Jacob – Past
I put the bag of chips I was eating down on the table and pick up my pencil, finishing a sketch I started yesterday. A thud sounds behind me, someone’s bag dropping on the floor, and Alex pulls out the chair across from me. Behind him are Parker, Miles, and Jonah.
I shut my notebook and raise an eyebrow.
Alex stares at me for a few seconds, then rubs his jaw.
“Here’s how this is gonna go, Evans. You’re gonna ask Mrs. Milton to change partners, and then you’re gonna stay the hell away from Layla. Got it?”
I lean back in my chair, smirking.
“No.”
“What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
He slams his fist on the table, glancing back at his friends, then leans in closer. “You go after my girl, and there will be consequences.”
“Look at you using big words.”
He jumps to his feet, his chair clattering to the floor. Heads turn. The room goes quiet as he storms around the table, fist raised.
He misses.
I probably shouldn’t admit to enjoying this, but I am.
I strike back.
My fist connects.
He stumbles into the edge of the table. Blood gushes from his nose. He grabs at it, pinching hard, eyes watering.
I wait for him to get back up, ready to finish this.
Mrs. Bingham from AP Science rushes over, grabs my arm, and starts shoving me toward the doors. “Principals office. Now, Mr Evans.”
Alex is yelling something behind me, but the door slams shut before I can make it out.
I think I broke his nose.
***
Mr. Chaplin sits behind his desk, holding my file. It’s a lot thicker than it should be.
He tried calling my mom, but she didn’t pick up. I’m not surprised; she doesn’t have a phone anymore. He was calling a number that’s been out of service for at least two years.
He folds his hands on the desk in front of him, then stares at me for an uncomfortable amount of time. I’d honestly prefer if he just yelled, like usual, and got it over with.
Finally, he looks down at the file, then taps his fingers along the top of it.
“What’s your dad’s number, Jacob? I don’t seem to have it on file?”
I clench my jaw.
That’s low, even for him.
“He doesn’t have a number.”
“And why is that?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know.
He has my entire file in front of him. He knows exactly where my dad is. Asshole.
“Why don’t you tell me, Mr. Chaplin?” I lean back. “Since you’re about to tell me that’s where I’m going to end up.”
He glances toward his computer, then back at me. “Did you know that seventy percent of prisoners’ kids end up incarcerated?”
I don’t answer.
“Statistically, you’re five times more likely to be involved in a crime than your peers, Jacob.”
“Fascinating.”
“Assault is a serious crime, Jacob.”
“He swung at me first.”
He glances at the page in front of him.
“Mr. Boone said the opposite. He said you started the fight.”
“He’s hardly going to admit he started it, is he?” I rest my elbow on the armrest. “It’s not my fault he can’t fight for shi—.”
“Language, Jacob.” He folds his arms. “You broke his nose.”
“Maybe he’ll stop starting fights, and then you can see me a lot less. Wouldn’t that be nice?”
He rubs his forehead.
“This school is taking a massive chance on you, Jacob. After what your father did, it’s understandable the amount of parents who don’t want you in the same classroom as their children. Criminals are not welcome in this town.”
“Just so we’re clear, defending myself makes me a criminal?”
“No. But breaking your classmate’s nose puts you on the path to becoming one.” He thumbs through my file and starts listing off other altercations. Each one I didn’t start.
“I didn’t start any of those, and you know it.”
“I’m giving you a warning. You will be expelled if there are any more fights.
He closes the file.
“Now get back to class before I change my mind.”
I throw my bag over my shoulder and head to Mrs. Milton’s class.
When I walk in, the room falls silent.
I hand her the note Mr. Chaplin gave me. I read it on the way here. It might as well say: future criminal, find any reason to expel.
I drop my bag by the chair and sit beside Layla.
She’s quiet today.
I wonder if she heard what happened at lunch.
Maybe she’s mad I broke his nose.
We don’t say much. She scribbles down app ideas while I work on a mock budget.
When the bell rings, she walks out with me, still silent.
The hallway is packed. She stays close, but keeps her head down.
Something’s wrong.
Outside, she finally looks at me. Her eyes are rimmed with red.
“We can take my car to your house?” she offers, holding up her keys.
“Maybe we should leave it for today.”
She glances to the left. Her eyes start to well again.
“No. I don’t want to be home right now. Please.”
I don’t know what’s going on. But the way she’s looking at me, the way her voice cracks, it’s breaking me.
“Okay,” I tell her. “Let’s go to my house.”
She bites down on her lip and opens her car door.
I ask her to stop at the gas station first, and she stays in her car while I go in. The chime rings out and Heather gives me a look I ignore. I head straight to the fridges at the back.
I’ve paid the bills. Bought food for me and Mom. I’ve got twenty bucks left to last the week.
I grab the orange soda I know Layla likes, then reach for the Hersey’s Kisses she’s always eating. As I set them on the counter, I spot a small Angry Bird key chain by the register. It reminds me of the drawing she did last week.
I add it to the pile.
When I climb back into the car, she wipes her eyes and jumps a little, flipping the visor back up like she hadn’t expected me yet.
I direct her to the trailer park.
I cleaned it this morning before I left for school, but there’s only so much you can do to make a trailer look good.
I didn’t think I’d care what she thought of it, but now that we’re here, I care more than I’d like to admit.
She walks behind me and I warn her, “Watch out for the hole in the ramp.”
I still haven’t fixed it.
The living room is just as I left it.
Which means Mom hasn’t come home yet.
Layla looks around but doesn’t say anything.
I take the bag from the store and carry it to my room.
She follows without hesitation.
Unlike me in her room, she doesn’t linger in the doorway. Instead, she walks in like she owns the place, and looks around like she’s a realtor about to put it up for sale.
Not that there’s much to take in. My twin bed barely fits in the space, packed tightly next to a small chest of drawers, my jackets hung up behind my door.
She spots my drawing of the Empire State Building taped to the wall above my bed and smiles. Then she sits down.
Right in the middle of the mattress. Like it’s hers too.
“Do you want a soda?”
“Yeah.” She nods.
I sit down beside her and open the bag, handing her the soda, it’s the same one she had at her house, so I know she likes it. She pops the can open and takes a sip, resting her head against the wall.
“Didn’t you get one for yourself?”
“I’m good.” I tell her, passing her the bag.
“What’s this?” She lifts out the Hersey’s and the angry bird key chain, a wide smile spreading wide across her face as she holds it.
“It reminded me of the picture you drew last week.”
“I love it.” She clips it onto her keys. “Thank you.” Her smile starts to fade, and she tucks her hair behind her ear.
“What’s going on, Layla?”
“You saw me crying in the car, didn’t you?” She sounds annoyed at herself.
I nod. I don’t tell her I noticed she wasn’t okay long before that.
“I heard about what happened in the canteen.”
“That’s why you’re upset?”
“I’m not upset you punched him.” She runs her hands through her hair and sighs. “He was annoyed at me, not you.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s mad because I wouldn’t sleep with him.” She avoids my eyes. “At the party. He tried getting me drunk again, but after the last time, the time I told you about, I didn’t want to.”
I can relate to that. I’ve never wanted to drink. Not when my mom is a living, breathing reminder of what happens when it goes too far. The risk of ending up like her isn’t worth it.
“He… He said he wasn’t feeling well and asked to go up to my room so he could lie down.
I should have known.” She shakes her head, and I can feel the heat rising in my veins.
I want to go back and make sure his nose really is broken.
“He closed the door behind me and kissed me. It all happened so fast. I tried to tell him no, but he wasn’t listening.
I hit him, and he got mad. He yelled some really horrible things at me, then left.
I locked the door the second he was gone and stayed there until the party was over. ”
Yeah. Forget his nose. I want to break more than that.
“Layla—.”
“He didn’t actually do anything. It’s just… he was so aggressive, Jacob, and it scared me.” She smooths down her skirt. “I wish he would leave me alone.” She brings her hands over her face and starts to cry.
I put my arm around her, and she leans her head into my chest. I smooth down her hair with my hand.
“I’m glad I broke his nose today.”
She lets out a laugh, even though she’s still crying. “Me too.”
“Let’s go somewhere,” I suggest.
“Where?”
“You said you like Harry’s, right?”
She nods against me. “But we’re supposed to be having a business meeting.” Her shoulders drop.
“We’ll write it off as a business lunch.”
She laughs again, and the sound makes me smile.
***
She parks beside the pier at Harry’s. There’s only one other car parked over by the dumpsters. It’s always quiet this time of day, before the evening rush kicks in. We walk along the pier, and I hold the door open for her.
Harry is running a rag over the bar, a few men on stools chatting to him over a beer. Most of the booths inside are empty. Harry glances over to us.
“Jacob, are you working today?”
“Not today,” I tell him.
He drops the rag and makes his way over. “Who’s this?” he asks, smiling at Layla.
“Layla,” she answers. “I’m Jacob’s friend.”
“Layla,” Harry repeats, like he just put the last piece of a puzzle together. He points at her. “You’re Mitch Hart’s daughter?”
She nods.
“Well, it’s nice to finally meet one of Jacob’s friends,” Harry says, though his tone isn’t quite as friendly now. “I never see him in here unless he’s working.”
She smiles. “Do you mind if we sit outside?”
“You can sit wherever you want.” He grabs a couple of menus from behind the counter.
Layla starts to walk toward the back deck, but Harry stops me.
“Be careful, Jacob. Mitch isn’t someone you want to get mixed up with.”
“We’re working on a school project together, Harry. That’s all.”
“Good.. Keep it that way.” He turns to go back, then pivots round again. “This is on me, so have whatever you want.”
“You don’t have to do that, Harr–”
“Nonsense, kid. You work more hours than I pay you for. It’s the least I can do.”
I find Layla sitting at a table close to the water, her bag pushed against the railing. She’s holding a Polaroid camera, taking pictures of a fishing boat.
“What’s it like working here?” she asks.
“It’s usually busy, so the time goes in quick. Which is good.”
She points the camera at me. “You can’t be grumpy for this photo, it’s going on my wall. So you better smile, Jacob Evans.”
I laugh, and she snaps the picture.
“See? It’s not that difficult.”
Not with you.
Gina, one of the waitresses, approaches our table. “What can I get you both?”
Layla looks down at the menu. “Can I get a plain cheese pizza, please?”
Gina jots it down, then looks to me.
“I’ll go for the special.” She smiles at me.
“Any drinks?”
“Orange soda,” Layla says. I order the same.
Gina takes the menus and heads toward the kitchen.
“Is this the only place you work?” Layla asks.
“No, I work for Keith on the weekends too.”
“Keith?”
“He owns a construction company. I work there when I’m not here.”
“Two jobs, and school, that’s a lot.”
“I need to.” I’m not sure why I said that. Or why I feel like I can be honest with her. I look for any sign that she’s uncomfortable, but there isn’t one.
“Do you enjoy either of them?”
I glance over my shoulder to make sure Harry isn’t in ear shot. “I prefer working for Keith.”
“Because the moneys better?”
I shake my head. “I like the work. I’ve worked on a few sites now, and I like seeing the houses I’ve helped build become homes.”
“Is that what you want to do?”
I shrug. “I’m not sure.”
Gina returns with our food. I take a sip of the soda first. “What about you? What do you want to do?”
“That depends which version you want to hear. Do you want my dream, or what my dad wants?”
“Dream.”
She grins like that’s exactly the answer she was hoping for. “I’m going to open my own bakery. Right here in Rockport.”
“Why doesn’t he want you to do that?”
She takes a bite of the pizza. “He thinks it’s stupid. He says it’ll take me years to turn a profit.”
“Has he tasted your baking?”
She smiles. “He doesn’t like sweet things. He’s more of a savory kind of guy.”
“Well, I think you should go for it.”
She holds eye contact, her smile reaching her eyes. “I like it when you talk more.”
I like talking to you.
“Don’t get used to it.” I take a bite of my pizza.
She’s starting to seem more like herself again.
I want to kill Alex.
Avoiding expulsion just got a lot harder.