Jake X Jane Homestuck Fanfiction

Jake fucking English

Chapter Nine : Jake fucking English

"Jackson High?" the blonde at the keg rolled her eyes, sighing dramatically. "You poor thing. You'll hate it."

"It's a prison," added her boyfriend, who was in a black top and familiar looking pointy shades at the tip of the last anime I've watched. "Like the Gulag, but with bells."

"Really," I said, taking a tiny sip of my beer.

"Totally," the girl, who was small and curvy, wearing a white top with a four eyed pink cat, heavy lion fur parka pink mini skirt and boots, adjusted her ample cleavage. "The only way to survive is with a deep sense of irony and good friends. Without either of those, you're screwed."

"Deep sense of irony"

Get it? *winkitty wonk*

Hahah, okay going back~

I nodded, not saying anything. We were in the kitchen of the white house, where I'd ended up after making my way through the crowds packed on the porch and in the living room. Judging by the decor-U Basketball stickers covering the fridge, stolen street signs on the walls-the residents were college students, although many in the assembled crowd were my age. In the kitchen, there wasn't much except the keg, which had crumpled cups all around it, and a beat-up table and chairs. The only other decor was a row of paper grocery bags, overflowing with beer cartoons and pizza boxes, and a cardboard cutout of a bodybuilder holding an energy drink. Someone had drawn a beard on his face, big nipples on his chest, and something I didn't even want to look too closely at his other regions. Nice

"If I were you," the blonde advised as another group of people came in from the side door, bringing a burst of cold and noise with them, "I'd beg my mother to enroll me in the Fountain School."

"The Fountain School?" I said.

"It's like, this totally free-form alternative charter school," the guy with the familiar anime shades explained. "You can take meditation for gym. And all the teachers are old hippies. No bells there, man. They play you a flute to recommend you switch classes.

I didn't know what to say to this.

"I loved the Fountain School," the blonde sighed, taking a swig off her beer.

"You went there?" I asked her.

"We met there," the guy said, sliding his arm around her waist. She snuggled into him, pulling her parka closer around her skimpy skirt. "But then there was this, like, total Big Brother-style shakedown and she got kicked out."

"All that talk about respecting others and their choices," the girl said, "and they have the nerve to search my purse for drugs. I mean, what is that?"

"You did pass out in the Trust Circle," the guy pointed out.

"The Trust Circle," she snorted. "Where's the trust in that?"

I glanced around, thinking it might be time to look for other conversatation options. The only other people in the kitchen, though, were two guys taking tequila shots and a girl leaning against the fridge having a weepy, drunk conversation with a plate. Unless I wanted to go outside, I was stuck.

The door banged open, and I felt another burst of cold air. A moment later, the girl in the puffy jacket who'd been responsible for me getting my beer was stepping up behind me, pulling a bottled water out of her pocket, and twisting the top off.

"Hey, Aranea," the girl in the four eyed cat shirt said to her. "She's new. Starts Jackson on Monday."

Aranea was thin with cerulean eyes, her hair and was worn short until the  very edge of her shoulders. She smiled at me sympathetically and said, "It's not as bad as they've told you, I promise."