How Jack Wrote The Universe (Revised)

2.25

DAY TWO (p. two)

"DUDE, I can't. I told you, I can't." Jack shakes his head as he and Ari walks beside each other in the hallway.

The students of Hayden High fill the hallway after three o'clock hits its mark. Bodies and bags bumping one another as they pass by classmates, all seemingly happy to get out of the institution they call hell. But Jack can't disagree more.

Classes are better than detention. He thinks as he bitterly unlocks his navy blue locker while Ari leans his back against the locker beside Jack's.

"I told you guys already; Aberdeen caught me earlier in the halls." He rolls his eyes, exchanging books in and out of the storage.

Ari sighs beside him. "What about the interview?"

After closing the storage, Jack looks at Ari. "Go for me, then."

The Indian boy laughs lightly then stops as he notices that there aren't any trace of witticism around the brown haired boy's face.

"Me? You want me to go?"

They start to walk again. "Yes, A. Please. I can't miss Aberdeen or else. You know what she does to those who miss detention."

"Yeah." Ari lazily says as he and Jack remembers what happened when Sam missed hers; Aberdeen ended up ordering Sam to rake the whole Football field of Hayden because the dye lover girl missed three days of detention.

Of course, Samantha didn't do a better job but it was a lesson for every students in Hayden: Don't miss detention. Or else.

As they closed in to room 102, Aberdeen's detention room, Jack looks at his friend.

"Look, Just ask her the important ones. But make the basic question wider. Where she's from before Jacksons, why she moved alone. All that jazz." They both stop in front of the said room. Both boys looking at each other intensely as Jack gives Ari pointers.

Before tapping the Indian boy on his shoulders, Jack says, "Then ask the remaining important questions. You can do it!"

Then in he goes, leaving Ari behind as the black haired boy stares at the brown door. He sees Jack smiling fakely at the old woman before sitting two rows away from her through the small rectangular glass window that's placed in the middle of the door. Just below the glass, probably written with a black sharpie, a word is written.

Hell.

It says.

+++

Ari bits the inside of his left cheek as he stands in front of a wire-picketed, untrimmed lawn.

"Well, this can't be more depressing." The boy mutters before pushing the small gate open.

The yard to say the least is depressing. In the yard is a quaint, country house complete with a front porch and screen door; all painted in either dirty white or muddy brown. Meters away from it is a tree losing its leaves, making a bed of both dying and dead leaves below it as a swing made of tire veer lightly while a cold, breeze of air passes by.

The concrete pathway although being slowly eaten by the untrimmed grass, is still noticeable as it goes two ways in the middle. One heading straight to the front porch while the other goes around the house to the back yard.

The Indian boy walks slowly as his bag shakes lightly behind his back. Trying to tread the path carefully while bits of dead leaves crumble underneath his shoes. Finally arriving in front of the wooden, worn out stairs, he puts his right foot first. The floor board creaks. He continues his way until he arrives atop the porch. He looks to the door to see it close.