Best Wishes for Isadora *HIATUS*

Cheez-its and post mortem puns.

I wasn't expecting to see Jack waiting for me outside of the gymnasium, backpack slung on one shoulder, a medium, heavy saxophone case limp at his side.
It was also unexpected to see that he was holding my sweatsuit top. I realized that I was just in a sports bra when running my laps rift afterwards, and didn't give a fuck about the sweatshirt being lost.
In fact, I was kind of mad that he'd picked it up for me.
But this was Jack so honestly I couldn't stay mad at him for much longer.
I feigned a smile faker than Lindsey Lohan and took a breath.
"Hi, Jackson." I said cordially, snatching my shirt out of his hands. "Thanks for picking this up for me."
"You should really be recruited for track. You're really fast, Rose." I tended to wrinkle my nose at the things or ideas I hated and that was what I did.
He sighed. "You know, you seem like you're really sick. I don't know if it's in the head or not, but from what I've heard-"
I cut him off. "What did you hear?"
He feigned concern. "That you've been like this for just a few weeks, but no one has actually told me why." He paused. "Sorry if I'm being intrusive, but I was wondering why."
"Well. Um-" my mind was in a million places as I tried to find a million different cleverly vague things to say.
I could only be as blunt as a freshly sharpened knife, after all. I guided myself around the question like I clambering down a ladder about to fall to my death.
"I'm actually wondering something too." I muttered and he scrunched up his really nice eyebrows. I started again. "Why were you asking about me?"
I left it at that.
Why am I such an asshole to really hot guys? God, Rose, pull yourself together!
"I-" I started as he began to walk away. "Sorry for being an ass. You don't deserve it, Jackson. But-I'm a total bitch to a lot of people these days because that's just the way I am now." He froze.
"Oh god I sound really cheesy don't I?" I grinned, something taking over. My mind rolled over. I never talked to anyone like this. Not for seventeen days.
I knew where this was coming from. I remember when I said this to Isadora...NOPE. Forget it Rose. Forget it.
"You know, the sentence 'I never said he licked my asshole' has several different meanings that change based on the emphasized word?" I said, suddenly coming up with the perfect analogy.
"Where are you going with this?" He asked me skeptically, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
"I'm not going to acknowledge that question, you perv," I said. "But depending on what questions you ask me, how you talk to me, and how you act around me actually changes my thoughts. Does that make sense?"
"You're crazy, Ro." He laughed. "But I can see what you're coming from."
"Ro? Seriously?" I chuckled. "Isn't Rose short enough?"
We both laughed and a car honked at the two of us.
He whirled around and I caught a glimpse of a younger brother sitting in the passenger seat, being a honk-Nazi.
"I have to go," he muttered apologetically before traipsing over to the drivers side of the car and starting the engine.
As I began my eternal walk home, the only thing I had on my mind was finding an annoying nickname for Jackson. Something that was less ordinary than Jack.
***
The sidewalks disappeared as I walked.
That was typical.
I tripped on every possible root or rock.
Also typical.
I used to complain about how awful it was to walk home to my mom, but she said it was this, or the bus.
I remember that moment. She glared at me, thick eyebrows drawn, brown hair just professionally blown out. She was still in her pantsuit, and she had a terrible train ride. It was Saint Patrick's day and the train was apparently full of drunken Irishmen.
I should've asked on another day but I decided to be impatient.
I'm such an idiot.
Mom was staring at me like I was something disgusting on the sole of her shoe when I pestered her about it, but that was no different than usual so I let my guard down.
Like I said, I'm such an idiot.
Her saccharine voice with a bit of bitch to it just said, "All you can do is walk, or take the bus. Obviously, you won't take the bus, and I'm glad because if you walk, you'll lose a couple of pounds. You need to lose some weight. No modeling agency will take you if you look like this"...
I didn't want to be a model. But I guess my mom shoved that idea into me like how Isadora shoved herself off off her fifth-story balcony.
Oh god what was I thinking?! That was horrible, Rose. You are a horrible person.
I forced myself to not leap in front of one of those white worker vans, though I wanted to be squashed to the pavement by it's wheels. My eyes began tearing up as I, smelly and sweaty and greasy, walked up the front drive and inside.
Home sweet hell. I thought as I beelined to the kitchen and lifted up a hardwood floorboard to snatch out my forbidden box of Cheez-its. I bought it with some of the will money Isadora left me.
Well, all of her money is hiding away in my bank account thanks to her will.
They say a will is a dead giveaway.
Oh my gosh I need to stop with the death puns.
Over my dead body.
I really am an asshole, aren't I?
Some days I feel total grief about Isadora. Other days I couldn't care less.
Today it was both, and I hoped that Jack didn't cause any of this because I liked being around him. Too much.
Without even thinking, I licked the cheese from my fingers, re-hid the delicious delicacy, and took my first shower in seventeen days.
Seventeen days.