Crazier

Bad Reputation (2)

"Everyone can say what they wanna to say
It never gets better, anyway"

-Joan Jett, Bad Reputation

"Shane?"

I ignored Cynthia, who was standing there in her bare feet and purple pyjama bottoms, an old sweater of Luke's as her top. My earbuds were in, cranked as loud as they could, and I could practically hear my brain's crying from the volume.

Cynthia took a cautious step forwards. "Shane?" she said again.

"Go away," I muttered, barely able to hear myself over the music. She put her hands in the pockets of the sweater, her round blue eyes gazing at me. She narrowed them, then sighed and pulled a phone out of the pocket. I recognized it as my own, and scowled at her. "Why do you have my phone?" I demanded, pulling out one earbud. She rolled her eyes. "Because it was ringing and I picked it up so it wouldn't wake the whole bus?" she sassed back. "You're welcome."

She slapped it into my palm, stalking off towards the bunks. I brought it to my ear. "What?"

"Hi to you too," Jackson said, sounding just as annoyed as I felt. I slumped back into the plush bench, resting my head against the window. "Hey,"

"What's with the attitude?" he asked, and I could picture him raising an eyebrow. I shrugged, not caring that he couldn't see me. "They're pissin' me off."

"Cynthia's fourteen. Everyone that age pisses everyone off. I did it, you did it, God knows Katie did it, it's just life, Shane." Jackson said with a small sigh. "Are you ok?"

"Are you?" I countered. He gave a low chuckle. "I'm fine, Shane. I'm more worried about you. Your name's being dragged through the dirt right now. I was watching E!, and-"

"I don't care," I interrupted honestly. He sighed. "I know you don't, but I do. You know he'd want you to be happy."

"It's amazing how everyone's saying that." I said, tensing. "But he isn't here to tell me, is he?"

"No," Jackson said. "He's not, and it sucks, but you're not the only one hurting, Shane."

I scowled. "Whatever."

"You knows that's just a nicer way of saying screw off?"

"I know," I replied. He gave a low chuckle, then coughed twice. "You ok?" I asked. He coughed again. "Fine. How's that song working for you?"

"Which one?"

"Alone Again"

"It's getting there," I curled back into the plush seat, my head leaning against the window. Jackson chuckled. "You know what I think?"

"I think you're about to tell me,"

"You're right. And I think that the reason you're having trouble with it is because you think you're alone, but you're not. That's why you can't write it." he said, and I could hear an echo of sadness in his voice. "You don't need to write it. Write a happy song."

"Happy songs are hard," I sighed. "Happy songs, everything that you're saying has to be perfect. It might make sense to you, but to everyone else, you sound crazy. Sad songs are easier - people aren't supposed to understand."

Jackson was quiet for a moment. "You know who says things like that?"

"Who?"

"Depressed people," he answered bluntly, and I managed a chuckle. "I don't think I'm depressed."

"Well that's a relief," he said, chuckling. "Try and write a happy song for me, yeah?"

"We'll see." I answered.