Disingenuous

18. Sebastian

2015

It was the beginning of March when Jackson ran into the weird kid at Pioneer Square. At lot of things had changed really quickly by then. Jackson had changed really quickly.

He was walking from the apartment to a meeting with Dr. Evil and the team. He was going the long way through town because he wasn't eager for the meetings contents, and he wasn't sure it was going to go his way. Dylan had told him to take the long way so he could be in a better mood by the time he arrived. Dylan was always giving him those sweet little suggestions to help get through the days. He agreed because they'd scheduled a drive test for him the following week, and he didn't know how much longer he'd get away with walking everywhere.

The kid was busking at the corner, which Jackson obviously respected. He had a guitar case infront of him, and he was sitting cross legged on the brickwork sidewalk with a guitar in his lap. He had a longer unruly mess of blonde hair and dazzling blue eyes which caught Jackson's attention. He was singing, but Jackson thought the song wasn't exactly a good fit for the rougher low tone of his voice. He seemed to understand the mechanics of playing guitar, but Jackson wasn't sure he knew how to hold his hands correctly. Visibly, he was holding his fingers too flat, deadening his chords. He itched to correct him.

Jackson was distracted by the little performance, as he had developed into a very easily distracted person. He stepped out of the main path of the sidewalk to stand and watch the kid. His guitar case was pretty empty with little more than some dollar bills and a scatter of loose change. He estimated the kid to be a teenager still; probably like 18. His clothes looked a little disheveled, but clean. He didn't smell homeless, but he gave off that vibe of directionless chaos. Jackson recognized himself quite a bit in it. He wondered why he cared.

When the kids song ended, he dug a $20 bill out of his pocket and tossed it in the case.

"You'd sound better if you curled your fingers," Jackson informed him. He held up his hands and bounced his fingers to demonstrate. He just couldn't help himself. "Use the tips."

The kid rolled his eyes. He looked like he was about to offer his own criticism back when his eyes focused on the man standing in front of him. Then his jaw dropped. "Holy shit," he said. "Are you Jackson Knight?"

Jacksons shoulders slumped a little bit. He didn't like that every time he met someone new, their first question was to state his full name for confirmation. Sometimes he wished people would just pretend not to know.

"No," he lied with raised eyebrows that made it clear he was lying. "Also you're voice is too deep to be singing Bieber. You should sing Nickelback or something. Your voice could have nice baritone."

The boy looked taken aback by that, but after a hesitation he snorted in laughter. "Did you seriously just recommend Nickelback to me?"

Jackson scowled. "What's wrong with Nickelback?"

"Everything's wrong with Nickelback," the boy said laughing.

Jackson leaned down to take his twenty back, but the boy lunged for it and snatched it before he could reach it. "Sorry man, but I've got to eat somehow."

"If this is how you plan to finance eating," Jackson said, cracking an amused smile. "I'd suggest guitar lessons."

"I do take lessons," the boy answered. That time he scowled. "Off YouTube anyways. Not everyone's famous with abundant resources."