Jackson prowled the winding hallways of the Demarcson residence, passing by the multitude of slightly ajar doors, looking for Ivory. As he made one turn particularly quickly, he almost ran into Selina, who was just standing there, wavering in her position. They were alone.
"Oh, there you are. I've been looking for you," she said, giving him another grin that made him feel uneasy. He racked his brain as to why, but the answer he came up with seemed painfully obvious. He had made a scene, with breaking up the fight. Would it have been better to just let it play out?
"You, know, I'm sorry..." he apologized, before being cut off by a finger shushing him.
"No no no, I'm like, super glad you stopped them," Selina said, inching closer to him, uncomfortably so. "I actually wanted to repay you, for helping me out..."
Without warning, she grabbed Jackson by the shoulders and pulled him in for a kiss.
Jackson did not like it.
He pushed her away, flustered, but not in the way he had hoped his first kiss would leave him. Selina's grin had grown to preposterous proportions, which Jackson could only now discern as satisfaction. When she saw that he did not have a similar grin, but a frown, she took a step back.
"Oh come on. You're not gonna take your chance? It's the only one you'll get," she spat, her grin gone.
"Just answer one question for me, Selina," Jackson meekly replied, still mustering up the courage to confront her. "Did you stage the fight?"
She gasped. Now firmly away from Jackson, Selina took a defensive pose, recoiling in what Jackson hoped was awe at his skills of deduction. "How did you know?"
"It never felt right. The reasoning behind it, Carly acting way strange. I know you two are friends, I'm assuming you asked her to flirt with Chase. And from my, albeit limited experiences with Rob, he does seem easily angered. Plus, you were standing here like you knew I would pass through here, which would only happen if I was searching for someone, like for example you, to tell you about the fight that happened at your party. The one piece of the puzzle I haven't been able to put together is, how did you get Chase to play along?"
"Ah," she revealed, "I didn't. Chase has a little bit of a reputation around the school, I'm surprised you didn't know. He's... Well... Incredibly handsome. And he knows it. Girls fawn to him every day, so one at a party would be no surprise to him. Even if that girl had a boyfriend. He was completely in the dark." She told Jackson this with a hint of pride, like her deception was a skillful work of art.
"Well, that's very impressive, I guess. But I'm sorry to break it to you, I'm not into people manipulating me."
Selina nodded slightly, as if she was consoling herself to being rejected. However, her next words were so off kilter with her actions that he was given flashbacks to Melanie's similar antics. Selina's antics, however, were much more sinister. "Well, I tried. But you have to understand, I can't have another super cramping my style. If you're not gonna be on 'my team', I'm gonna make your life hell. Beleive me... I'm good at that."
Jackson did not like that.
He ran.
He ran into the living room, where the party was still on.
He ran over to the Party Haters Club, and parked himself in front of Melanie.
"Answer one question for me," he panted, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. "Are you actually friends with Selina? Or is she forcing you to be?"
Not only did Melanie stare at him in surprise, but Connor and Damien did also, the latter having at some point returned from his date with a toilet bowl. Melanie tried to stutter something, but eventually settled on a hasty "Yes." Eventually following it up with the clarifying "Yes, she is blackmailing me. I would never be that bitch's friend."
YOU ARE READING
The Library of Powers
Science FictionIn the city famous for having an excess of superheroes, Jackson can travel to the place they are created. Afraid someone will use his power for evil, Jackson keeps to himself, hiding his extraordinary abilities. That is, until his high school learn...
