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| Revised Chapter |
3rd POV
Jackson walked through the school hallways, his backpack handing loosely off of one shoulder. His blue eyes looked forward at the empty space, all of the students we in class as he should be too. As he turned the corner, he caught sight of a familiar brunette with curly hair with her nose stuck in a book, one knee propped up as she leaned against the blue lockers behind her. "What are you reading?" She looked up at Jackson in surprise, dropping her necklace from her grasp.
"Oh hey," She recovered from the scare, pointing to the book. "—just stuff for a history project."
Jackson nodded, setting his bag beside him and sitting criss-cross applesauce. They were sitting so close that Allison felt uncomfortable, shoulders touched and she could feel his breath on her face as her spoke. "Did you have a free period?"
"No, I just don't like sitting through Chem," He responded while smiling at her a bit.
She laughed at the answer and looked back at her book. "Understandable."
There wasn't much room for conversation between all of the awkwardness, but Jackson found a way. He kept staring at her, and eventually the Argent grew uncomfortably and looked back at him. "Did you want something?"
"Actually, yeah. I wanted to talk." She closed her book slightly, giving him her full and undecided attention. "I realized that I had been a jerk to you, and especially to Scott, and I wanted to stay I'm sorry." The brunette looked at the ground in shock. "I'm serious."
"Okay, I believe your being serious but, I'm not so sure your being sincere."
Jackson Whittemore exhaled a deep breath and nodded in understanding. "Do you know what it's like to be the best player on the team?" He started, using the only analogy he could that made sense to him. "To be the star. To have every single person at the game chanting your name, and then some kid just comes along and everyone starts looking at him instead of you. Do you know what that feels like?"
Allison looked at him, processing the words before responding. "I don't."
"Well it feels like something being stolen from you. And then you start to feel like you'd do anything in the world to get it back."
"Haven't you ever learned that there's no 'I' in team?" Her wide smile wasn't reflected and
Jackson then understood that the skinny, pale girl truly had no idea what it felt like. "Yeah but there is a 'me'." Her face turned into a frown and she looked away "That was a joke,"
Lie.
Fingers rose to rub the uncomfortable scratches that Jackson assumed to be infected since Derek Hale came through, looking like a zombie, and clawed the crap out of his neck. Ever since, he wasn't able to get a good nights rest without some weird nightmare or dousing a whole tube of neosporin on it. "You must really, really hate me."
Her brown curls shook as her nodded in protest. "Not at all."
"You sure? Because I'm not a bad guy. I mean, yeah, I make stupid mistakes, a lot," He spoke, the memory of his mistreatment towards his girlfriend flashing behind his eyelids, but he didn't take the time to elaborate. He didn't need too, Allison was thinking the same thing. "I'm not a bad guy. I really like you and Scott. I really like you both and I want you guys to like me. I want to get to know you guys better." He leaned closer to her face and she backed away. "So, what are you reading?"
In their moment, neither of the teenagers heard the retreating sound of heels clacking on the ground behind them.
Layla ran away, angry tears dripping down her cheeks. She wiped them away with a tissue once she got into the bathroom, not caring that she was taking off her makeup too.
She felt stupid and replaced.
Allison was beautiful, but she wasn't her. Allison wouldn't do the things that Layla would for Jackson, and she definitely couldn't handle his attitude. Layla herself barely could either, but she loved him enough to stay and work through it.
He wasn't always bad, but something snapped inside him when the school year started and Layla didn't know how to fix it.
She stood there for a moment, both hands resting on the sides of the porcelain sink, her brown eyes staring into her reflection as the thoughts raced through her head, the rational ones slowing down while the other ones—the thoughts that were filed by anger and hatred won the race.
Layla dug into her purse, pulling out her phone and scrolling down to a contact that had only recently been added to her contact list.
