badnews { jace norman }

twenty-six

A week later, I find myself with a daily cigarette between my fingers and cold air pushing through the creases in my jacket.

Jaces hand unintentionally brushes aginst my leg as he moves closer to me on the cool metal material of the bench.

"Mr. Albahacky is going to start asking questions as to why I never show up to his class if he hasn't by now"

"I'll cover for you"

"How?"

"I'll think of something... Im usually pretty good at it"

"Of course" I cover my grin with a huff of smoke.

"So Ive been thinking..."

"Thats never good"

He watches me, "I want you to go to the trial with me"

My eyebrows raise, I make eye contact "Is that a public trial?"

"No but... I want you there"

"Is that legal?"

"I don't know but I dont care. Will you?"

"...Of course"

"Good" He swallows.

I inhale from the base of my lungs, coughing through my sore throat.

"I told you not to smoke a pack of those a day"

"Oh that's real funny. You got me sick you dumb ass"

"Its not my fault you came onto me"

"Please" My eyes roll as I flick the nearly burnt cigarette towards the ground at my feet. Smoldering it.

He looks at me contently, inspecting a piece of artwork in his mind that he was ready to buy. Like he did everytime we were together.

"You wanna come over tonight? Some of my family from North Carolina are visiting"

"My moms expecting me" My head shakes "Sorry.."

"Just ask her"

"Jace, she doesn't like you. You know that"

"What the hell have I done to her"

"You turned her daughter into Steve Jobs when it came to new ways of being bad news"

"I didnt do any-"

"I know. I know, but it's too hard for her to wrap her head around the fact that her little princess isn't innocent"

"Well I don't know what your moms on because I know my princess is very far from innocent."

I roll my eyes at his comment, pushing the mixture of dirt and mud aginst the top rims of my boots. Our thoughts converse in the air in silence. Him thinking how bad he wants to but how wrong it would be to relive that night. And me just plain old wanting it again. But without saying a word, there was no certainty of what was actually going on in her head. And thats what was killing me the most.

●●●

My coughing was a dead give away to my presence through the front door.

I watch my mom as she grins, walking to the kitchen with an apron flowing behind her, the house filled with the scent of her homemade soup.

I walk in next to her, grabbing a glass out of the gray stained wooden cabinets. Filling it to the rim with tap water.

She turns from the stove, looking at me. The wooden spoon dripping slowly with the contents of the soup as it dangles in the air, her nose twitches.