Generations 2.7 kindle (30 page)

Chapter Nineteen ……

J
ackson had this feeling like he was being punched in the stomach. And not just one punch. It was continual. Like someone was taking jab after jab, never allowing him to fully recover nor get himself upright.

And it was all because of Kat.

This entire situation was out of control, like a meteor plowing through the atmosphere. Jackson felt helpless: all he could do was sit and watch—not shield or stop the impending catastrophe. And yes, the pun was intended.

So, for starters, Jackson had helped Kat sneak out on Sunday. Sneaking around with Kat was never a good thing, because that always meant more lies. And it also meant trying to dodge the paparazzi. Which, okay, in all honesty was kinda fun. Jack had felt like a secret agent, zipping through the streets of the neighborhood with Kat ducked down in back. But, since Jackson had successfully ditched the pap, that meant that Ben and Kat felt free to be “expressive.” Which meant that Jackson had been stuck watching some Sunday PDA, which felt like a cardinal sin. Not that Ben and Kat did anything inappropriate it was just … uncomfortable. The way they looked at each other. The way that their bodies always had to be touching in some form—even if it was just their pinkies. Jackson felt excluded. Like something had changed between those two, and no one had bothered to inform him.

If the serious nature of their relationship was evident just from watching Ben and Kat’s interactions, there was also some giftage going on that was a dead giveaway as to the commitment between them. Ben had pimped Kat’s ride. And the guy had only had her car overnight. But somehow, he’d managed to get it waxed, get the windows tinted, have a spoiler installed and the rims replaced. Bugsy had never looked so good.

“Want to keep my car overnight?” Jackson had asked Ben.

“Ha,” Ben replied. “That car’s a money pit, Jack. Better to cut your losses now than to throw in another dime.”

Yeah, ouch. Ben just didn’t seem to understand that Jackson didn’t drive the Geo out of desire. It was out of necessity. And he wasn’t going to be upgrading anytime soon. He didn’t even think he would be able to afford to drive it at college—he’d probably be stuck with his old moped his entire college career.

Kat had a gift for Ben as well. It was her dad’s Clash shirt. Jackson knew for a fact that she didn’t have permission to give that shirt away. It was like Kat had a penchant for punishment. Along with the shirt was an even more peculiar gift: a strand of hair. Her hair, about six inches long. It was this thin little coil, tied together with a purple ribbon. Jackson knew that it used to be customary for girls to give a lock of hair to their fiancé as they headed off to war—like a hundred years ago. It seemed a rather ardent custom to be trifling with. Jackson really wished that he hadn’t been there to see that exchange, and he could tell that Kat was slightly embarrassed to have to do it in front of Jackson. But what could he do? He was giving Ben a ride back to his parking garage. Jackson suddenly had a great idea to suggest to the CIA—the CIA should torture terrorists by forcing them to watch this gag-inducing display of affection.

So having Ben and Kat grow deeper in their attachment was greatly troubling to Jackson. It meant that this craziness was not going to be ending anytime soon. Which brought up other issues. The most problematic one being that Kat was putting distance between herself and her loved ones. Jackson didn’t think that this was intentional. But she was distracted. And she had time constraints. The result was one little sister who had been crying when Jackson had seen her Monday. Taylor had been sobbing into Darin’s shoulder, saying, “Kat doesn’t ever play with me anymore. She kicked me out of her room so she could talk to Ben.”

Jackson had been dropping off a loaf of his mom’s freshly-baked bread, but he took pity on Taylor and offered to play Barbies with her. Taylor took him up on the offer and barricaded him in her room with piles of Barbie dolls and accessories—how could one girl have so many toys? Kat had walked by the room after Jackson had been there about an hour. Her phone was glued to her ear. She pulled it down for half-a-second and asked him, “What are you doing here?”

His response: “Playing with your sister.” It was heavy with implication, like he was doing the job she should be doing. But she had merely put the phone back to her ear and walked on by. Jackson saw the look of disappointment register on Taylor’s face. He felt guilty and stayed for another hour, and was near the point of insanity by the time he left. Taylor was twice as hyper as Kat had been at that age. His ears were buzzing from that nonstop chatter.

He’d also been around yesterday to see more Katrina-induced pain. This time, Kat’s friend Macey was the recipient. It had happened at lunch time. Jackson, Kat and Macey were the only ones from their original lunch group that still sat together. All the other friends had been “filtered out” by the popular kids who had overrun the table. Even Hannah was gone, and she had been close friends with Kat since freshman year. But obviously Hannah wasn’t ranked high enough on the popularity charts to hang out with Kat’s new group. Macey was fairly popular, but Jackson could see her discomfort increasing as time wore on. He didn’t know if she’d be around that much longer. He didn’t know if
he’d
be around that much longer. He wouldn’t have made it this long if it hadn’t been for Kat—for his desire to stay close to her.

So yesterday, Macey and Kat had been involved in conversation with each other, and this girl—a cheerleader who wore shirts that looked like they were made to fit one of Taylor’s twelve-inch Barbie dolls—butted herself right in between Macey and Kat. This cheerleader, Courtnie (Jackson wished he didn’t know her name. A month ago he’d had no clue who she was. Now, he not only knew that her name was Courtnie, he also knew that she drank a low-carb shake everyday for lunch and that she had once swallowed a parasitic worm to induce weight loss. And he knew everything that had happened after ingesting the worm. TMI.), had turned her body towards Kat’s, effectively shutting Macey out of the conversation. “Guess who got kicked off the squad? ... Lydia!” Obviously Courtnie was too dense to play guessing games. She must not have known that she was supposed to give Kat the chance to answer the question. Which Jackson was actually grateful for: there were at least a dozen girls on the cheerleading squad. It could have taken Kat half-an-hour to guess correctly.

Then Courtnie had told Kat—as well as most of the table, just because Courtnie didn’t have a real quiet voice—how Lydia had shown up drunk to the last game and thought that no one would notice. Strike one. Then she’d mooned the opposing team’s bus as it left the Waldren High parking lot. Strike two. Then, that same night, she’d given her cheerleading uniform to her older sister to wear to a costume party—at some trendy downtown club that was a favorite of the Bunny crowd. The uniform was photographed in some very compromising positions. Strike three. End of Lydia’s cheerleading career.

And the point of all this? Courtnie wanted Kat on the squad. Apparently, the rule book stated that there would have to be an open audition for all juniors and seniors, but—off the book—their cheer instructor had already guaranteed that Kat would get the spot. All she had to do was show up for tryouts.

Kat seemed excited about this. Which was odd, because in days long past, Kat, Jack and Macey—as well as the others who used to sit with them—frequently made fun of the cheerleaders. Kat and Macey always complained about the lack of talent in the cheer squad, and had demeaningly called it the “bod squad.” Because that seemed to be the only requirement to get on the team—to look good in the tiny little uniform. And now Kat was thinking about joining? Not that she’d look bad in the uniform—just that it was beneath her. At least it used to be.

Courtnie had told Kat all the pertinent info about the tryouts and handed Kat a game and practice schedule. Whoa. Jackson could never say that the cheerleaders weren’t committed. They were busy gals.

As soon as Courtnie left the table, Macey had slid back next to Kat and looked at the sheet. “They practice after school Kat. Every day.”

“Yeah. But they’re done by four thirty.”

“But we’re going to practice at four, starting next week.”

Kat had given Macey a blank look.

“For that Mamba piece. You signed up for that number too, remember?

“Oh.” Kat’s face changed from blank to concerned.

Jackson didn’t really know what they were talking about. He just knew that this meant trouble.

“I might just have to … back out of that one. I’m already in four other numbers.”

“Kat. Ms. Stella already ordered costumes. You paid seventy-five bucks for it. Non-refundable. Besides, we need you. We’d be odd numbered without you. It wouldn’t work.”

Kat had blinked a few times, as if her blinking would magically change the times listed on the paper. “But that’s just for a month, Mace. If I got on the squad—it’d be for next year too. Kind of hard to pass up something like this for a one month commitment.”

“You committed to that dance first,” Macey had said, her voice full of disgust. “I can’t believe you’re even thinking of backing out. For
cheerleading
.”

Macey’s voice had been rather loud, especially considering that at least two cheerleaders were sitting at the table, and another couple at the table behind her. She stood, swept her tray off the table, and stormed away. Kat was left looking bewildered. Jackson was proud of Macey for standing up to Kat. But he was sad for Macey as well. He knew what it felt like to be let down by Kat. Something had to change.

So he’d come up with a plan. He needed to get her alone. Remind her of how things used to be. Try to discreetly point out how off-track she was.

His plan started with an origami envelope he folded especially for her. He used some of his mom’s floral scrapbook paper. The envelope was his best yet—it had this elaborate pinwheel design on the top. It had taken him a good hour last night to perfect it. Inside the envelope was an invitation. It said:

           
Have lunch with me?

           
My car, parking lot B.

Jackson slid it through the vent in her locker before school started. She must have liked the invite, because she was all smiles when Jackson saw her during third period. She handed him a note—an origami heart done on college-ruled paper—that said:

           
I’d love to!

He felt slightly guilty: she’d probably spent her last class folding that paper instead of doing an assignment. But at least she took the bait.

For the first time ever, Jackson slipped out of class five minutes early. He wanted lunch to be perfect. He unfolded a red checkered tablecloth across his dashboard and set two lunch bags on top. He’d brought a vase from home and filled it with three origami flowers; he set that in the middle of the dashboard. A few crumbs from a cracker of some sort littered the passenger seat; Jackson flicked them away. Everything was perfect. Now all he needed was Kat.

She was ten minutes late. Jackson was starting to sweat by the time she got there, thinking that she’d ditched him. But she practically skipped to the car once she came in sight. “Hey,” she said warmly as she climbed in. Her smile grew larger once she was in her seat and saw the display on the dashboard. “What’s all this?”

“Picnic. Pre-summer style.”

Kat fingered the flowers in the vase. “Cute! Your origami was always so much better than mine.” Then her face fell flat. She looked disgusted. “But your car stinks.”

Yeesh, her too? Ben’s snobbery was rubbing off. Had she seen one of the cool kids and thought she needed to act embarrassed about being in Jackson’s car? “You sound like Ben,” Jackson muttered.

She gave him an elbow in the ribs. “Literally, Jack. Something in your car is stinks. Bad. Like a rotten egg.”

Vlad. His stomach lurched. This was far from perfection. He wouldn’t get Kat’s undivided attention in a stinky car. Jackson began looking around for the source of the smell. He looked under an empty grocery sack on the floor behind her seat. There it was. A diaper. From when? Two days ago? Crap. Literally.

Jackson mumbled something about changing Jared and forgetting to take it to the trash. He wrapped the diaper in the grocery bag and ran to the nearest trash receptacle. He half expected her to be gone when he got back. Not that he’d blame her—that
was
disgusting. Why hadn’t he taken the time to clean his car last night instead of folding that stupid paper?