Her Melting Point

Chekhov's Gun

The chapter's title is a homage to my dear reader Picturina <3 I love it that you guessed my little plot twist, and being mentioned in the same sentence as the great playwright was so very flattering! Thank you for being such a wonderful reader! 

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She decided she'd go shopping on Saturday afternoon, after the Kestrels' away game in the next county. They had been on a winning streak; and their treatment of the other team felt, proverbially, swift and sure. Jackie lied to herself that watching Alexander rip through their defence and score after an excellent cross by the Reverend Holyoake didn't affect her that much anymore.

"He's especially cheesed off today, innit?" Oliver Pemberton, who'd become Jackie's habitual footie watching companion, pointed at Alexander with a Flake bar. "I wonder what's gotten his knickers in a twist. And I wonder about his knickers. Respectfully and only marginally objectifying him, that is."

It was Oliver's turn to bring their game snack, which meant they'd be eating about 5 million grammes of sugar each. Except, today, Jackie wasn't in the mood. She had the changing room torture ahead of her. In the morning, it had taken her five minutes of purposeful breathing to convince herself to cancel the online order of shapewear that she'd placed a few minutes earlier, after taking a shower, followed by the good old 'pinching, pulling, and squishing' of her stomach, flanks, and thighs.

"A Crunchie?" Oliver offered, and Jackie shook her head.

"Ta, but I've got a bit of a toothache," she fibbed.

She took a sip of tea from her thermos and realised that she'd 'forgotten' to add clover honey to her brew, like she normally did when taking it to go.

She told herself that she properly needed to stop punishing herself for having the body that she had been born with.

"You know what? I think it's gone now," she said and stretched her hand to Oliver. "Could I have a Crunchie, kind sir?"

The young man tittered. "You had me worried there for a mo. Aren't they your favourite?"

Jackie nodded and twirled the chocolate bar in her hand.

"Oliver, have you got any plans for after the game? Did you want–"

She was interrupted by the crowd jumping to their feet and roaring around them. The Fleckney Mayor had just collected what could've become a consolation goal for the other team. It was a close call, and Jackie saw Alexander snarling at James Whitlaw for letting the opposite striker through.

"Blimey, the man's a walking hairdryer." Oliver clicked his tongue. "And to think of it, he used to be so mellow in the Comprehensive."

"Oh I forgot you went to school together," Jackie exclaimed.

"Not that we interacted much." Oliver shrugged. "He had those separate classes all the time, and I mostly spent time with Imogen. Or hid from the Boone brothers in the Western staircase. I heard that one of them was in the clink for an armed robbery by the way."

"I'm not surprised. They were proper pricks," Jackie scoffed. "I'm allowed to say it now since they aren't my pupils anymore, right?"

"Cheers!" Oliver said and saluted her with his stylish travel mug. "And of course you're allowed. Once they grow up, any sort of thoughts you'd had on them, are no longer subject to condemnation, as long as you never acted on them at the time. Say, if you had a crush on me, you're allowed to tell me now."

He batted his fluffy fake lashes in an exaggerated flirtation.

"A. I've got a massive crush on you right now," Jackie said and chuckled. "And B. I'm currently your boss, so it's once again a conflict of interest. So nothing will ever come out of my unrequited infatuation!" she announced in a tragic voice.