You Make The Scars Pretty And The Freckles Beautiful [Editing]

Chapter 7

(Jace)

The weekend flew by, and it was time for school again all too soon.

The previous night, Sam had stayed over, so when I woke up to the annoying blare of my alarm, I had to go into the guest room and wake him up as well. I didn't bother putting a shirt on or changing out of my sweatpants, only because I trusted Sam with the knowledge of my scars.

After I had basically shoved him out of bed just to wake him up, he cracked one eye open and glared at me.

"There are kinder ways of waking someone up, you know."

I bitch-faced him. "You didn't respond to those ways. You sleep like you're dead." He just laughed.

"Sorry."

"Yeah, whatever. Get up, and I'll try to make coffee." My friend grinned.

"Sounds good, but if you can't because of your wrist, then I can." I nodded and left the room, made my way to the bathroom, and made myself presentable. I went downstairs and, after a bit of fumbling around, started making coffee, then ran back upstairs to change.

Digging through my closet, I threw on a light-blue pair of skinny jeans, a black crewneck jumper, and my black Vans. I walked back downstairs to find Sam sipping a cup of coffee at the kitchen table. He heard me coming and looked up.

"Hey pretty boy." He smirked, and I whacked the back of his head (gently, of course).

"Hush." I grabbed my favorite coffee mug, a cup with turquoise and light brown glaze. I didn't know why I was attracted to that particular one, but it was the one I used and it was going to stay that way. "You want cereal or toast?"

"Toast, and thanks."

I smiled. "No problem."

Sam was silent for a minute, then said, "You know, I've never seen you wear that kind of clothing. It was always jeans, sweatshirt, Converse."

I shrugged. "I guess I just felt like I could finally wear what I want because I have a friend who I can depend on to help me if I need it. I do like wearing clothing like this, but I always got called a faggot for it, even in public. So I stopped." I located a couple of plates, then grabbed the bread from the fridge and popped a couple of slices into the toaster. "Also, this jumper shows a couple of my scars on the back of my neck, so that always earns a few awkward questions. But I don't really care anymore."

"You look good, don't worry. Also, I'll kick the ass of whoever dares say anything about it." I laughed.

"Why, thank you sir."

Sam grinned. "But of course!" He did an awful impression of a British accent, but I still couldn't help the giggles that escaped my lips.

"Sam, that was terrible." He gave me a lopsided grin.

"You still laughed, though."

"That's true," I said with a slight smile still on my face.

My friend was quiet for a minute, then slowly asked, "What was it like... coming here from England?" I turned to look at him, a bit surprised.

"Well... I guess the first thing would be extremely stressful, trying to immigrate here, find a house, a place to work, go to school- all that stuff. But living here was more learning phrases and expressions and the culture than anything else, really. Of course, I already knew the language, but there are so many different uses for words and expressions that it took a while for me to learn them." I thought for a moment, then smiled and continued. "I feel like I've done fairly well with that, but I still like British slang and more..." Pausing, I looked at him and smirked. "Proper English spellings."