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This is me, not wanting to let go of Jacob Ford.
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So...I hope you enjoy this series of really random one-shots from Jake's life when he was nothing but a fetus who adored his ma, girls and peanut butter cups (in no particular order). Some will be short, some will be long. This first one-shot was my post for the Wattpad Block Party earlier this year =] x
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The Adventures of Fetus Jake & the Fire-Breathing Sharon #1
Fetus Jake: Aged 15
They'd called my ma.
They could've called my dad.
He was a big scary guy, my dad, and his nickname was Reaper. I knew he'd served in the army, and that was probably how he'd gotten the nickname, but the other kids were always saying it was because my dad was a killer. He was in a motorcycle club called the Phantoms, and had been for as long as I could remember. Maybe even before I was born.
It still would've been better if they'd called him instead of my ma.
I was sitting outside the principal's office, arms folded like I didn't care that Wednesday was my ma's hair day, and that the principal was cutting it short by making her come to the school and get me. I sat in these chairs so much, I was surprised they didn't have a nametag on one specially for me. My little brother, Baron, had never been sent to the office. Three years younger than me, he was always getting certificates and prizes for being a little Einstein. If he weren't such a good kid—helping me with my homework, never laughing at me for it—I would've been jealous. But Baron was kind. If we didn't look so alike, I would've thought he was adopted. Because me? I wasn't kind. Not at all.
Closing my eyes with a heavy sigh, I leaned back in the uncomfortable plastic chair I'd been sitting in for almost an hour now, if I had to take a guess. The hallway was quiet. Empty. Everyone had left, I guessed. Or they were outside, soaking up the Florida sun, which is what I would've been doing if fucκing Mrs. Norman hadn't held me back.
I heard the click-clack of high heels coming down the hall and my spine instantly straightened. My eyes opened just as my ma made her way up to me, a scowl on her painted face. She had rollers in her platinum hair.
Shit.
She'd been under the dryer. No one made her leave her chair if she was under the dryer.
