name? Ty, Tyrone, Tim, Tam?”
“You just had to add that, didn't you? That whole Tim-Tam thing.” Clara laughed, combing her hands through her short, pixie-cut, Alice Cullen styled ruby locks. I couldn't understand her in the slightest sometimes. Clara was a die-hard Twilight fan, for whatever reason, and sometimes that alone drove me mad. She was also insane. In a good way, I suppose, but insane nonetheless. “So, what's on the agenda tonight? I heard I was staying at yours, seeing as my mother isn't home tonight. Another night shift. Does your dad mind? I mean, I basically live at your house, and all.”
“My dad loves you,” Clara answered, rolling her eyes. “He thinks you're the best of my friends that he's ever met. Little does he know...” She giggled, for we both knew it was true. I was Clara's voice of reason, her intelligence, some would say. If I went away for a week or two, or missed even a day of school, something stupid would happen to her. Clara was terribly untrustworthy when left alone. Although, you could probably trust her not to burn down the house. “And yeah, he's cool with it. I told him before I left this morning. He's renting us the Saw set, so we can watch 'em all night. I promise I won't hide under the bed this time, either.”
“You know, there's no point conning your dad into renting us horror movies if you can't stomach them.” I laughed, picturing the last sleep-over we'd had. Clara had sent a box of popcorn we'd cooked, which took about four bags, flying in her haste to dive under the bed and away from Freddy Krueger. She seemed to think that, after killing the blonde girl in the third Nightmare on Elm Street, he was going to drag her into the television screen, too. “We should watch them backwards first, and then in the right order. Or maybe in the right order, and then just repeat the second on. Number two really is the best.”
“You're sick, Adelaide Hopkins. A sick and twisted, demented and horrible, tortureous bestfriend.”
“That's why you love me, Clara.”
xxxx
Jackson Tate wasn't supposed to be in here. This was the one class I ever had without him, and he'd completely and effortlessly ruined it. Perhaps he did it purposely. I frowned loosely at that thought, shaking my head. Jackson, however odd at times, was not out to ruin my life. Or my art class. And besides, he'd probably disliked one of his other classes and swapped. It seemed a much more plausible, and much less paranoid, reason for him to be here. It wasn't that I didn't like him, because I did, but after Clara trying to convince me to date him, the last thing I wanted to face was him, in the flesh. Even if he didn look terrible, and in need of a friend. I chewed at my lip as I watched him a moment longer before shoving my artbooks away from the space beside me, calling out to him.
He wasn't a terribly bad looking boy. In fact, I had to admit, he was rather cute, in an odd and awkward sort of way. Jackson was tall, tall and gangly, with gave him an awkward appearance. Although he was thin, he was rather muscular, with made up for everything else that flawed him. His skin was beautifully tanned, his eyes the colour of freshly mown green grass. His hair, however, was the most amazing shade of honey-gold that I'd ever seen. It wasn't really blonde, or brown, but a mixture of the two. A sort of glorious colour that made me think of bees and sunflowers. Aside from his hair, Jackson also had a feature that made me glad he wasn't like the other boys. He was tanned. A healthy tan, and, unlike some of the boys Clara liked, he didn't wear makeup. No eyeliner, no mascara, and he didn't fuss with his hair.
There was only one thing that worried me about him. It was the bruises. |
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