i cried
fascinating new thing (fic)
jj maybank x fem!kook!shy!reader | the music the band plays in this are songs by beach bunny (that's the music style i envisioned for the reader) - check them out!
content warning: drinking & drug use; anxiety & anxiety attacks
word count: 18k. (the definition of a slow-burn, so just hang in there, okay?)
Blurb: after your band plays a show at kiara's parents' restaurant, you find yourself face to face with jj maybank. shy and socially awkward, you fumble through, knowing that a guy like jj would never want a thing to do with you, right?
âI donât understand you,â Kiara says. Sheâs perched atop one of the speakers.
âWhatâd you mean?â you ask from where you kneel on the floor. Youâre detangling wires.
âWhen you met my parents, I could barely get your name out of you. But now I find out you enjoy singing to a crowd of strangers in your spare time?â
You laugh, shrugging.
âI mean, if I was shy, I think my worst fear would be singing to a group of anybody â let alone strangers,â Kie tells you with a chuckle.
âI guess itâs cause Iâm in my element when Iâm singing and stuff. I feel calm,â you think aloud.
Youâd never really thought of it that much. Performing music always came easy to you. Talking to people, not so much.
The wires finally unknot and you go about plugging them into the correct amps. Kiara had offered to help you and your band set up before your gig. It was at The Wreck â her parents gracious enough to let you guys play â and Kie, being your friend for just over a year, was all for it.
Youâd met at school when she transferred to (what she proclaimed as) Kook Academy. Kie felt as if she didnât fit in, away from the Pogues and amongst the snobs. You felt like an outsider too. Making friends never came easy to you. Your shyness got in the way and made you clam up. The good first half of your years at school were spent having panic attacks during breaktime and hiding behind the sheds to eat lunch alone. One day you made your usual journey there to find Kiara, sat crying. Youâd struck up your best attempt at conversation, sympathising immediately. She confided in you about missing her old school, and how this âbitchâ Sarah Cameron had started a rumour and ditched her. You nodded through it and offered up eating lunch together, which soon turned into hanging out after school, and overtime Kie pulled you out of your shell. That was when you told her about your band.
The only reason youâd managed to find your band was from the school counsellorâs insistence that you join an extra-circular. When you meekly confessed that you liked playing music and writing songs, sheâd thrust you into band practice. Seriously: she literally escorted you there. Benny, who played drums, and Pansy, who played guitar, were your first friends. Pansy had an effervescent charm to her; naturally outgoing but not intimidating. Strangely, she was easy to talk to. Non-judgemental and non-pushy. Never asked you the age-old question âhow come youâre so quiet?â Benny was a little like you and it was as if the two of you clocked each other and decided to stick it out. Over time, you both opened up, with Pansyâs assistance of course. The bassist was someone Pansy met (and probably cornered) at a kegger, named Mike. Aloof and mysterious, you spent a great deal of your time wondering if he liked you and a greater deal wondering who he was. Finally, with you on vocals, the band was formed. Pansy lovingly named it The Wallflowers, in your honour.
As soon as Kie found out, she insisted on having you play at The Wreck. All of that led up to today, with the show due to start in two hours.
âIâm so excited to hear you guys play,â she grins. âI canât believe it took you so long to tell me you were in a band.â
âJust never came up,â you chuckle, standing up. âHow many people do you thinkâll come?â
âMaybe fifty or so? Dad posted about it on the Facebook page and I put up some posters.â
Your stomach drops. âPosters?â
Kie jumps off the speaker. âOnly around the cut! None at Kook Academy, donât worry.â
The panic eases somewhat with her clarification. You werenât exactly enthused to have some of your classmates, who seemed to find pleasure in teasing your quietness, coming to see you play. Your band was like your safe spot: where you could express yourself. Pansy practically had to prise the songs youâd written out of your hands at the first practice.
As if summoning her by thought, the afro haired girl waltzes into the restaurant, guitar case slung over her shoulders. âI canât believe I havenât been here before! This place is hella cute, Kie!â
âThanks,â Kiara smiles.
Pansy hops onto the small make-shift stage youâd borrowed from the schoolâs music department, looking around the room as if sheâd conquered the land.
âYeah, yeah. Thisâll do nicely.â
âThis your lotsâ first gig?â Kiara wonders as she gets up to get you all drinks.
âNah. Weâve done a couple at my uncleâs bar,â Pansy replies. âBenny managed to get us this thing at a fundraiser too, last month.â
âItâs nice trying somewhere new though,â you say. Pansy nods enthusiastically.
âEspecially somewhere this cute!â
Kiara laughs, walking back over with three cups balanced in her hands. You and Pansy take one each and have a sip. Fresh lemonade; perfect for the April weather warmth.
âWhenâs Benny and Mike getting here?â
âMikeâs hitching a lift with Benny. Said theyâll be about ten minutes or so,â Pansy replies.
She puts down her cup and shrugs off her guitar case. Unzipping it, she retrieves her âbabyâ. Youâre surprised she doesnât start gushing over how beautiful she is. You and Kie keep chatting about how schools nearly finished for the year as Pansy sorts out the cables and amps for her electric guitar. She then props it on the stand.
Just as she said they would, Benny and Mike walk into The Wreck just under ten minutes later. Theyâre both wheeling in drum pieces. Mike dashes out to grab his bass from the van. You move to help Benny set up his drums.
âYou borrow your dadâs van again?â you ask him.
He nods. âSurprised he isnât making me pay for gas.â
As you sit back on your haunches, screwing in one of the bolts for the kick drum, Benny looks at you. âYou look nice, by the way.â
âThanks,â you smile, not looking away from your handy work.
âNew shorts?â
âNah. Had them a while.â
âOh. Well, they look nice.â
Benny lingers a moment longer, as if he might say something else, but then must think better of it and goes back to fixing the hi-hat.
âYou nervous for tonight?â
âNot more than usual. I know Iâll be fine once we start playing,â you reply.
As the two of you finish setting up the drumkit, you glance off to see that Pansy has trapped Kie in some intense discussion about crystals. You knew it was risky introducing the two of them: two astrology girlies are a deadly combination. Mike sits off to the side, tuning his bass. The speakerâs on and it echoes around the room.
âSounding groovy,â Kiaraâs dad calls from the doorway of the kitchen.
Kie groans. âDad, nobody says groovy.â
âWell, I do,â he says, winking at her. She rolls her eyes lovingly. âThink it should be a good crowd tonight, guys. Excited to hear you play.â
Pansy beams at him. âThanks! Weâve been practising like mad for it!â
âYeah. Pansy didnât give us much of a choice,â Mike sardonically grins, making everyone laugh.
âOh! I forgot to tell you!â Kiara says your name to catch your attention. âYou remember me telling you about my friends, John B and all that? Theyâre coming too.â
âThey are?â you ask, nervousness spiking.
She nods. âTheyâre super excited to meet you.â
There must be clear panic on your face because her enthusiasm evens out into a calming smile. âHey! Donât worry. Theyâre super chill.â
âKie, no offense, but from some of the stories youâve told me, they donât sound super chill,â you mumble, going back to fixing another part of the drum into place.
âI mean theyâre non-judgemental. Especially Pope. Heâs a little weird too. Uh, no offence.â
âOffence,â you reply, though you smile when you do.
Kie calling you weird doesnât bother you. Any other Kook at school doing it though, and youâd probably burst into tears.
âItâs alright. Iâll just sneak you out after the gig in a suitcase like they do with Taylor Swift,â Benny whispers to you. You laugh, rolling your eyes.
âGreat plan. Not obvious at all.â
The rest of the set-up goes to plan. After an hour, the instruments are plugged in and tuned up. Mike and Pansy have practised the bridge to one of the songs about twenty times, making your head begin to pound. Kiaraâs dad has elicited Kieâs help in the kitchen with making the buffet-style meal. Their working was to do a pay-for-it-all sort of method: a set price of ten dollars per plate, loaded up as full as you want. Seconds and thirds were another five dollars. It seemed the best way to take orders without interrupting the gig. Kieâs mum comes to prepare the drinks. Bowls of punch for the kids and teens, and beers and cans for the adults.
By the time it comes close for you guys to play, the room is beginning to pack. You sit on the side of the stage, mostly hidden by one of the amps, with Pansy acting as an unofficial barrier for anybody who tries to talk to you. Sheâs glad to answer any questions, quickly diving into stories about the band name and the songs and whatever else comes to mind. Mike chimes in too, also rather extraverted, and you and Benny cower in the back like lost children in a shopping mall searching for their parents.
Thereâre the nerves before you play â like always â but the calmness of knowing that as soon as the first chord is strummed, itâll fade out. You seem to slip into a corner of your brain when you guys play your songs. Like nobody can touch you or judge you. Youâre almost able to fully let go.
âYou guys ready?â Kiaraâs dad asks, walking over to your foursome.
Nope. Nerves are back and in full force. Maybe youâll throw up right here right now, and theyâll have to call the whole thing off.
âHell yeah!â Pansy exclaims. She probably thinks sheâs talking for all of you.
Kiaraâs dad steps onto the stage and goes to the microphone, flicking it on. It buzzes to life, the noise catching peopleâs attention, and when he taps on it to make sure itâs working, the conversations naturally die down.
âAlright, folks! You guys are in for a treat tonight! The grooviest band from Kildare County is here to perform!â
You see Kie groan and shake her head from the back of the room, making you laugh. It helps ease your nerves. You donât have time to check if her friends have arrived because youâre being ushered up by Pansy.
âLetâs here it for The Wallflowers!â
The applause from the small crowd thatâs gathered feels like a stadium cheering you on. Pansy jumps on stage first, grabbing her guitar, waving happily to the crowd as if she knew each of them personally and had been banking on them to come. Mike gives a casual nod as he steps up and pulls on his bass. Benny slinks behind the drum kit, flashing the briefest of smiles to the crowd.
You focus on the floor and take a quick breath in. Here we go. Then youâre stepping onto the stage, forcing your head up, plastering on a smile, and waving.
Pansy always introduces the band. You canât bring yourself to form words at the start of the show.
âHow we all doing tonight?â She loudly asks, her voice echoing through the speakers.
The crowd give another whoop and cheer. Itâs mostly teenagers and young adults, with some older couples and families intermixed. You catch Kiaraâs eye and feel your shoulderâs relax a little when she gives a grin and thumbs-up. Thereâs not enough confidence in you to look at her friends.
Pansy introduces herself then names each one of you, pointing as she goes. Finally, she declares, âWeâre The Wallflowers and weâve got some songs to play for you tonight. You guys ready?â
You donât take in the response from the crowd. Just close your eyes and wrap your hands around the microphone, searching for the tap of Bennyâs drumsticks to count you in. Wait for it. Wait for itâŠ
Two, three, fourâ
The moment Pansy strums her first chord, and Mike hits his first note, your mouth opens and the words fly out, second nature, without a thought.
âSometimes I think I see your ghostâŠâ
The anxiety gets shoved down, suppressed by something akin to confidence, and you manage to open your eyes. Your body naturally sways to the music, hands not leaving the microphone until you reach the first chorus.
âIf youâre gonna love me, make sure that you do it right. Iâll be under your window in the moonlight.â
Fingers pushing through your hair, sweeping it off your shoulders, you dance a little to the beat. Bennyâs hitting, keeping you all in rhythm, and Mikeâs bass thrums lowly to keep you in tune. Pansyâs grinning â you see it from the corner of your eye â as she plays her guitar. It makes you smile. Your band; a mismatched group of teens from the sweeter side of Kook Academy. You have no idea how you managed to find them, but thereâs no complaints to be heard. As if sinking into the cosiest of beds after a tiresome day, you relax into the music, relax in yourself.
After the first song, it becomes easy. You feel in your element, like a bird returning from migration, and start to engage with the crowd some more. Start having them clap along to the beat when the bridge starts up for the third song. Have them jumping a little to the chorus of the fifth.
âAinât she great?â Pansy encourages from them after the sixth song.
The strangers whoâve accumulated to see you, now a little buzzed, applaud and whistle. You feel your face flush hot. At the back, Kiara cheers the loudest, accompanied by several guysâ voices who holler. You look over and itâs then that you meet his eyes. JJ Maybank.
The nerves hit you full force.
Oh God.
Oh God.
How the hell are you supposed to sing another song knowing that heâs watching you? That someone who looks like that is listening to you sing your stupid little love-sick, fantasy-formed songs? You knew he was friends with Kie, but you didnât think heâd actually show up.
You consider pretending to faint, but thatâll probably be more humiliating than just powering through. To distract yourself, you duck down to take a sip of water from your bottle.
âCome on,â you whisper, closing your eyes. Just one song left, and then youâre home free and can hide under your sheets for a week. Maybe two.
âThis next one is mostly me and my girl,â Pansy announces, nodding to you as you rise back to stand. âWeâre gonna bring it down a minute, alright? I wanna see lots of loved up couples slow dancing, you hear?â
Thereâre some chuckles. Youâre always in awe of how easily she interacts with the crowd. Pansy begins to pick out the melody on her strings, turning to face you. She smiles reassuringly, nodding to count you in. The anxiety melts away as the words line up ready in your head. Taking a breath, you turn back to the microphone.
âI wither within when Iâm without. Baptised in sin and blessed with doubt.â
From the corner of your eyes, you see a phone torch lift into the air. Then you see more and more people do the same, until thereâs a powerful white glow shining on yourself and Pansy. You let out a small, bashful giggle. Through the phones, you spot Kiara again, nodding along to the beat and swaying. Sheâs got an easy smile on her face. You canât help but glance your eyes to JJ, whoâs at her side. His arms are crossed over his chest, face nearly stoic, but heâs swaying too. Looks almost deep in thought. Before he can clock that youâre looking at him, you flit your eyes back to the wall.
âThereâs always someone, Iâm tryna live up to. I can never get to you. You always seem closer, in the rear viewâŠâ
As the song goes on and your voice sings out, your eyes slip shut again. You sink into the words and let your mind drift into thoughts of romance and love. It had never been all that present in your life. Talking to strangers in the chance that they might be your friend was terrifying enough; if you find them attractive, then itâs game over. You practically become mute from nerves. That left you pretty lonely, romantically and otherwise. Besides, guys didnât tend to go for girls who could barely spit out a sentence in a group project and are as often seen at a kegger or house party as a dodo bird. At least, not the type of guys you liked.
The ending of the song starts to build; Mike picks out a steady beat on his bass. You slowly begin to clap on every other beat. Gradually, the crowd joins in as the melody from Mike continues. Once enough people have joined, you decide to pick up the lyrics.
âYou love me. I love you. You donât love me anymore, I still do. Iâm sorry. Iâm trying. I hate it when you catch me crying.â
One the final lyric, Bennyâs joining in, Pansy in tow. The big finish arrives, the crowd stopping their clapping to whoop and bash their heads to the heavy beat. You repeat the lyrics again, finding your grin once more at the sight of everyone having fun (save for some dwellers and shoe-watchers on the outskirts).
âI hate it when you catch me crying.â
The song comes to an abrupt end. Pansy lets her last note ring out. When the crowd cheers and applauds, you laugh bashfully into the microphone, your face so hot that you worry it might explode.
âThank you,â you manage out with a smile.
âWeâve been The Wallflowers! Follow us on Spotify and Instagram! Good night!â Pansy shamelessly promotes, waving with both hands in farewell.
You take an awkward bow, Benny waving nervously from behind the drum kit, and then Kiaraâs dad is flicking on the main lights. The chatter of the crowd soon kicks up now that you guys are done playing, and Kieâs dad switches back on the usual playlist that buzzes through the restaurant to fill the backgroundâs quiet. You turn to Pansy to find her beaming, practically vibrating on the spot with excitement. She ambushes you and Mike in a group hug.
âYou guys did amazing! We fucking rocked! Holy shit! Weâre playing here all the time!â
You laugh at her ways, hugging her back tentatively. Youâd never been the best with physical affection, which was a perfect match for Pansy, who didnât seem capable of doing anything without a bear hug.
âIt was pretty rad,â Mike agrees, nodding. Cool and calm as ever.
Benny emerges from behind the drums, shaking his head of ginger hair out of his eyes. âI think we sounded alright, yeah,â he says, smiling at you.
âAlright? We sounded fucking amazing!â Pansy screeches.
You flush with embarrassment. âI couldâve hit the note a bit better onââ
âOh, would you guys stop it and just enjoy the moment!â Pansy berates, pulling back to mirthfully roll her eyes. âThe truth is we sounded great, and you know it.â
âSheâs right!â Kiara calls from below.
You turn your head and smile at her. Pansy nods in approval, pulling Mike and Benny into a conversation, as you climb down to talk to Kiara.
âYou liked it?â you ask.
âAre you kidding? You guys are awesome!â
âThanks,â you laugh, reluctant to accept the compliment.
The place is starting to fill out now that the gig and serving is done. A few people linger to chat and discuss the show, but most filter out the front and back doors. Gradually, it gets easier to hear the reggae music through the speakers. Â
âYouâve gotta meet the gang before we leave! Come on,â Kiara says as your chatter about music dies down.
Before you can register her words, sheâs grabbing at your wrist and guiding you outside to where the boys are loitering. Your meek protests fall on deaf ears and soon youâre face to face with the trio. Kiara announces your name proudly, as if presenting an award, and you awkwardly wave, barely making eye contact with any of them. Least of all JJ.
âHey,â John B smiles. He has a nice smile. Friendly and warm. âIâm John B. This is Pope-â
â-You guys sounded great, by the way,â Pope says to you. You feel overwhelmed by the praise and vaguely nod in thanks, hopefully smiling as you do.
â-And JJ.â
At his name, you find yourself looking up at him. Heâs taking a hit of his vape and offers you a smile, then he holds out his fist to bump yours. It takes you too long to clock what he means. By the time your fist hits his, heâs halfway retracted his own. Itâs already a mess. Oh God. Maybe that spilt-beer puddle on the table is deep enough to drown yourself in.
âI liked that last song.â
You blink out of your panic-filled haze and into his eyes. âThe last one?â
âYeah. The slower one that goes all loud at the end? Whatâs it called?â
âRear view.â Â
He bobs his head, the silence stretching out. Say something else. When you wrote it, maybe. Before your brain can catch up to formulate anything else outside of your blunt response, JJâs taking another hit of his vape.
âWellâŠItâs a good song.â
âThanks,â you cloddishly say.
Oh God. Itâs terrible. Itâs painful. ItâsâŠ
âYou wanna come back to the chateau and hang out?â John B wonders.
âThe chateau?â
âItâs just this dumb nickname for John Bâs house,â Kiara says.
âHey!â
âYou wanna?â she asks, ignoring him.
âOh, umâŠâ
You glance back inside The Wreck, through the window, seeing you friends chatting animatedly. Bennyâs smiling, which is always a good sign. Then you look back to Kiara and her friends. The Pogues, as she often called them. Your eyes fall on JJ last. He isnât looking at you, instead out to the distance, as if waiting to leave. Yep â you blew it. Good job.
âIâll pass,â you say, tone apologetic. âNeed to talk with my band.â
âOh. Well, let us know if you change your mind,â Kie smiles, recovering easily.
You nod and accept her offer of a hug. Then youâre walking back into the restaurant, ungainly waving goodbye to her friends. John B and Pope wave back, and JJ nods his head at you in farewell.
As soon as youâre out of ear shot, you look down at the floor and sigh.
Whispering to yourself, you canât help but say, âgood job, me.â
~*~*~*~*~*
The fishing supply shop youâd stumbled upon was more like a shack. There was a mom-and-pops feel to it; a hand painted sign that creaked when it swung in the breeze (the lingering presence of spring, fighting to stay before summer would cast it out). You push through the door, hearing the chime of the bell, and look down at the list your dad had given you. Looking back up to the rows of goods, you feel as if everything is spelt in Spanish. Sighing, you go to start searching for the things on his list. It doesnât help that heâs been wonderfully vague: lures, hooks, bait. You look at some of the boxes and take one down to inspect the label better. Youâre pretty sure these are hooksâŠ
âHey, youâre Kieâs friend, right? That chick in the band?â
Assuming somebodyâs talking to you, you look up, to the right, and come eye to eye with JJ. Your mouth instantly goes dry like the Sahara.
âYeah,â you say. Youâre trying to smile but itâs like the muscles in your face have gone lax. Why are you so Goddamn inept sometimes?
âIâm JJ,â he says, fixing his cap. âWe met at The Wreck?â
âNo, I know,â you tell him. You donât mean for it to sound rude â merely stating a fact that of course you know who he is â but through your nerves, it sounds clipped. Like heâs bothering you.
JJ nods, a little awkward himself now. âNo, yeah, of course.â
Just as youâre willing up the guts to apologise for your hopeless social skills, JJâs filling the silence once more.
âYou fish?â
âWhat?â
âDo you like fishing?â
What a weird question. âNo.â
âOh,â he says. He glances around. âThenâŠWhy are you in a fishing shop?â
Oh. Yeah, duh.
âOh, my dad does,â you say, lifting the list to show him. JJâs eyes skim it briefly and he nods, quietly letting out an âahâ. âAsked me to pick some stuff up for him.â
Oh God, shut up.
âWell, this place is a pretty good spot to go for your gear,â he tells you.
âDo you fish?â
And, good job, youâve managed to ask a normal question.
JJ smiles and it seems as if heâs relaxing into himself again. It makes you feel easier too; itâs always painful when your awkwardness rubs off on others, like the spreading of a disease.
âYeah, I do. My whole family were fishermen and stuff. Canât remember a time when I wasnât fishing,â JJ says.
Whilst you prepare yourself to ask more about his family, and what sort of fishing he does, JJâs flashing you a friendly grin and nodding down to your list.
âWell, Iâll let you get back to it. Hope you find everything.â
âOh. Yeah, thanks. Um, you too,â you reply.
You final have enough control of yourself to smile at him. It might be your delusions contorting your perception, but youâre sure JJâs smile grows a bit brighter when you do.
Turning away, you go back to staring hopelessly at the box in your hand. The front is raving about the benefits of this style of hook, reeling of jargon as if trying to impress a university professor. Itâs useless. Not only are your thoughts now hijacked by overthinking everything you said in that conversation, and the fact that JJ Maybank spoke to you on his own agenda; you still havenât learnt anything about fishing in the last five minutes. Youâll just get a receipt and your dad can come back and fix whatever mess you make of this seemingly easy errand.
âYou gonna buy those?â
JJâs still there, stood at your side. Heâs looking at the box from over your shoulder. You look up to him.
âYeah?â
âThose ones are pure crap. No, no, you want the good stuff,â JJ tells you, shaking his head.
He takes the box from your hand and replaces it with another, from a higher shelf. Tapping on the cover, he begins to read off some of the hooksâ perks (who knew there could be so many?).
âI mean, theyâre a little more expensive but you get more bang for your buck, you know? Those other onesâll snap after like four days on the water.â
When he looks back into your eyes, he must see the blank look behind them. He laughs. âJust trust me on this.â
âOkay,â you say, finding a laugh.
âHere, what elseâs on your list?â JJ asks, taking the scrap of paper from you.
You donât complain. Being in his orbit feels like youâre seeing the earth from space; even if itâs just him helping you buy fishing gear, thereâs no way youâre going to pass up this opportunity.
JJ keeps talking, jovial in tone, casually dropping reams of information and tips about fishing. As he starts moving around the store in search of items, you blindly follow, nodding along, though only half understanding what heâs saying. It just feels nice to hear him talk. He has a nice voice; one that easily brings a smile. Thereâs the strong, Carolina accent that shines through, intermixed with slang thatâs robust on the cut.
âSo, what band are you guys a tribute for?â JJ wonders as he inspects different wires.
âWhatâd you mean?â
âYou know, like whoâs music are you playing? I havenât heard it before.â
âTheyâre originals,â you say. His head whips around, eyes wide.
âNo way.â
âYeah. I, uh, wrote the songs myself,â you admit, modest.
âYou wrote them? Thatâs insane!â
âWell, theyâre not Fleetwood Mac or anythingââ
ââWell, nobodyâs Fleetwood Mac, for starters,â JJ interrupts, turning back to the wires. âAnd not anybody can write songs. I sure as hell canât. Fucking hopeless with words.â
âI find that hard to believe,â you laugh. You feel as if youâre inching out of your shell, the longer you talk to him.
His shoulders, strong and built, shrug under the cotton of his tee shirt. On the back, thereâs an emblem: Kildare County Boating Supplies. âBorn with my foot in my mouth. Never know when to shut the hell up, half the time.â
âOh, same here.â
JJ laughs. He glances over his shoulder at you. The crinkles on his cheeks from his smile give him a boyish look of innocence. âOh, youâre funny, huh?â
âNot usually,â you reply.
âNah, I doubt Kie could be friends with someone who didnât have a sense of humour,â JJ lightly argues.
He seems to have decided on a wire and picks up a box, handing it to your building pile stacked up in your arms.
âI think we got it all,â he says, checking over the list. Itâs fickle how the term âweâ makes your heart stutter.
The two of you head to the counter, gently dumping all the items. You request two bags, knowing youâll need as much help as you can get to lug it all home. JJâs still lingering by you. The cashier begins to scan through the items.
âOh, shit,â JJ mumbles, grinning. Heâs looking at a pocketknife on the counter; picks it up to inspect it.
Confused, you ask, âwhat is it?â
âItâs the latest model,â JJ says.
âThereâs different models of pocketknife?â you hear yourself ask.
JJ chuckles, still inspecting it. You notice how the cashier is eyeing him up, like he might just slip it into his pocket, then and there. He probably doesnât catch the glare you shoot at him.
âThese guys make the best ones. My dad gave me his old one and it lasted for like ten years. Damn.â
Your eyes glance down to the box he took it from, checking the price. Itâs more than what youâd pay for a pocketknife, but apparently it seems to be worth the money. JJ eventually puts it back.
âThat everything for you, dear?â the cashier checks.
JJ seems to take it as his cue to leave. Shoving his hands in his short pockets, he flashes you a smile and a nod.
âWell, Iâll see you around, Kieâs friend.â
âThanks for your help.â
âCourse,â JJ shrugs. He nods to the cashier in farewell, too, then heads out the door.
Looking to the cashier, whoâs still waiting for a reply, then down to the box of pocketknives, you smile, overcome with an idea. After youâve paid up and packed your bags as quickly as you can, you thank the cashier before darting out the store, glancing around for JJ. He hasnât gone very far, walking towards the docks. You remember Kie telling you about Popeâs dad Hayward, and how he lived on the waterside, and you put two-and-two together. Before the small bout of adrenaline can leave, along with your confidence, you jog over to him, calling his name.
JJ turns around and smiles, a little confused. âYou good?â
âHere,â you say, digging about in your short pocket to retrieve the knife. You hold out the pocketknife to him, hands shaking a bit. âAs a thank you.â
He looks down at it. Then, he begins to frown. âWhyâd you do that?â
âAs a thanks,â you repeat. Youâre still holding it out. Heart pounding in your ears. Maybe this wasnât the best idea after all. You overstepped. He was just being helpful and you made it weird, like always.
JJ scoffs, shifting his weight. He glances off to the water. Looking down at you, jaw somewhat tense, he says, âI donât need your charity, you know?â
Frowning, you reply, âitâs not charity. ItâsâŠA sign of gratitude, I guess?â
He eyes the knife like it might be laced with Anthrax. Okay, this is getting slightly ridiculous.
âLook, will you just take it? Iâve got no use for it, so itâll just go to waste if you donât,â you say impatiently.
JJâs eyes flash up to yours. Thereâs a twitch in his cheek, threatening a smirk. Chuckling quietly, he reluctantly accepts the gift.
âOkay, I will. Uh, thanks.â
âYouâre welcome,â you say, nodding. Good. That was good. The only problem is that now that youâve done that, the interaction has come to a natural end, and you have nothing else to say to fill the gaps. âWellâŠHave a good day.â
Chuckling, he nods, waving you off. âYou too.â
The moment your backâs turned to him; you exhale out the lingering nerves. Your smile doesnât fade, turning almost giddy from the fleeting conversations youâd shared. Itâs brought you too much joy that JJ just accepted a pocketknife off you; itâs practically pathetic. Nonetheless, you donât berate yourself too much. Instead, you walk home, replaying the way JJ chuckled and smiled down at you when you let your patience slip.
~*~*~*~*~*
As an introvert, youâve managed to find your way out of plenty of social gatherings. Award ceremonies? Stomach bug. Presentations? Stomach bug. House parties? You guessed it â stomach bug. Keggers? Any ideasâŠ?
One gathering that youâve never been able to get out of - nor have ever been able to say no to, out of guilt - are birthdays. Any sort of birthday celebration, no matter how big or how small, and you feel have to go. You almost feel like itâs your duty to. Friends were a rarity in your life, like finding emeralds and gold, and you didnât want to risk it by making it seem like you didnât care about someoneâs special day. Even if parties made your stomach feel like it was filled with led and you barely opened your mouth in fear that you might puke with anxiety, you force yourself to any that youâre invited to.
For Pansy, it was always a house party. Some big, ridiculous do that her rich parents would throw. Streamers and themes and a hired DJ. A huge, ridiculous cake that barely got eaten and party favours that were practically insulting in price. She didnât care all that much about it, but she was an only child and boy do rich parents like to spoil their only off-spring. It was sort of sweet though. Her parents werenât trying to buy her affection: they genuinely did care for her, and just wanted her to have a good time. So, when Pansyâs birthday rolled around, at the beginning of June â just after school finished up for summer â you get the dreaded text:
Birthday bash on Friday night: be there or else.
A knife emoji, and thenâŠ
Love ya!
You groan and toss your head back, flopping onto the pile of pillows on Kiaraâs bed. Her phone chimes a moment later and, after reading the text, she flashes you a pitiful smile.
âPansyâs birthday party?â
âMhm,â you hum.
âItâll be fun!â
Unconvinced. âMhm.â
âCome on. We can get ready together and pre-drink together and get drunk together. Itâll be great.â
Easing yourself up reluctantly, you cock a brow at her. âReally?â
âYes! Itâll be great,â she repeats, firmer as if in promise. The ding of her phone prompts her to read the second message. You watch as her eyebrows shoot up. âOh! She invited the Pogues, too.â
âLike the band?â you ask tiredly, rubbing your forehead.
You wouldnât be all that surprised. One year her parents managed to bag âThe 1975â for a birthday-shoutout-video-call. Donât ask.
Kiara rolls her eyes. âLike JJ, John B and Pope: The Pogues. Dumbass.â
Your eyes shoot open.
JJ.
Hoping to sound nonchalant, you watch Kie type away on her phone as you ask, âwell, you donât think theyâll wanna go though, right? I mean, didnât you say they hate Kooks?â
Thereâs the telling whoosh noise that a text has been sent. She looks up at you and shrugs. âThey probably will. They might hate Kooks but they love open bars.â
Great. No, yeah, thatâs great. Youâll run into JJ again and the conversation will be doubly as awkward and youâll make a fool of yourself, like you always do, and youâll go drown in the pool thatâs overflowing with your tears of embarrassment. No, great. Thatâs justâ
âGreat.â
The theme for Pansyâs seventeenth turns out to be 2000s. Sheâs dressed up as Regina George from Mean girls â the scene where she has circles cut out of her white vest top, showing through her pink bra. She sends you a picture of her costume on the night, whilst youâre at Kiaraâs getting ready.
âWoah. She looks amazing,â you grin, showing the phone to Kie.
Sheâs sat on the bed, working on her eye make-up. Momentarily glancing away from the mirror to check your phone, she smiles and gives her mark of approval. You text Pansy back, gushing over her costume, and then follow it up with a blatant lie: so excited for tonight! Tossing your phone to the side, you look in the mirror and get back to working on your hair, portioning it in two to style it into pigtails. Youâve dressed up as one of the Powerpuff Girls. Namely, Bubbles: the sweet, quiet, innocent one. In many ways, you feel as though you are Bubbles. The costumeâs fun and reminds you of childhood.
âJohn B just text me,â she tells you, glancing down at her phone thatâs pinging away. âSays theyâre still at the chateau and will probably show up later. I reckon weâll be ready to leave for Pansyâs in ten.â
âAre all of them going?â you ask. Youâre not sure what you want her answer to be.
âYep. Even Pope,â she says.
You look back into the mirror and swallow your nerves. Itâll be fine. Itâll be great, just as Kiara promised. Reaching for your bottle of cider, you down the rest and finish getting ready.
It takes about fifteen minutes to walk to Pansyâs house from Kiaraâs. The two of you start up the path towards the house. Itâs impressive. Modern and ageless, with contemporary finishes and floor-to-ceiling windows on nearly every wall. Painted exuberant white, the place stands as a monument to money. Thereâs a fountain in the front garden and an electronically powered front gate thatâs been left open for the night. The two of you head up the stairs to the front door. Music is pulsing, sneaking out the house and into the night, and you take a breath in preparation. Kie seems to notice and takes your hand, smiling and giving it a squeeze of reassurance. With that, you remind yourself why youâre putting yourself through this hell. Pansyâs birthday.
It's rammed and loud and overstimulating in every way. Thereâre couples making out on the coach and friends dancing near a speaker and two guys arguing loudly by the window. Empty cups and bottles, an abandoned bong on the coffee table (another perk of having rich parents: they let you do whatever you want). Somebodyâs already passed out on the stairs, with other party goers narrowly dodging them as they rush off to the bathroom or in search of a quiet room. Kiara guides you through the house, through the kitchen, in search for Pansy. Your hand never leaves hers. The pounding of the bass is so loud that itâs hard to tell whatâs your heartbeat and what isnât.
You spot Mike first. Heâs lent on the counter of the island, chatting to a girl you donât recognise.
âHey, Mike,â you say, finding your smile from the familiar face. He looks to you and grins.
âHey!â his low voice booms. He wraps you in a quick hug. âWasnât sure if you were gonna come?â
âYou know me,â you smile, queasy. âAnything for Pansy.â
âAmen,â he nods, tipping his beer in approval. He greets Kie, having met her at The Wreck the other week.
âYou know where Pansy is?â
âOut back, last time I checked,â he replies, nodding to the backdoor.
You thank him and drag yourself and Kie out the patio doors and into the garden. Scanning the area, you try and spot your friend. Thereâs people swimming in the pool, cannonballing in, and others dancing to the music. Someone throwing up. A bong being passed around. Beer pong and drinking Jenga andâŠItâs chaos. Keep it together.
Then, you spot Pansy. Sheâs lent against the shed, chatting away to a half-arsed Juno. Walking over, the moment she clocks you and Kiara, the other conversation is ditched. Throwing her arms out â already drunk and probably high â she gives a cheer of your names.
âYou made it!â
âBetter late than never,â Kiara grins.
You let her hug you; almost have the life squeezed out of you in the process. âHappy birthday, Pansy.â
âDamn right, itâs a happy birthday,â she grins. âLook at this rager!â
 Kiara nods in approval, taking it all in. âHaving fun?â
âI am now!â Pansy exclaims. âMaybe now that youâre here, Bennyâll finally show up.â
âBennyâs here?â you ask.
âMhm. I lost him about five minutes in, though. Heâs probably hiding under the stairs, poor thing,â she says, shaking her head. Looking to Kie, she asks, âdid the Pogues come along?â
âThey should show up at some point,â Kie nods, smiling.
âOh, yes! Finally, my plan can come into action!â Pansy says. She then gives a laugh that borders on psychotic.
You frown, befuddled. âYour plan?â
âMy set-you-up-with-JJ plan? Only been waiting since the fifth grade,â she buzzes.
Your face drops. Your stomach plummets. All your internal organs flop out of your body and land on the floor, with your heart last.
One too many drinks in Pansy, and she casually lets slip of your biggest, most pathetic secret on earth, to none other than one of JJâs best friends.
âWhat?â Kiara practically shouts. She gapes at you.
Pansyâs face quickly switches from excitement to dread, as her brain seems to catch up. âWaitâŠShit, I wasnât supposed to say that, was I?â
âNope,â you say, through gritted teeth.
Hold it together. Hold it together.
âJJ?â Kiara checks. Sheâs staring at you as if youâve just done an Irish jig.
You donât reply. Not sure you can. You swallow thickly and stare down at the floor.
Then, scarily calm, you say, âI think Iâm gonna go get another drink.â
Neither of them stops you â Pansy already distracted and Kiara practically in shell-shock â and you slink back into the house. You grab the first thing you find (another bottle of beer) and frantically search for a bottle opener, cracking it open. Downing half of it, you look around for Mike. Heâs not where he was stood before. You have no idea where the hell to even start looking for Benny. You finish the bottle and then look for another. In the process, you decide that having a shot of vodka might be alright and take a swig or two right from the bottle. Okay, maybe a little more than a shot.
Thereâs a hand on your arm, tugging, and it catches your attention.
âThere you are!â Kiara sighs in relief. âLook, itâs okay that you have a crush on JJ. If anything, itâs better than okay! Itâs kinda sweet! I just wish youâd told meââ
âKie, please, stop,â you say, shaking your head. âI really donât want to talk about this right now, alright? Pansy didnât mean to say that. I donâtâŠItâs not even true!â
She pulls a face as if to say âyeah, rightâ but doesnât argue. âWellâŠIf you ever wanna talk about itââ
â--I really donâtââ
â--But if you ever do! You can, alright?â
She means it. You can hear it in her voice and see it on her face. Sighing, you nod. She smiles at that.
âLook, Iâm not gonna tell him, okay? I would never do that,â she assures you. You smile, nodding once more. Your stomach feels like a mosh-pit.
âGood. Now, come on! I promised you a great night and I meant it.â
Kiara ropes you into a game of drinking Jenga. At some point, Pansy joins, then Mike. After three rounds â and two shots to get out of doing dares â you begin to feel weird. Itâs then that you realise, as the world becomes fuzzy and your thoughts start to mush, that all the alcohol youâve been necking is hitting at once.
Oh no.
You excuse yourself to go find the bathroom, hoping to have a moment to pull yourself together, and despite Kiaraâs instance you tell her not to follow. You just need a moment alone to calm down your heartrate. Why does it suddenly feel like itâs going to beat out of your chest now? Youâve been to Pansyâs house plenty of times before, but you suddenly feel lost. People are crammed into every room like sardines, all of them strangers, and you canât grasp your bearings. The alcohol isnât helping, nor the panic, and the longer your search for a bathroom or an empty space, the more you feel like the walls are closing in. At some point, you end up in a corridor of the house. Itâs a little quieter than in the main rooms, a few bodies lining the walls, some girls sat on the floor chatting. The only light is a single bulb hanging above. At the sight of you stumbling down the hall, one of the girls must think you look as bad as you feel.
âHey, are you okay?â she asks.
You nod, trying to smile, but youâre honestly not sure what expression is on your face anymore. The bathroom door is locked. No. The girl is coming up to you, maybe thinking sheâs being helpful, but you hate strangers and you hate conversations and you hate parties and
Why did you come?
Youâve spoken about five words to Pansy all night! Sheâd understand if you didnât; probably wouldnât even miss you. Great. Something about that thought has tears stinging your eyes, and the random girl whoâs made it her new mission in life to help you is only spurred on. Sheâs shushing you and it makes it all worse: youâre so embarrassed. If thereâs anything you dread more than talking to strangers, itâs crying in front of them. Is this a nightmare?
The sound of your name reflexively has you turning your head. Itâs JJ.
âJesus, you donât look too good,â he says.
Great.
His eyes flit to the girl uselessly trying to calm you down from your panic attack. He ushers her off you, half-arsedly thanking her, and then heâs guiding you from the hallway and through a door. Itâs a bathroom. Maybe the door youâd been trying earlier wasnât a bathroom? Itâs all so confusing. You didnât even know JJ was here; just assumed the Pogues hadnât bothered showing up. You suddenly realise that youâre still hyperventilating, in front of your crush of all people, and then you remember that Pansy let slip to Kiara that you have a crush on JJ andâŠ
âHey, hey, itâs alright,â JJâs saying. Heâs frowning at you, concerned.
Youâre shaking your head, waving him off. âIâm fine. Itâs fine. Sorry. Iâm sorry! You can go back to the party!â
That would all be believable if you werenât gasping out the words. JJ doesnât listen. He doesnât even acknowledge that youâve spoken. You donât bother to try again. The ground seems a good place to go. Solid and unmoving. You slide down the bathroom wall and gasp in air. It wonât seem to stay in your lungs, as if fighting to escape, and you start to cry.
JJâs saying your name in a soothing voice. Heâs squatting in front of you, watching as you pull your knees up to your chest. God, this is humiliating.
âWeâre gonna play a game, okay?â
A game?
âYeah, yeah. Itâs called the âfive thingsâ game, alright?â
âI donâtâŠI donât understandâŠâ you cry, shutting your eyes.
Playing a game is the last thing you need right now. You just need to breathe. Why canât you breathe?
âIâll go first, alright? I have to name five things beginning withâŠGimme a letter,â he says.
âI canât.â
âYes, you can. You write songs, for Christâs sake,â he laughs, tone gentle. âCome on. One letter. Thatâs all Iâm asking.â
You sort of want him to shut up, so you scramble through your thoughts. âT.â
âOkay, alright. I have to name five things beginning with âTâ,â JJ says.
All you can hear is your panting for a while. You feel lightheaded.
âUmâŠToothbrush. Thatâs one. How aboutâŠâ
You crack open your eyes. Heâs looking around the room. You notice his capâs abandoned on the floor. Move your eyes to his legs, mostly bare save for his shorts, and to his chest.
âTee shirt,â you offer, breathless. JJâs head whips around to look at you. He smiles encouragingly.
âYeah, tee shirt. Okay, three more.â
You begin to glance around the room. Stomach still rising and falling, you try and search for something beginning with âTâ. Itâs suddenly become the most important thing in the world.
âToilet,â you say as your eyes drift over to it. âAnd toilet brush.â
âDamn, youâre on a roll,â JJ chuckles. You barely manage a laugh. Your head doesnât feel as fuzzy anymore. âJust one more.â
Itâs then that you realise heâs had a hand on your knee the whole time. Rubbing slow, concentric circles on the skin. You start to focus on the feeling of it, looking down as he does it. Heâs gone back to searching the room, as if heâs forgotten heâs doing it.
âTouch.â
JJ frowns, looking back to you, then following your gaze to his hand. His smile is almost shy. âYeah, that counts. Touch.â
The panic attack has eased off. Your lungs are finally doing their job, filling with air and holding it for longer than a millisecond. Exhaling slowly, closing your eyes, you tilt your head back against the wall.
âBetter?â JJ wonders.
âA little. Thank you, for helping I mean,â you say.
âDonât mention it. I know how shit it feels. Iâve had my fair share of panic attacks,â JJ tells you.
Thereâs a shuffle as he moves to sit on the floor. He retracts his hand from your knee and you immediately miss the feel. Opening your eyes, you look at him with a frown.
âYou have?â
âMhm,â he nods. âJohn B had to calm me down almost everyday at one point. It sucked.â
âIs that where you learnt that trick?â
âYeah,â JJ says, offering a small smile. âItâs a good distraction.â
You nod. Youâve never tried it before. Always found that you could ground yourself with your breathing, but everything out there was too much, too crazy, for you to focus. Correcting how you sit, crossing your legs (the skater skirt smoothing out over your thighs), you sigh and hang your head.
âI hate parties.â
JJ chuckles. âNo kidding.â
You snort, shaking your head.
âBut hey, least you look pretty though.â
You look up. Thereâs very little energy left in you to overthink what heâs just said. No room left to panic.
âI do?â
âYeah,â he smiles. âI like your costume.â
âThanks,â you mumble. Your fingers move down to mess with the hem of your skirt.
âWhoâre you meant to be?â
You canât help but bark out a laugh. âHow can you like my costume when you donât even know who I am?â
JJ laughs, after seemingly being taken aback by your outburst. âI dunno. I like that skirt on you.â
âIâm Bubbles. From the Powerpuff Girls,â you tell him as your laughter dies down.
Realisation flashes across his face as quick as a comet darting through the sky. âOh! Oh shit, of course!â
âYouâve seen it?â
âHell yeah!â JJ grins. âMojo Jojo was my favourite character as a kid!â
âUgh, heâs iconic,â you groan happily, tossing your head back.
âThat one episode, when he gets told off by the professor,â JJ reminisces excitedly.
âI loved that one!â
The two of you laugh.
âWhoâre you meant to be?â
âUmâŠWell, I didnât get the memo itâs a costume party,â he admits with a wince, smiling.
âYou could say youâre fromâŠThe Hangover?â you offer after a momentâs thought.
JJ cringes. âThat might be worse than just saying I forgot to wear a costume.â
You laugh, nodding. âTrue.â
Thereâs a brief moment where the two of you just look at one another, smiling contently. You always knew JJ was pretty (as Pansy so graciously revealed to Kie earlier), but up close, under the white light of the bathroom, heâs gorgeous. A cute smile, shining eyes. The most perfect jawline that you could write reams of songs about just on its own.
âThink this is the most youâve ever spoken to me,â JJ points out.
Your smile turns solemn, nodding. When you reply, you talk quietly, as if revealing a secret.
âIâm not very good at talking to people.â
âCan I ask you a question, then?â
âMhm.â
âWhyâd you come to this house party? Doesnât really seem to be your scene,â JJ asks.
Nodding, affirming his theory, you shrug and look down at his feet. Heâs wearing black boots, shiny and heavy.
âItâs Pansyâs birthday, and sheâs always been a big birthday fan. Sheâs one of my closest friends and sheâs always there for me; always has my back. So, I figure, I can hack one night of the year at a stupid, over-the-top party for her. And usually I canâŠBut I guess, I just couldnât tonight.â
As you finish talking, you lift your head to take in JJâs reaction. Heâs nodding, a small smile still on his face.
âYouâre a good friend.â
âI donât know about that.â
âYou are,â he affirms. Your face goes warm and you shrug. Laughing, he adds, âyouâre also shit at accepting compliments. I noticed that when we first met after your gig.â
You chuckle. Looking up to the ceiling, you feel your confession bubbling out of you, likely driven by the alcohol. âYeah, well, all what I remember after the gig is thinking that you didnât like me.â
âWhat?â
âYeah,â you say, chuckling in self-deprecation. You meet JJâs eyes, see the confusion shining in them. âYou sorta seemed uninterested to talk to me. Which is fine, I figured you would be. But after the fishing shop - and now tonight - Iâm starting to think I was wrong?â
âYeah, youâre wrong,â JJ laughs. Heâs not laughing at you, though. Itâs almost as if heâs laughing at himself.
He rocks his head back and nods at the ceiling, pursing his lips in thought.
âIâm sorry if I made you feel like that, at The Wreck. Itâs justâŠKiara told me you were kinda quiet, before we met, and Iâm kind ofâŠnot. I didnât wanna freak you out or anything, so I tried to be more chill. Guess it had the opposite effect though.â
Thereâs a selcouth feeling in your body when JJ speaks. Itâs like something in your chest lurches. In your stomach, thereâs a feeling like the butterflies you get before a show, but theyâre sweeter and gentler, as if calming down in preparation to cocoon. As if the nerves are fading and youâre desensitised.
He looks back down at you, right into your eyes, and you wonder if he can see into your thoughts. If he can see how much you like him.
âWell, I think weâre friends now, so, no hard feelings,â you tentatively say. JJ cracks a smile, nodding.
âYeah. Weâre friends,â he assures you.
Strange, how something that you thought would bring you so much joy only makes you feel a little bit worse than before.
~*~*~*~*~*
Itâs dark in the chateau, the kitchen counter only illuminated by a single orange-hued lamp. Youâre halfway measuring out some sugar when you think you hear a noise. The creak of a floorboard. Frowning, you hesitantly start towards the corridor, where the soundâs coming from. Maybe something got in the house? A raccoon?
JJ rounds the corner the same time you do, almost bumping into you. He lets out a yelp and grabs at his heart, the same time you jump back about ten feet.
âJesus Christ,â he gasps, laughing. âYou scared the shit outta me.â
âSorry,â you smile in apology (as if he hadnât made you almost crap yourself too).
âThought you were Big Johnâs ghost or something,â JJ mumbles, rubbing at his face tiredly.
You frown, walking back to the counter where youâd previously been. âAre you saying I look like John Bâs dad?â
âNo you- Thatâs not â You look very womanly-â
He cuts off his rambles with a sigh, shaking his head as he laughs at himself. Running his fingers through his bedhead, he seems to come to a realisation that youâre not usually at the chateau.
âWait? What are you even doing here? Itâs late.â
âWent surfing with Kie. Got tired, took a nap on the pull-out, woke up about ten minutes ago,â you explain, keeping your voice soft as to not wake-up John B.
âCanât fall back asleep?â JJ asks.
âWide awake.â
âDamn. Hate when that happens. How come youâre in the kitchen?â
âThought Iâd make brownies,â you shrug. You pick up the box of cocoa powder and the bag of flour, showing them to JJ. âYou guys have all the ingredients.â
âGod, brownies sound so good right now,â JJ moans, tossing his head back.
Laughing, you go back to measuring out flour with a cup. JJ goes to the fridge. The white light shines bright on his face. Thereâs the indent of the pillow on his cheek. His eyes are squinting against the light, a little bleary from sleep.
âCome to think, the last time I had brownies, they were these amazing edibles,â he says as he searches for something to take.
âOh? Were they good?â
âSo good,â he says. JJ grabs a carton of juice and hops onto the far counter to sit, taking swigs.
âI probably have enough stuff to bake a batch of edibles too, to be honest,â you offer after a momentâs thought. Looking to him, hands dusted with flour, you ask, âyou got enough to spare?â
âHell yeah!â JJ grins.
Ever since you and JJ bonded at the party, you feel as though thereâs been a barrier removed. He isnât as scary as you thought he would be. Easier to talk to than you imagined.
âIâve always kinda wanted to try them,â you admit.
âWait, have you ever smoked before?â
You chuckle down at the bowl, then sarcastically ask, âWhat do you think?â
âReally?â JJ gapes. âI thought youâd be all for it. Itâd probably help you relax and stuffâŠâ
He almost cuts himself off, as if trying to reel in his words. âIâŠI meanâŠâ
You canât help but glance to him, face serious as you deadpan, âwhat do you mean? Iâm like the most laid-back person ever.â
JJâs crystal-clear panic that heâs genuinely offended you has you breaking your façade with a quiet laugh.
âIâm joking. Iâm probably the most high-strung person ever. Feel like weed was kinda made for me.â
JJ laughs too, giving a small sigh of relief.
âIâm kinda curious to see what youâre like high,â he tells you.
âMe too. Hopefully it doesnât have me bouncing off the walls,â you say.
âNah. Thatâs coke thatâll do that to you. Hard to imagine you on coke.â
âYou tried it?â You wonder, non-judgemental as you ask.
JJ shrugs. He has another swig of juice. The muscle tee heâs wearing hangs lose on his built frame.
âOnce or twice. My dadâs sorta a junkie though. Put me off, you know?â
âShit. Iâm sorry,â you softly reply.
JJ hadnât mentioned his family a lot, but neither had you and neither does anybody. Youâd heard the passing news of JJâs dad being involved in some sort of pharmacy robbery in the county for Oxytocin, but never dug about. It wasnât any of your business, and the malicious world of medicine and addiction wasnât some black and white picture like the Kooks at school liked to paint it out to be.
Shrugging it off, clearly not in the mood to get into it, JJ asks, âwas that fishing stuff you got for your dad useful?â
âYeah,â you say. Youâve started on the wet ingredients now: cracking eggs into a measuring jug. âHis exact words were, âI never knew you had such a gift for fishingâ. I think Iâm gonna become his fish-fetching-bitch now.â
JJ barks out a laugh. âYou know, I never expected you to be funny.â
You roll your eyes as you begin to fold the wet ingredients into the dry. âIâm not.â
âYou are. Youâre also cute when you bake.â
âCan you not compliment me?â you nervously chuckle. âIt makes me uncomfortable. Not cause of you, itâs justâŠIâm not good with the complimenting thing.â
âToo late. Itâs my lifeâs mission to get you to actually accept a compliment without going all-â
You catch him do an overemphasised impression of you becoming flustered. You scrunch your nose in light-hearted disapproval. He grins at you as he snaps out of the character.
â-You know?â
âWell, I hope youâve got a long life,â is all you say. âWanna grab the goods?â
JJ hops off the counter with newfound fever, making you laugh. When he returns, he stands beside you, juice carton ditched to the side. He smells like soap and weed and smoke from the bonfire. You go to grab the plastic bag from him but he pulls it out of reach, looking down at you in disapproval.
âWhat?â
âThis is Kildareâs finest bud,â JJ scorns. He gently places it in your hand. Cupping your fingers around it, he envelopes your hand with his. His touch is warm. âYou gotta treat it with care. Itâs the meaning of life itself.â
âI thought the meaning of life was enlightenment,â you mumble, distracted. Youâre pretty sure your heart might beat out of your chest.
âMeh. Depends who you ask.â
He takes his hand off yours and letâs you open the bag. The smell of marijuana hits, full force. Before you go to mix it in, you need to check the brownie base is up to scratch. Youâve been perfecting your recipe for years. Dipping in a finger, you suck it clean, debating the flavour. Unsure, you grab for the spatula and scoop some batter up, holding it out to JJ without thinking. Youâre a little surprised to catch him staring at you.
âWanna try?â
For once, JJ doesnât say anything. Just takes the spatula and has a lick. His eyes widen. âOh my god. Thatâs so good.â
âItâs alright.â
âItâs amazing.â
âIâve made better,â you find yourself saying, and maybe he has a point about the whole complimentsâ thingâŠ
You tip in some of the bud as JJ finishes licking the spatula clean.
âYouâre like a triple thread, arenât you?â JJ says.
As you mix, moving to prop the bowl against your waist, cradled in your arm, you frown.
âA triple thread?â
Listing with the spatula, he says, âShe can bake, she can singââ
ââsheâs socially inept,â you sarcastically finish.
âYouâre not socially inept,â JJ says. When he dips the spatula back in for a second taste, you donât bother fighting back. âJust a little quiet, is all.â
âNo, no, Iâm like a lost cause,â you chuckle. âIâm fine with it, for the most part. I just donât like not knowing what people are gonna ask me. I get all nervous, thinking Iâm gonna make a fool of myself or something. It all just snowballs until itâs easier to justâŠnot try.â
JJ nods, listening, licking the plastic utensil clean.
âWell, I donât know. Maybe itâs good that youâre a quiet person. Helps balance out the world,â he offers.
âHowâd you mean?â
âLike, Iâm one end of the spectrum, yeah?â He gestures wildly to one side of the kitchen. âAnd then youâre the other.â
His theatrics create an imaginary continuum. He lists his friends, labelling them on this make-believe spectrum, doing it in such a way that has you laughing at his antics.
âThink people sometimes forget being quiet isnât the same as being boring,â JJ thinks aloud.
You smile. Itâs a nice way to summarise it. Youâre not a rock: you enjoy spending time with friends and you have hobbies and interests. When you feel in control of the situation, you can even tolerate crowds. But when you donât speak a lot, loiter around at parties or keggers, and get nervous to read in front of a class, people make an assumption that youâre dull. Thereâs not much coming out of your mouth so there canât be much going on in your head. Itâs almost a relief to hear from JJ, of all people, that not everybody thinks that way. Makes your heart do funny things, as if he didnât already have enough power over your emotions.
JJ leans in to take one more scoop from the bowl. As he does, his shirt slips forward enough for you to catch a glimpse of a hickey on his collarbone. Fresh purple, not yet bruising. It hurts more than you expect it to. A clear-cut reminder of who he is, and who youâre not, and who you never will be. That JJ sees you nothing more than a friend â Kieâs friend â and that heâd never look your way becauseâŠWell, because why would he?
You distract yourself by looking back down into the bowl, continuing to mix.
The two of you finish preparing the brownies and set them to cook in the oven. As you wait, you sit on the opposite counter to him, falling into a conversation about surfing and snacks. Heâs fighting for justice for peanut-butter jelly sandwiches whilst youâre battling for the recognition of Nutella sandwiches. Itâs easy and comfortable, and as the sun slips into view through the window â its rays chasing up the floorboards â the brownies cook and cool, and you do your best to enjoy the moment and not think about the hickey on his chest.
~*~*~*~*~*
Now that summer had begun and school had ended, it felt the days stretched on for miles. Light mornings and lighter nights. Good weather near daily. The odd hurricane warning and occasional storm to give the water a drink, and then back to beauty. You decided not to waste a minute of it. Most days were spent with you band, writing songs and practising for gigs. Pansy was constantly on the search for new shows and venues that would let you play. Kiaraâs parents were already talking about letting you guys do another gig at The Wreck. Benny had taken it on to try and teach you how to play the drums, even though it was halfway hopeless. It meant that youâd been hanging out at his house a lot more. You didnât mind; liked his company.
Kiara had you hanging out with the Pogues near daily too. Youâd become a regular at the chateau, with Pansy sometimes tagging along, and had felt more and more comfortable around all the guys. Especially JJ. Whatever awkwardness that used to linger between the two of you had mostly vanished. He didnât seem to hold back anymore; being his usual, effervescent self. âYoung, dumb and brokeâ, Kie dubbed him.
âHey, are you listening?â Benny asks you from behind the drum kit.
You look up from your phone, having read a text from Kie. Weâll be at Bennyâs in five minutes.
âJust replying to Kie,â you tell him. âIâm going surfing with the Pogues.â
âSurfing? Since when did you like surfing?â
âSince this summer,â you shrug, pocketing your phone. You get up from your spot on the floor and walk around the drum kit, standing by his side.
Benny practised in his garage. His dad had soundproofed the place. Today was a hot one, leaving you no choice but to open the front shutter. The picture-book street he lived on was mostly empty, asides from the odd couples walking their dog or a kid flashing by on their bicycle.
You glance down at him, placing a hand on his shoulder. âPlay it again?â
He smiles up at you and begins to play a beat, lips flattening in concentration. You smile as you watch him play. Some people are born musicians. They have a gift to find rhythm, can escape within it. Benny was one of those people. For someone so quiet, you found it funny how he settled on choosing the loudest instrument.
You nod your head to the beat. Shouting over the kick-drum, you say, âit sounds good! Think Pansyâll find a good riff for it?â
âIâm more excited to hear your lyrics,â he loudly returns.
Coming up with lyrics hadnât been any problem as of late. Your inspiration had never been more fruitful, for good and for bad, all thanks to a certain blonde haired boy.
He finished the repetitive rhythm, ending with the hi-hat. As he looks up at you, shaking his ginger hair off his damp forehead, he smiles.
âYour hair looks pretty today,â he tells you.
You take your hand from off his shoulder to touch at it, as if on reflex. âIt does?â
âYeah.â
âOh. Thanks,â you say, smiling. âYou donât look to bad yourself, for it being like one-hundred degrees outside.â
Bennyâs cheeks shine pink. He looks down at the drum kit in thought. âYou wanna give it a try?â
âThe drums?â
âMhm.â
âI thought weâd learnt by now that me and drums donât mix,â you laugh, shaking your head.
Benny wonât seem to take no for an answer, shoving the sticks into your hands. âJust, give it a try. Youâre good at everything.â
âNot true,â you sing-song, but oblige in taking his seat.
Joking around, you tap a beat above your head on the sticks, counting yourself in like a rockstar. Then, youâre stumbling through a simple beat, laughing at your frequent mistakes. Bennyâs smiling at you â you can see it in your peripheral â and nodding along as if youâre playing like a pro.
âYo! Didnât know Travis Barker lives here?â
At the sound of JJâs shout, you stop and look up, laughing.
âYeah. The Kardashianâs are just across the street,â you joke along. Benny comes to stand behind you as the rest of the Pogues walk into the garage.
âIâd believe it. Anythingâs possible in Kook land,â John B shrugs.
Popeâs sauntering behind. âYou ready to go surfing?â
âYeah. Just need to grab my bag from the kitchen,â you say.
Thereâs the sudden feel of Bennyâs hands on your shoulders, squeezing gently. He brushes some of your hair off one of them as he replies. âIâll go grab it for you.â
Blinking away the surprise, you turn to catch a glimpse of the boyâs back as he darts into the house. That was weird.
Kiara starts talking about the waves theyâve already spotted. You move to stand, looking back to the Pogues to see that JJâs staring at the door that Benny just went through. His hands are in his short pockets, jaw locked tight, as if heâs annoyed. That makes two weird things.
Walking over to your friends, laughing under breath at a joke John B makes, you nudge your shoulder against JJâs bicep, hoping to lighten his mood. He looks down at you and smiles, tension somewhat fading. Benny returns with your bag, handing it to you, and you give him a wave farewell. Then, yourself and the Pogues are heading out the garage and into the banged-up Twinkie.
By the time you get to the beach, itâs late afternoon. Sunset is beginning to creep, teasing at the earth by patterning the sky with pink and orange. That doesnât put the five of you off surfing. Instead, itâs like it spurs you on. Paddling out deeper into the waves, you hear Kiara give a small âwhoopâ as you all turn to watch John B ride on the water. The rest of you are quick to join. You know how to surf; learnt when you were a kid. Having never had many friends, you didnât surf all that often. But after meeting Kie â an avid surfer â and now hanging out with the Pogues, you found yourself out on the water more and more.
After an hour or so of surfing, the sky nearing dusk, you and JJ take a moment. JJ sits on his board, floating near you. You look down at your legs, kicking back and forth leisurely in the water.
âYou have fun at Bennyâs?â JJ asks.
You glance over to him. Heâs watching the Pogues surf.
âI guess,â you shrug. âWeâre working on some new stuff.â
JJ nods. His wet hair makes the highlights of blonde darker, curling slightly at the ends from the sea salt. It hangs shaggy over his face. Bare back, muscles taught, freckle-kissed from being out all day.
âWhy are you acting all weird?â you canât help but ask.
He looks to you. âIâm not acting weird.â
âYes, you kinda are.â
âIâm not.â
âJJ, things havenât been weird with us since the party. I donât want them to go back to how they were before.â
âItâs not weird!â
âLook, if I did somethingââ
âYou didnât do anything, alright? Itâs all good,â JJ insists. He nods at you, affirmingly, but you canât shake the feeling that heâs lying.
You sigh and lay on your back on the board. Closing your eyes, you bask in the remnants of sunlight. If he doesnât want to talk, you wonât force it. You know more than anyone how awful it feels to have words forced out of you.
The moment of bliss is interrupted by the feeling of cold, seawater splashing over you. You gasp, sitting up in shock. JJâs laughing his ass off, hands on his chest. You glare through a smile and shake your head.
âOh, youâre in for it, Maybank.â
His laughter doesnât cease. Heâs looking to you again, quirking a brow. âOh, am I?â
âUh huh,â you grin. You kick a splash at him, barely making enough to cover his legs.
âThat was pitiful.â
âShut up,â you chide.
âYou Kooks canât do anything right.â
With that, youâre jumping off your board and swimming over to his. He doesnât have time to paddle away. You come to a stop by the side of his board and splash at him from up close, getting him perfectly in the face. He winces, laughing, spluttering out some water that seeps into his mouth.
âThatâs cheating!â
You roll your eyes and grin, hoisting yourself onto his board. He starts to protest through his laughs, moving to wrestle you off, and in the process, you end up pulling him into the water with you. The two of you emerge, laughing, drenched like drowned rats. You brush your hair out of your face and wipe the water out of your eyes. When you open them, blinking past the sting of the salt, JJâs watching you. Thereâs a strange look on his face, one that you think you mightâve seen before. The longer you look at him, the shadow of a smile resting comfortably on your sun-kissed cheeks, the easier you find to place it. From the gig, during the last song, when he seemed almost absent in thought.
Before you can dwell much longer, JJ seems to snap himself out of his haze. He shakes his hair of the water and pulls himself back onto his board.
âWe should probably start heading back to shore,â he says.
That was weird.
You frown but donât argue. Returning to your board, you listen as JJ hollers that the two of you are heading back to land, and then you both start to paddle. The gang soon follows. Wading out the water, carrying your board, the five of you head to where youâd dumped your stuff. JJ makes quick work of building a fire. Pope and Kiara dip into the snacks and drinks youâd brought, passing them around. You dig about in one of the bags for some water, instead coming out with a Uke. The stickers on it hint at it being Kieâs. Hanging onto it, you look around and decide to take the empty spot on the sand next to JJ. The water from your wet hair dribbles down your back. In the embers, you feel yourself beginning to dry.
JJ hands you a cider, taking the cap off using the pocketknife you bought him. You have a sip. Â
âThat was a pretty good surf,â Kie says, leaning back on her forearms.
Popeâs taken out his book, using his hoodie as a makeshift pillow to sit against as he reads.
âJust think tomorrow, we get to do it all again,â John B grins.
Kie clinks the neck of her bottle with his. âHereâs to that.â
Sand working as a makeshift bottle holder, youâve taken to picking out random notes on the uke, absentmindedly tuning it.
âWhat you up to tomorrow?â JJ asks.
You look up at him. Heâs put his cap back on; a green one, worn around the edges of the beak.
âChilling out at home and practising, I think. Pansy managed to get us a gig at the June-Jam.â
âWait, isnât that kinda a big deal?â Kiara says. She mustâve been eavesdropping.
You shrug. âItâs only a fifteen-minute slot.â
âBut the June-Jam Fair?â
âYeah, folks from all over the county come out for that,â John B agrees, smiling.
âMy dadâs setting up a shop there,â Pope tells you, looking up from his book. âIf you guys need a snack, heâll hook you up for free.â
âThanks,â you smile, grateful.
âWhen is it?â
âCouple weeksâ time.â
âWeâre coming,â Kiara declares. You chuckle, flustered and flattered at once.
âYou donât have to.â
âWell, we are, soâŠâ
âYou gonna play any of the new stuff youâve been working on?â JJ wonders.
âMaybe,â you say. Fingers still chipping away at the strings, you shrug. âGot a few ideas thatâre coming together.â
âGonna play my favourite?â
âOf course,â you say. Rear view. Heâd mentioned several times since hanging out with you how much he liked that song.
JJ sighs and moves to rest his head on your thighs. You donât complain. Feel your heart stammer at having him so near, so comfortable in your presence. He takes his pocketknife out and begins to mess with it. The campfire light reflects off the blade as it zips in and out of sight.
John B and Kie have fallen into a conversation of their own and Pope is lost to the world of fiction.
âWhyâd you like that song so much? Iâve written better ones,â you ask JJ.
He shrugs. Tips his cap over his face, as if taking a nap. âJust makes me think of things. I like the lyrics.â
âWhat kinda things?â
âFamily things, maybe? Maybe not,â JJ vaguely replies. You hum, nodding.
You stare at the crackling fire. Small sheds of burnt up wood spit off into the air, fading away like dust, hiding into the smoke. Thereâs the cosy smell it churns up, tinted with the sea water thatâs coated your skin. The rustle of movement has you looking back down to JJ, watching him retrieve a blunt and his lighter. He sighs. Balancing the joint between his lips, he flicks the lighter to life. On the metal of it is his carved initials. JJ. As you watch him take a drag, overcome with the smell of weed, you wonder how your life lined up in a way to end up here. Fifth grade you would have a fit if she knew you were hanging out with JJ Maybank. Hell, current you isnât far off doing the same.
He's so effortlessly pretty. Maybe itâs because he has an aura about him that he doesnât care what people think. Self-assured and light â all that you envy. Thereâs the faded colouring of a bruise on the apple of his cheek from a scruff he got into at a kegger the other night. The thought of the kegger that you didnât attend makes your head stammer.
It seems whenever you let yourself fade into the fantasies of wondering what it might be like to have JJ as more than a friend (if he were to ever lean that way towards you), reality always finds a way to sink in. The reality that JJ is the loudest example of an extrovert, and you the spitting image of an introvert. He can pull chicks any time he wants, practically just has to look at them to have them swoon. Lies as if itâs second nature and strikes up conversations with strangers as though theyâre lifelong friends. Crowds donât make him uneasy and he can glide through a house party without needing to hide in the bathroom during a meltdown. Heâs funny and charming and likeable.
But you? You spend your evenings sat in your room or on the porch, song writing, living in the safety of a daydream. Baking into the early hours of the morning and socialising with a select few individuals who had the patience to get to know you. Quiet and simple and boring. What the hell would JJ want with that?
Sighing, you hear yourself strumming out a melody. It seems to have naturally emerged from trial and error of messing with notes. You look down to watch your fingers work. Thereâs a melancholic undertone to the tune youâve found, different to the one Pansy had shown you on the guitar, when the song had started to form.
Kiara and John Bâs conversation momentarily dwindles at the sound of your playing. You try not to be discouraged, knowing they donât mind the disturbance. JJ takes another hit of the bud, blowing it out and up into the air. After the chorus, you let the music fade away; the songâs only half-finished.
âThat new?â
âMhm,â you say, nodding. Youâre looking at the stickers: Animal Rights in a pink, cartoon love heartâŠ
âYouâve got the prettiest voice,â JJ quietly tells you. So quiet, youâre not entirely sure he did say it, or if youâve contorted the murmurs of John B and Kieâs conversation, and the crackles of the fire, and the slosh of the waves, into something of a fantasy.
But, when you look down to him, heâs got this vacant smile on his face. âIâm real glad Kie introduced us.â
âMe too,â you smile.
Under his gaze, you feel how you imagine flowers do when the sun allows them to bloom. Itâs a blissful rarity, to be affected by someone in such a way. Overwhelming, even. You force yourself to look away, towards the fire.
It hurts too much to stare at something you canât have. Â
~*~*~*~*~*~*
The June-Jam Fair comes around faster than you expect. Itâs like being caught off guard like a lorry switching lanes without indicating. You only feel half prepared when you and the band are loading up Bennyâs dadâs van.
âWho packed the back-up wires?â Pansy worries.
âI did,â Mike grunts, lifting one of the amps into the hold.
âMicrophone stand?â
âGot it,â you say, sliding in a box of electronics.
âOkay, then, I think thatâs everything,â she mumbles.
Sheâs spent the last ten minutes running through a mental list of every piece of musical equipment to ever exist. You wouldnât be surprised if on the way to the fair, she starts listing off all the ways the show could go wrong (though that does seem more Bennyâs style): guitar string breaking; microphone stops working; nuclear strikeâŠ
Itâs hard to believe that the gig at The Wreck was three months ago, now. Youâd spent the majority of the previous months hanging out with the Pogues, finding it hard to fathom how you killed the hours before knowing them.
As the four of you load into the van, with you and Benny in the front, Mike takes control of the aux. As him and Pansy sing along, venting out their pre-show nerves, you strike up conversation with the ginger haired boy. Heâs been quiet â quieter than usual â with his fingers tapping on the steering wheel, a drummerâs habit. Â
âI feel like I havenât spoken to you in ages,â you half-laugh, somewhat awkward. âSummerâs going so fast.â
âWell, you dip at the end of nearly every band practise to hang out with your new friends, so,â Benny grumbles.
He seems mad about it, more than you expected him to be.
âI donât âdipâ, I just head-out,â you say.
âYeah. All the time,â Benny mumbles.
Frowning, you say sincerely, âIâm sorry. I didnât realise it was bothering you guys so much. I just like hanging out with the Pogues. Theyâre fun.â
Benny sighs, shaking his head. âNo, itâs cool. Itâs justâŠI just missing having you around, is all.â
âBut, I am around. I still come to band practise. Hell, we all got breakfast the other day.â
âThatâs not what I mean,â he says, shaking his head once more. âIt doesnât matter.â
âIf itâs messing with our friendship then it does matter, Benny,â you say.
You see him debate whether to expand or not. In the end, he does. As he speaks, he looks at you.
âI miss me and you hanging out, is what I mean.â
Your lips part. Oh. âWell, we can still do that.â
âWe can?â
âYeah, of course,â you smile. âHow about tomorrow we go for food or something?â
âYeah?â
âSure.â
âWhy not tonight?â he wonders, looking back to the road.
âIâm hanging out with the Pogues tonight,â you say, apologetically. âJJ and Kie and everyone.â
âJJ,â Benny repeats. He says it under breath, in a scoff, like he didnât mean to let it slip.
You frown. âWhat? Donât you like him?â
âNo, yeah, heâsâŠHeâs a character,â Benny settles on, giving you the briefest of looks as he replies. âI just donât see why heâd wanna hang around with you so much.â
You try and ignore the sting of his words, digging into your chest like the horn of a thistle. âWhatâd you mean?â
âYou two barely have anything in common. I just find it kinda weird how you get along so well,â Benny explains. His voice is always gentle, soft and non-demanding, but somehow it doesnât lessen the blow. âYou talk about him all the time. All the dumb shit you get up to. Not to mention how much weed youâve been smoking with him. Just find it weird how youâre suddenly the type of person who gets along with JJ Maybank.â
âWell, I justâŠam,â you say, shrugging. Off put from the conversation, you look out the passenger window.
âI know you like him.â
Crap. Your stomach flips. âNo, I donât.â
âOf course you do,â Benny says, laughing. âWho doesnât? Heâs an attractive guy, Iâm not stupid. Heâs an adrenaline junky and a bad-boy, and everybody loves a bad-boy, donât they?â
âHeâs not a âbad-boyâ, Benny. Sides, who actually says that, outside of the movies?â you add, hoping to recover the exchange into something light.
âHeâs trouble, is what he is,â Benny tells you. His voice is firm and definitive. The way he says it makes you think back to the fishing shop, and how the cashier was watching JJ like a hawk.
âHeâs not trouble,â you reply, trying not to keep your tone softer. âHeâs nice.â
âNice,â Benny scoffs. Licking his teeth, he nods, staring ahead at the road. âSure. Whatever you need to tell yourself.â
The foul taste from the conversation with Benny doesnât ease up for the rest of the journey. It lingers in your throat as you set-up on stage and comes back, full force, when the Pogues come over to greet you. Wish you luck for the show. The rough feeling of JJâs knuckles, and the cold press of his rings, when you fist bump him. How he knows that you donât like to hug before shows, with your anxiety sky-high. As you sing through the songs, talk to the crowd, work through the nerves that never fully fade, you find yourself looking to JJ more and more. Whenever you do, thereâs Bennyâs voice in the back of your head, almost judgemental as he repeats the mantra: âI just donât see why heâd wanna hang around with you so much.â
Was he right? Does JJ just like seeing how he can make you nervous? Enjoys watching you squirm and fumble through social interactions, wade through his compliments as gracefully as a paralysed ballet dancer?
No, heâs not mean. Heâs kind and heâs soft with you, but not in a way that makes you feel like youâre made of glass. He knows how to joke with you, how to get a laugh from you. Knows how far to push and when to pull back. JJ knows you. Heâs your friend. He wants to be your friend. Doesnât he?
Or did Kie talk to him, after all? Heâd said how sheâd told him you were quiet before the gig at The Wreck, as if warning him off. After the party, how do you know that she didnât hunt him down before he bumped into you in the bathroom? That she told him about your pathetic school-girl crush, and it bolstered his ego, and he found himself trapped in this awkward thing of having to be friends with the weird, quiet girl who has an unattainable crush on himâŠ
As your overthinking goes to hell quicker than a penny falling from the Empire State Building, you manage to keep up with the songs and belt out the lyrics. You canât bring yourself to look at JJ when you conclude on Rear View. Have to close your eyes. The lyrics sting a bit too much. More than they usually do.
The Pogues are waiting at the end of the show.
âThat was dope, you guys! Everyone loved it!â Kiara buzzes, high-fiving Pansy.
âMight be our best show yet,â Mike agrees, nodding. Heâs packing away his bass.
âWeâre gonna head off in about ten minutes or so,â Kie says.
âPopeâs meeting us at the Chateau later. His dad roped him into helping out,â John B tells you.
âYou guys are coming right?â Kie asks the four of you.
Mike looks up from his spot near the amp, unplugging wires. âIâm gonna pass. Got a date.â
âYouâve got a date?â Pansy gapes.
âYeah?â
âWith who?â
âThis chick I met at your birthday party,â he shrugs. You have a vague memory of seeing him talking to a girl, before you went up to him that night.
âWhy are you so secretive, Mike? What other second-lives are you leading?â Pansy teases.
Mike rolls his eyes, giving a covert smiling. âThey die with me. Iâll see yâall later.â
As he waves farewell and walks away, Pansy shakes her head, almost impressed. âGod bless that weird, strange man.â
âSo that leaves three?â John B checks, pointing to you three.
You still havenât looked at JJ. Pansy answers on your behalf. âWell, us two definitely are. Benny?â
âIâll pass. Iâve got a curfew,â Benny says.
âMost Kook thing Iâve ever heard,â JJ sniggers.
âYeah? Well, Iâm sure itâs nice having parents who donât give a shit,â Benny replies sharply.
You frown. Looking to Benny, your eyes are narrowed in confusion.
JJ frowns too, only for different reasons. Staring him down, he stands a head higher.
âWhatâd you say, princess?â
âLook, man, Iâm sorry your dadâs a criminal but I donât see what thatâs gotta do with me.â
JJâs jaw goes rigid. His body tenses. Anger comes over him suddenly like a hurricane. He takes a step forward, gladly getting in Bennyâs face. JJâs taller, broader, stronger. Bennyâs hours spent playing the drums donât stand a chance in a round with him.
âYou wanna say that again, Kook?â
âGuys, come on,â Kie says, trying to step between them.
âYou like messing with her, huh? You having fun with it? Like having her gawking after you?â Benny bites back.
His eyes flit to you as he talks. Your heart fractures.
JJ shoves him on the chest. âYou donât know what the hell youâre talking about, man.â
âI know who you are, JJ. Everybody does. You donât fool me, with this whole good-guy act youâve got going on with her. Youâre messing her up. Getting her to do drugs with you and shit? Youâre gonna end up hurting her, like you hurt everybody else. Just what you Pogues do.â
âBenny, what the hell?â you whisper.
JJ isnât as silent in his anger. He swings a punch, knocking Benny straight in the cheek, sending him backwards against the stage. Some stranger from the fair exclaims when they catch sight. John B immediately steps in between. JJ is reluctant to backdown, standing over Benny, urging him to fight back. When Benny goes to do retaliate, you come to your senses and step up. You grab for his wrist before he can throw his punch.
âDonât be an idiot, Benny,â you snap.
His eyes flash to you. Something behind them seems to break. He hides it with anger. âYouâre taking his side?â
âIâm not taking anybodyâs side,â you say, annoyed. âThis is pathetic. Both of you.â
As you talk, you let your eyes glance to JJ. Heâs breathing heavy, still pissed, but takes a step back at your disapproval.
âWeâre at a Goddamn family fair. Both of you need to get your shit together,â you tell them sharply.
You let go of Bennyâs wrist and walk off, heart beating out your chest. You hate confrontation. Hate when people fight.
Kiara and Pansy come after you, both of them bitching about how useless boys are. You fold your arms across your chest and blink back tears. No matter what emotion you experience, it always seems to resolve with waterworks. Itâs then, as you think back to the altercation, that you hardly recognise the memory of Benny in that moment. Itâs so disappointing when you see who people for who they truly are, beneath all the personas, only for them to end up being fickle and fake.
Your feet carry you to the back-ends of the fair, lit up by the remnants of daylight. Itâs nothing but storage containers, vans and trucks, the odd horse and animal box from the farm-show. You take perch on the step of one of the empty caravans. Pansy and Kiara sit beside you, the former coiling her arms around you in a hug. You place your head in your hands and let out a few tears. Thereâs no point fighting them off.
âJJ is so stupid sometimes,â Kie mutters.
âNo kidding. And Benny? Pushing at him like that?â
âAsking for a fight.â
âGuys are so dumb,â Pansy concludes with a sigh, shaking her head.
You sit up and wipe your cheeks.
âWhereâs your head at, hun?â she asks you, softly.
Shaking your head, you scoff. âI have no idea. I donât understand why Benny would say things like that. Why heâd lash out at JJ like that, about me.â
âWell, itâs cause he likes you,â Pansy says plainly.
You shoot her a look of pure bewilderment. âWhat?â
âGirl, itâs so obvious,â she chuckles, sympathy in her gaze. âThe guy practically follows after you like a love-sick puppy.â
âSheâs right, you know? Even I can see it,â Kie confirms.
You look between the two of them. Benny? Seriously?
Youâve spent so much of your life alone, out of the minds of boys and girls, void of compliments, that you find it hard to believe anybody might have a thing for you. Least of all, Benny. Sweet, quiet, unassuming Benny. Well, until tonight, that is.
But come to thinkâŠThe last few months, heâs been weird. The random compliments heâs been dropping, when he never used to before. That time in the garage, when he messed with your hair and put his hands on your shoulders. The car ride today, disapproving of JJ.
âI know you like him.â
The penny drops.
âHeâsâŠjealous?â you whisper.
âNo duh, dumbass,â Kiara mutters.
âBut- Wait, of what?â
Your life feels as though it has suddenly become a teenage rom-com after being nothing but years of a podcast of white-noise a person could fall asleep.
âOf JJ,â Kie answers, as if itâs obvious.
âWhy in the hell would he be jealous of JJ?â
A look gets shared between Pansy and Kiara.
âBecause JJ has a thing for you tooâŠâ
âJJ does not have a thing for me,â you snort. âHe doesnât have a thing for me, alright? You guys are way off.â
âHunââ
âNo, he doesnât, alright?â you canât help but snap at Kie. The emotions of the last few months are bubbling inside of you. More tears well up. âWhy would he? Iâm awkward, and Iâm useless, and Iâm desperate, and Iâve been in love with him since I was a kid and have never done anything about it! Iâm pathetic! And heâsâŠWell, heâs him. Heâs funny and charming and fucking gorgeous andâŠAnd Iâm just me.â
Pansy and Kiara are staring at you with eyes full of pity. They donât speak, but Kiara grabs at your hand and squeezes it tight.
"Donât ever talk about yourself like that,â she tells you in a voice thatâs firm but sweet, like cookie dough.
âIâll slap you if you say anything like that again,â Pansy not-so-delicately doubles.
You laugh through your tears at that. Wiping your face, sighing, you look down at the ground.
âIâŠI think you should really talk to JJ,â Kiara offers. âYou can say whatever you want, but I see how he is around you. Heâs never like that, with anyone. You bring out a different side of him, and I mean that in the best way.â
âSheâs right,â Pansy nods, nudging your shoulder. âI was looking at him through the set, and he had his eyes glued on you.â
âIâm the singer,â you sigh in disagreement.
âYeah, but Iâm the most talented one up there,â Pansy replies, as if itâs obvious. You laugh at her antics. âEveryone should be looking at me.â
Looking to your two friends, you canât help but feel a swell of gratefulness for having them stick by you. Nodding, you sniff away the last few tears.
âI wanna talk to JJ,â you tell them.
âPerfect,â Kiara says. âHeâll probably be at the chateau. Iâll give you a lift.â
Doing as she says she will, Kie drops you off at the Chateau on her drive home. As you climb out the car, Pansy sticks her head out the back window.
âYou sure you wanna go on your own?â she double-checks.
You smile at her. Sheâs a good friend.
âYeah, Iâm good,â you nod.
She smiles back. âAlright. Now, remember: youâre hot, youâre talented, and youâre a catch-twenty-two.â
âGot it,â you say with a laugh, rolling your eyes.
âGood,â Pansy nods. Mission accomplished. âGo get âem.â
You wave farewell to Kie as she pulls back out the driveway and onto the road. The moment the carâs gone, youâre abandoned in darkness. A few birds are giving their final caws of the day, settling down for the night. Crickets and night critters merge with the distant lapping of the water of the marsh. Sighing, you wrap your jumper tighter around yourself in a hug and walk towards the back garden. Youâre hoping JJâs here. Kiara said he should be.
As you round the side of the house, you make out the hammock. Itâs swaying lightly. Thereâs a foot extended out of it, heel of a boot dug into the ground, causing it to rock. The faint puff of smoke that blows up makes you certain itâs him.
âJJ?â
The rocking stops.
You walk a bit closer until youâre in his line of sight. Heâs looking down at his hands, one of which is messing with his pocketknife as the other cradles a joint.
âHey,â you quietly say.
âHey,â he mumbles. His cap is tilted down, concealing his face slightly.
âHowâs your hand?â you ask.
He glances to it. Nods. âItâs fine.â
Nodding, you shift your weight from one foot to the other. âCan I join you?â
He stops fiddling with the knife. Thereâs an awkward pause before he nods, shifting so you can climb onto the hammock. You take a spot by his feet. He uses his foot as an anchor to steady the sway.
âDid you like the set?â
âMhm.â
âI played one of the new ones,â you say. He nods, feigning disinterest.
âIt was nice,â he says. âBenny help you write it?â
You sigh. âSeriously, JJ?â
He looks up at that. Eyes dazzling in the moonlight. âWhat?â
âDid you have to hit him?â
âThe guy was asking for it, alright? You heard what he said to me, didnât you?â JJ defends, sitting up.
 âOf course, I did. But you canât just hit anybody who pisses you off.â
âYou donât get it, alright?â
âSure I donât,â you reply, sarcastic.
âNo, you donât,â he repeats, firmer. He pushes his cap back as he goes on, blunt momentarily abandoned. âYou live in your little Kook world, ignorantly bliss to the shitshow that goes on around you.â
His words set off something inside of you.
âIâm not some stuck-up snob, JJ. Donât treat me like I am. Thatâs not fair. Being a Kook and a Pogue has nothing to do with you picking a fight with Benny at the fair.â
JJ laughs, tossing his head back. He wipes a hand down his face. âOh, youâre so stupid sometimes, you know that? It has everything to do with it!â
âHow!? How does that make any sense?â you gape, sitting upright. You wave your arms around. âIn what Pogue-Kook universe do you have to pick a fight with Benny? Weâre just friends!â
âFor someone so quiet, you sure donât pay attention,â JJ insults, staring you in the eyes.
Your resolve slackens. âDonât be mean, JJ.â
âAccording to your little boyfriend, thatâs all I can be,â he mutters, looking back down to his pocketknife.
âHeâs not my boyfriend,â you sigh, exhausted. You rub at your forehead. âI donât know where all that stuff came from, okay? Heâs never acted like that before. Iâm so embarrassed, and Iâm so sorry he said all that to you, and he was way out of line. I donât know why he did it.â
âI do! Everyone does! Itâs obvious! The guyâs in love with you. He thought he was defending your honour or some shit,â JJ spits.
âHeâs not in love with me,â you deny. Maybe he might have a crush on you, but in love? Come on now.
âSeriously? You seriously donât see it?â JJ says, voice rising again.
You shrug, making a face as if to say âno, I really donâtâ.
It seems to make him angry again.
âHe follows you around all the time! Heâs always watching you, alright? Always. Heâs looking at you all the time. Complimenting you. Making little jokes, hoping that youâll laugh. Finding any excuse to spend time with you. Like with that teaching-you-the-drums bullshit? What the hell was that? And donât get me started on that little display he did in the garage that day! With the hands on the shoulders and stuff and grabbing your bag for you like a little pussy-whipped simp. Helping you out without you even asking for him too--â
âThatâs your definition of love?â you practically shout, cutting him off with a scoff. âYou do all of that!â
âExactly!â JJ yells.
Silence.
JJâs breathing heavy. You see the moment the words catch up. See his face drop into panic, then glaze over as if uninterested. Your mindâs racing, scrambling for purchase and muddling through interpretationsâŠ
ButâŠthereâs only one though. Right?
JJ looks out to the water. He takes a hit from his joint, almost desperate.
âJJ,â you whisper.
He shakes his head. Looks down at his joint as if itâs something to inspect. As if itâs the most interesting thing in the world. âDoesnât matter, alright?â
âYes, it does.â
âNo-â his clipped tone is cut off with a sigh. You see him close his eyes. Collects himself. Thereâs a lingering quiet. A mosquito nips at your ankle but you canât bring yourself to waft it away.
âYou donât know the effect you have on people, do you?â He asks you quietly. He opens his eyes to look out to the water. Youâre not sure if youâre meant to answer. Before you can, heâs talking once more.
âBennyâs got almost everything in common with you, okay? Heâs rich, heâs got a nice house, nice family. Goes to a good school. I bet he gets good grades, too. Talented. And heâs not the worst looking asshole, alright? So, yeah. It is a Kook-Pogue thing, alright?â
His eyes flit to you for a moment but he doesnât let them linger. He looks back down to the pocketknife. His thumb dances over the wood of it.
âIt was always gonna be a Kook-Pogue thing. The moment that I realised I liked you; I knew there was no chance. I mean, what the hell would you want with a guy like me?â
Oh.
Thereâs a strange, euphoric feeling that comes after JJ talks. You suddenly feel like you understand why youâve always gotten along with JJ. Itâs like youâve been staring in a mirror this whole time. Itâs then that that you realise that youâre not nervous anymore. That you havenât been nervous in a while, whenever JJâs around. That if you ever do feel anxious or unsure, finding his face, meeting his eyes, searching for his smile; it always brings you back. Suddenly, you donât care about the differences; the small, insignificant things that really donât matter, when you think about it, because as long as youâve got JJ, you donât care what happens.
He says Bennyâs got more in common with you, but Benny doesnât know about the panic attacks or how to ease you back from them. He doesnât know how to make you laugh; not to the point where you feel your stomach might collapse and your ribs might break. His compliments donât make you feel like thereâs a shot of electricity running through you, quick and painless. With Benny, theyâre just nice words, like when a cashier tells you to have a good day. Maybe heâs book smart and plays the drums well, but JJ could tell you anything you want to know about fishing: how, where, when. Mechanics and boats and handy-man tricks. Intelligence wasnât one thing; it wasnât just about being able to dissect a Shakespeare quote. And you could sit and listen to him talk all day. The cadence of his voice rising and falling like the tide of the water.
Youâve liked JJ since you were a kid. Since that stupid day on the marsh, when you were frog hunting, and you saw him on the rope swing. He was so funny. So bubbly and lively. Everything you wished you could be. And when he looked at you, through the bushes of the marsh, and smiledâŠthat smile became every inspiration for every song you wrote. The thought in the back of your mind when you conjured up the lyrics. As he got older, he became more beautiful, twisting into the definition of an American heartthrob. Your lives stretched differently and you came to accept that liking him would be a pipedream. Something you could live in your fictional songs. But then came Kiara, and The Wreck, and everything else, and it all lined up so nicely. It was as if an invisible string was tied around your wrist the first day you saw him, guiding you to now. Â
Right now.
You shift onto your knees and move up the hammock until youâre face to face with JJ. Before either of you has time to think, youâre cupping his jaw and guiding his lips to yours. Under the unsteady purchase of the hammock, you move your free hand to his chest for balance. Itâs hard and sturdy. Once the shock slips away, JJâs kissing you back. One of his hands comes to your face, swiping across your cheek and pushing back some of your hair thatâs fallen into your face. His other comes to sit on your waist. Squeezes your skin softly, as if checking that youâre real: joint and pocketknife abandoned. A feeling zips through your body, right down to your toes. Itâs indescribable. Itâs sweet and mercurial andâŠitâs JJ. Itâs all JJ.
When you pull back, youâre smiling.
JJâs eyes open slowly. A smile is blooming on his face too, cheeks pink, lips still parted, damp from your touch.
âOkay,â he whispers.
You giggle, biting your lower lip. âOkay?â
âNot what I was expecting,â he admits with a small laugh.
You canât help but kiss him again, wanting to taste his laughs. He gladly pulls you closer, shifting you so youâre straddling his waist. The more you kiss, the more he eases into touching you, the more you relax into kissing him. Finding a rhythm and a pattern that has the two of you short of breath.
Breaking apart once more, JJ stares at you as if in a trance. The same look from The Wreck and from the ocean. You recognise what it is now.
He strokes a finger across your cheek and you lean into the touch of his palm. Makes him smile brighter. Â
âYou gonna write a song about me now?â he quietly jokes. His eyes flick down to your lips.
You smile, laugh almost silently as you shake your head. Before leaning down to kiss him again, you confess your only remaining secret to him in a whisper.
âTheyâre already about you. Every single one of them.â
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