Page 9 of What If It Was Us
Jackson turned back to the guys and they continued to talk about the game. I smiled to myself as I finished my lunch. He wanted to hang out with me.
***
After school, I met Jackson outside the fence to the football field, and we walked up the stands together.
“Did you get lost finding any of your other classes?” I asked as we leaned our backs against the bench behind us. The sight of Jackson’s bare legs crossed on the bench in front of us made me realize I’d only seen him in work clothes before this. My eyes traveled up his body from his khaki shorts to his gray shirt, which had a red pocket with an Aztec design.
“Nope, I finally figured it out.” He smiled at me and unzipped his backpack next to him. “Hey, do you have Cash for math, too?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I have her second hour.”
He pulled out a blue folder and pointed at a worksheet. “Did you have trouble with this?” It was the homework assignment from class today.
“Not really.” I shrugged one shoulder and he shoved the folder back in his backpack.
“I’m walking to the restaurant after the game; do you want to come with me? Jules is working tonight, and I’m craving pizza. Do you think you could help me with that homework, too?”
Jackson was so easy to be around, and it made my stomach flutter. “Yeah sure.”
“Sweet.” He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket. “I know you don’t have a phone. Did you want to call your parents?”
This was the second time he had said “your parents” as if I had people at home who cared about my whereabouts.
I averted my eyes and pushed his phone away from me. “I don’t live with my parents; it’s just me and my brother,” I said, as if it wasn’t a big deal.
I acted like I was interested in the football warm ups, and when Jackson didn’t respond, I looked at him out of my peripheral vision.
“Did they, um . . . die?” Jackson asked quietly.
A laugh burst out of me, and Jackson looked horrified at my reaction.
“Oh my god, sorry, no, they didn’t die. It’s not that dramatic. My mom lives up in Traverse City with her boyfriend, and I’ve never met my dad,” I said quickly. I covered my mouth and turned toward the field.
“Oh, that’s interesting,” he said, finally. It wasn’t demeaning, the way he said it—more like he was confused and trying to understand. “So, you just live with an older brother?”
“Peter, yeah, he’s twenty-two.”
“Is he kind of like your dad?” Jackson asked.
Another laugh escaped me, because yeah, right. Peter was in no way, shape, or form like a father figure.
“No, he either yells at me like I’m a complete inconvenience in his life, or pretends like I don’t exist,” I said. I couldn’t believe I was admitting all of this to Jackson, but he was listening and asking questions like he actually gave a shit. It wasnice,and so, so refreshing.
“Is he your only sibling?”
“That I know of,” I said lightheartedly. “We have the same mom but different dads.”
Jackson made a sound of confirmation, then stopped badgering me with questions.
“Sorry for being all invasive in your business,” he added.
“You weren’t, it’s not a big deal.” I gave him a smile to let him know it was all good, and he gave me a one-sided grin that made my stomach somersault.
The game started, and Jackson explained the rules so I could attempt to follow along. It started to get chilly by the third quarter, and I pulled my hoodie on, tucking up my legs and holding them to my chest.
“We don’t have to stay for the whole thing if you’re cold. Let’s head to the restaurant,” Jackson suggested.
We walked around to the front of the school so I could grab my bike, and I rode it slowly next to Jackson as he walked.
