Precious Things || Jensoo

Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Some days school is a living hell.

Fresh back from summer, everyone is happy and exuberant. They all had fun summers. They spent them at camp, or in Mexico, or at a lake house. They didn't spend their summer doing correspondence courses and gardening.

For some, gardening might be fun. I hate it. But that's what I did. Oh, and spring cleaning (in the summer). I did a lot of that too. I wanted to volunteer at the local church or retirement village but grandfather said it would detract from my studies.

Because socializing with dementia patients is oh so distracting.

Now they're all sitting around me waiting for English to begin, discussing how great their summers were. I hate it. I wish someone would just ask me how mine was, but no one will. No one wants to be seen talking to the geek in the ridiculously out of place clothes.

It's been this way since... forever.

When you're five, no one wants to be friends with the kid who is never allowed out to play. Moving to a new town to live with my grandfather was hard enough, let alone trying to move past the five-year-old's disbelief and strange new sense of grief.

Making friends... not high on my grandfather's list of priorities. In his defense, I think he just had no idea how to deal with a small child. When my mother was that age he was mostly working, out of the house on sales trips and long visits away.

And as time went on, the problems just cemented. Any friends I did make drifted away. I was never allowed to go to their birthday parties. I didn't bring nice food for lunch. I wasn't allowed on school trips. And then, just about when I was starting to think that I could handle it, all the teenage years set in.

I was, and am, the most uncool person you could possibly imagine. I blame my grandfather, but that's because I secretly blame him for everything. Quite often I have sheer panicking moments of self doubt where I'm the world's biggest loser because I just am. That it wouldn't make any difference what I wore or did with my time, that I'd still be alone.

Then I remind myself that teenagers are the most shallow people on the planet and that's a huge part of it.

I want to sigh, but I don't want anyone to look at me.

Then he walks in.

There are people in this school I distinctly don't like.

Krystal Jung for starters. The head cheerleader is chock full of bitch and not afraid to share.

Sherry Pena, Krystal's little toadie. Her wit isn't half the cheerdick's but she just doubles the pain. Plus, watching her try to rub two brain cells together gets mighty tedious.

And him.

Oh I hate him more than I hate any of the others.

He's gorgeous: tall, brunette, incredibly chiseled body.

He's fucking nice too. A real sweetheart. A jock but actually nice, and he's never actually said a mean word to me. Of course I don't think I register on his radar but there are enough jocks that have used me as the source of their entertainment when bored that I should probably appreciate that he hasn't.

I don't.

I hate him.

Jongin fucking Kim.

I hate him for what he's doing right now. He's leaning over a desk and rubbing a hand along the small of her back. There's open skin there, skin that's making my mouth go dry and my eyes glaze over.

I want to look away as he leans forward, brushing his lips over her cheek. She's laughing, the smile making it all the way to her eyes and making them sparkle. I drop my eyes, my head back to the floor. I turn back to the front of the room, not wanting them to notice I'm staring.

But I can imagine it in my head now. The touch of his fingers on the small of her back. The place that I'd love to kiss, to worship. He'll be leaning in further now, whispering something in her ear. She'll laugh again, that sweet sound for him.

He'll be leaning closer, brushing his lips across hers and she'll shove him away playfully, not wanting to be too affectionate in the classroom.

His hand might even be on her knee.

I grip the desk, my knuckles going white.

I'm going to have one of my attacks. Squeezing my eyes closed I try to think of something else. Anything else at all. I start repeating my Latin verbs in my head,

portó, portámus, portor, portámur, portás, portátis, portáris, portáminí, portatportant, portátur, portantur... I carry

It's not working. I name flowers, anything.

Dactylorhiza – Orchid...

His hand is on her knee.

I can't breathe.

Four Score and Seven years ago...

He takes her out on dates. He gets to kiss her. He gets to slide his hand...

My chest is going to explode with pain.

Rotational Kinetic Energy equals one half I squared

He gets to fuck her.

"Right class, simmer down, simmer down."

Mr. Urqhart is here.

The pain sears through my chest and I'm worried I'm going to start choking soon.

Jongin Kim is dating Jennie Kim. JK is going steady with JK.

I'm not stupid enough to think she'll ever be mine. I'm not stupid enough to think she exists. I'm just insane enough to care.

"Seriously now boys and girls, it's time to put the summer aside and pick up Milton."

Pick up Milton? Paradise Lost when my heart's about to stop beating. He has to be kidding himself.

Apparently he's not. But there's something soothing about the way the classroom quiets down. I have a purpose now, I have Milton. I ungrip one hand and open the book in front of me. As Mr. Urqhart's voice starts to drone the pain slowly ebbs away.

Not because he's talking, but because my eyes, swimming as they are, start to focus on the poetry. It's enough to give me that sliver of an out, and I take it.

What can I say? There aren't that many things in this life that are important to me, and she is one of them. The other is the printed word. If I can't have one, I shall find solace in the other.

It's not like I have much choice.

* *©clomle44* *