Tender (Book 1 - Complete)

Chapter 3 - Jamie

It's been a slow week. My friends and I spent the past weekend with excitement sizzling through our veins as we searched for our next adventure high, and I'm hoping that once class is out today, we can continue with our search. Unfortunately, Galena, Illinois isn't really the place for the thrill-seekers of the world. Someday, I want to escape... mainly because I'm sick of the hustle and bustle of the every day routine lifestyle. I need less predictability and a lot more spontaneity if I'm going to survive the rest of the year.

People say that Galena is a simple town, but I disagree. There are too many people here, too many cars, too many buildings. Maybe it's because I'm severely claustrophobic, but ever since I hit senior year, I've had an aching desire to escape this place and find solace on some long-forgotten farm where my only friends are the horses, chickens, and a single hound dog named 'Beef.' But contrary to how my complaints make it sound, my life is pretty good. I mean, I'm no 'Mr. Popular' but I've got a good group of friends and a solid reputation in my school. I'm comfortable... maybe too comfortable. Pridefully comfortable.

They say that arrogance can be a person's downfall. I'm just not expecting it to be mine.

I'm a good guy. I don't mess around with women, or cheat, or steal, or do drugs (anymore). Skipping classes on occasion and overdosing on energy drinks doesn't make me a rebel. Actually, I feel as though I blend in pretty well around here. I tend to do what's expected of me.

Glancing around my Biology class on this sunny Friday morning, I'm starting to wonder why I feel the need to blend in. What's the attraction in being just like everyone else? It's a question I ponder often, yet never do a darn thing about. Maybe being average is simply who I am.

As the bell rings, I sling my bag over my shoulder and saunter from the room. Arms brush against arms and stomaches dodge elbows as the halls fill with the chaotic bustle of high school. I breathe in the familiar scent of mold, metal, and Windex lingering in the air, realizing that this is my life for another two months.

'Hello's' are hollered in all directions as I make my way to my cluster of friends crowding the wide halls. Slapping of skin resonates into the noise as I high five Dillon. Though his face leaves much to be desired, the ladies can't seem to get enough of him. I assume it has something to do with his gym bod and gentle personality, but for some strange reason, the guy has yet to have a girlfriend.

I tend to think it has something to do with how comfortable he makes people feel. Girls just aren't intimidated by him. Or, Maybe it's because he hasn't grown out of his baby face yet. Whatever the reason, people love him anyway. He's the serious one of the group; the level-headed, genuinely caring guy that tends to coerce people into confessing their deepest secrets without ever having to utter a word. If I cared to be like anyone else in the world, it'd strive to be like him.

"What's up, man?" I greet, looping my thumbs through the straps of my backpack.

"They're talking about hitting up the that weird, old-fashioned ice cream place down on Main," he answers, nudging his chin towards the rest of the group. It's been a slow week, but we're finally free to get out and enjoy life again... and my friends choose ice cream.

"You realize that's the actual name of the place, right?" I tell him, briefly shifting my attention towards Clarice who's busy turning an everyday situation into the most dramatic scenario ever known to man. "It's literally called the 'Old-Fashioned Ice-Cream Parlor.'"

I see Dillon shrug his lack of care for this piece of information, before returning my attention to our other friends, a smile nudging at my lips. Clarice's eyes dance with excitement as she narrates her story with exaggerated hand gestures. It's not uncommon. She loves attention, and if she doesn't have a spotlight-worthy story to share, she'll create one. She's a good person, but she can be a handful. I've nicknamed her 'Small's', which she considers a compliment. I'll never tell her that the name came from the fact that I can only handle her in 'small' doses.