Chapter 4.
His house smells intensely like potpourri and Febreze.
It looks even smaller inside than I had expected it to- but it's pretty homey. At least compared to my relatively bare house.
Jasper sets his skateboard against the wall and starts walking through his home with me tagging behind. There are family pictures on every corner and I have to pry my eyes away from them to keep up.
It's when we're going through a narrow hallway that a door opens right as we reach it. A tall- and rough looking- man walks in front of Jasper, stopping us. He's wearing an old looking Metallica shirt and huge gym shorts. He's big, but he must still be in high school.
"Hey Jas, who's that?" he nods his head toward me but doesn't lose his gaze at Jasper.
"He's a friend who lives in the neighborhood." The giant looks at me and I search for somewhere to keep my eyes. Jasper groans, "Jesus Charlie. Take a shower or something. You reek of smoke."
Charlie looks back at Jasper and lifts his eyebrows. "Aw, is baby embarrassed by me?" He looks back at me and smirks loudly. "You smoke?" I try to look at him and shake my head quickly. He laughs again and disappears back into his room.
Jasper walks a few more steps and enters a room at the end of the hall. I follow him and awkwardly stand in the corner. His room smells strongly of incense- totally different than the rest of his home. The walls are barely visible behind posters and random things; concert tickets, letters, album covers. There's a single window. His twin bed against the wall is messy with blankets and clothes. Jasper drops his bag onto it and walks over to his dresser. He rummages through a few things and finds a couple boxes with incense sticks. He lights one and props it on a holder. He catches my view, "I love this stuff." He half laughs, "And it's good to cover up smell."
I realize that he's referring to cigarettes and I tense up a little. The incense creates a windy stream of smoke and slowly fills the room with the musky scent.
Jasper turns around towards me and leans against the dresser. He buries his hands into his front pockets and says, "So, you don't smoke?" I shake my head and grab the sides of my back pack. He smiles slightly, "Don't laugh at me, but I thought you would."
I find myself smiling too. "Why?"
He just shrugs. "Dunno. Just did."
I shake my hair with my hand. "Well, I used to. A lot, actually- and not just smoke. But, I don't anymore." I look down at my worn out sneakers covering my feet.
"How come?" he asks. "Did you finally realize how bad that shit is?" He grins again.
I scratch the back of my neck. "Yeah," I lie.
We stand there for a minute. Jasper's about to say something when a women peeks her head into the room. She looks strikingly alike to Jasper and Charlie- but a lot more cheerful. She yells, "I'm home!" When she sees me she opens the door wider. "Who's this?" she asks, shaking my hand.
"I'm Ledwig," I say a bit more timidly than I wanted to.
She grins widely at me. "Nice to meet you. Stay for as long as you like. I'm going to start dinner, Jas," she says to him. He nods without looking directly at her.
After she leaves, Jasper heaves out an exhale. He starts leaving the room and almost orders me, "Let's go outside."
I follow him outside and we sit on the curb at the end of his driveway. The sun's getting close to setting and there's a soft breeze every now and then. Jasper's breaking apart a leaf that he found on the sidewalk and I'm staring at the sky.
He tosses the leaf carcass onto the street. "Why'd you move down here, anyway?"
I bring my knees together and wrap my arms over them. "Honestly?" I ask.
His mouth doesn't smile but his eyes do, "Honestly."
I bite the side of my lip. "I went crazy."
He squints up at the sun above us. There's a silence before he says, "Sounds fun."
"Eh."
"I'd give anything to leave here." He's looking at nothing imparticular ahead, and I wonder if he's talking about location or emotion.
*
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When I get home it's already dark. My mom's sitting at our black dining table and filling out paperwork- bills probably. Her hair is up in a bun and she's wearing her reading glasses. When she hears me she doesn't look up, "Where were you?" she asks.
I stop by the table. "At a friends house."
She looks up, then. I know that's what she wants me to do. "That's good. I'm glad."
I'm about to go upstairs when she says, "Hey." She pauses. "Your father called me today." I feel my throat tighten. She continues, "He wanted to know how you were-"
My face gets hot and I scoff loudly. "What does he care?"
My mom rests her hands together. "He does care."
"Yeah, right." I scoff again. "He sent me away. He doesn't give a damn about me and you know it."
"Ledwig!" She whisper-yells, as if we were in a library. I roll my eyes and walk up the stairs without looking back. I drop my stuff off in my room and I take a shower.
As if he called to ask about me. Maybe his therapist told him to.
Maybe Mom made the whole thing up.
*
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I've been going to this school for a week now, and I've noticed an unmistakable pattern.
They serve the same thing every day for lunch.
Well, pretty much. You can either get a hamburger or a pizza. Both just as gross as school food gets.
At lunch, I usually find a spot by Mariah and her friends. They're just as nice to me as she is- but I wouldn't call us anything more than acquaintances who happen to sit at the same table at lunch.
Her friends are diverse- boy, girl, popular, nerdy, etc., but they always find something in common to talk about while they eat. Today, the subject is about the annual 'Instrumental Talent Show'.
Mariah is squirting ketchup onto her dry burger, "Yeah. I don't know what song I'm going to do," She squishes her bun onto the patty so that it's flat. "In fact, I haven't even chosen a partner. I don't know, maybe I wont have one."
I have no idea what she's talking about. "What do you mean?"
Her eyes widen from across the table. "Oh! I completely forgot that you haven't done it before." She tosses her blonde hair over onto her back. "Okay, well every year we have an Instrumental Talent Show- which is only for band and orchestral instruments. You can pick any song, and most people do it with a partner."
A boy that's been sitting next to me- a trumpet player I think- adds in, "It's a grade, too. And whoever wins gets to choose one of the songs that we're doing for competition in Spring."
I look down at my barely touched slice of pizza. "We have to do it in front of the school?"
Mariah takes a bite of her burger and talks- mouth half full, "Only in front of who decides to come."
They quickly change the conversation to when some sport match is that I wouldn't even consider going to, and I stare at the clock that's on the back wall of the cafeteria.
All I find myself doing nowadays is counting down the seconds- even though there's not really anything to count down to.
