Chapter 26 – Jaxon
TWENTY-SIX
JAXON
“Wanna see something funny?” Grant pops up beside me, a suspicious glint to his eyes that matches the curl of his mouth. He’s supposed to be working through a set of multi-digit multiplication math facts.
I’m curled over a rectangular desk in the back corner of the classroom, papers to grade to my left and lesson plans for the next two weeks to my right. I tip my head in Grant’s direction, folding my arms over the notes and play sketches in front of me.
“Depends. Are you done with your math sheet?”
Grant bobbles his head. “No, but—”
“Once you finish, I’d love to see something funny.” There’s a humph from his direction as he dips his head, disappointment furrowing his brow. “How many more do you have to do?”
Gaze fixated on the floor, he hesitantly admits, “All of them?”
“All of them?” I repeat. I try not to scold him; he’s only nine and reminds me a lot of myself in elementary.
Issues with sitting still were consistently noted in my report cards, and my parents were called in to discuss my self-designated role as class clown.
Smart, but doesn’t apply himself and talks too much were some of my least favorite phrases.
Grant is a bright kid, fucking wiz at spelling and reading—easily light-years ahead of his classmates, but I’ve noticed he avoids math and science.
Doesn’t put forth the same effort. “Do you want—”
I start to ask if he wants help, but he shakes his head, cutting me off. “No.”
“Grant, it’s okay to ask for help. I do, all the time.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, buddy. I suck at science and have to ask my teacher for extra help.” I exaggerate a bit, but it’s true.
Our Biology TA is quite friendly with my questions in the lab.
So is Jordan. I can tell it annoys her—the scrunch her nose does is freaking cute—when I lean over to steal her notes and whisper questions that most of the time are not about class—in her ear or stealing notes.
“I…Mom says I have dyscalculus.”
“Dyscalculia,” I help with his pronunciation.
“Yeah, that.” Grant makes a silly face. “She says it means my brain doesn’t like numbers.” Things start to click—persistent counting on his fingers, skipping steps, always asking what time it is when there are several clocks around the room. “I get angry doing math. It makes me feel stupid.”
“You aren’t stupid.”
He leans over the desk, lowering his voice. “But other kids tell me I am. Like yesterday during recess, I messed up drawing hopscotch. Bobby pointed and laughed at me, then told everyone.”
I spy Bobby’s desk and instantly think I know what Grant was going to show me when he initially walked over here. Poor dude’s butt crack is showing. Based on the erasers in Grant’s hand, I surmise he was going to shoot them into his pants like basketballs.
“Two things. One, just because someone makes fun of you doesn’t mean you get to retaliate. Erasers, please.” I open a hand, palm up. “Two, we all learn differently and that’s okay. I needed extra help with reading when I was your age.”
“Really? But you’re so smart.”
“You know how you practice soccer and hockey?” He nods. “School is the same way. I practiced reading every day, asking for help from my teachers and working with a tutor, till I got better. And do you know what I did then?”
“You kept practicing.”
“Bingo, buddy. I kept practicing even when people made fun of me or it was frustrating.” An image of Jordan pops in my head. “Wanna hear something cool?”
“Duh.” Sparks of life ignite in him. His body starts to relax.
“A friend of mine, the one with the blue hair from our end-of-summer camp pool party—”
“She’s pretty.” Yeah. Yeah, she is.
I laugh. “She wanted to try out for the men’s team.
” As I tell him all about Jordan, Grant mumbles whoa and wow.
“And guess what? She made the team. We all have big, scary things we want to overcome. Why don’t you go grab your math sheet, and we’ll do it together.
How does that sound?” The goofy smile he’s usually sporting returns as he spins on his heels, sprinting to his desk.
I slide a colorful chair next to mine, clearing papers as he returns lightning fast.
“Is Jordan single?” Grant drops into the seat next to me.
“I thought you were crushing on Annaleigh?” My question comes out as a laugh.
“Nah, that was a summer fling. Plus, older women are way cooler.” His brows dance as I ruffle his hair. Happy to know that now I’m competing with a nine-year-old for her attention.
“And no, she’s not single.”
“Dang it.” Grant huffs. “So she has a boyfriend.”
“Something like that. Alright, fifteen times twenty-three. What’s the first step?”
I pinch my eyes shut, on hour three of staring at my computer. A cursor flashes at the end of the singular sentence I’ve typed, deleted, and retyped at least a million times.
This thousand-word paper isn’t going to write itself…
especially when all I can think about is Jordan.
Or when I need to research teaching methods, I end up rewatching her film or stalking her minimal social media—a whopping total of ten posts on her account and no tags.
I could probably paint each picture from memory if challenged.
I’ve been trying to finish this paper since practice after student teaching, but here I am.
Chase knocks a knuckle on my open door, popping his head in. “Heading to The Tipsy Bear with Elliot. Wanna come?”
“Anyone else going?”
“Beck’s at parent-teacher night. Dawson and Cooper are out on a double date. I think they’re coming after.”
Taking another glance at my screen, I shake my head. “Need to finish this paper.”
“I’ll leave my keys in case you change your mind.” He closes my door behind him, and I can hear from downstairs Elliot snickering about something before the sound of the front door shuts.
Two hours pass before I’m scooping up his keys.
I tap on Dawson’s story again. Their double date must’ve been a triple date, because at the end of the table is Jordan and a guy I don’t recognize. A possessiveness I shouldn’t have presses my foot on the gas as I reverse out of the driveway and head in the direction of The Tipsy Bear.
I thought…I thought that maybe we were…I don’t know, together? At least more than friends?
Maybe I read it all wrong.
Maybe now that she’s on the team and got what she wanted, Jordan doesn’t need—doesn’t want me.
Then why are you going to interrupt her date? What’s your plan inside? Pee on her and mark your territory? Tell her how you feel and get rejected?
Inside, it must be sorority night out. There are short skirts and high heels in every direction.
Spotting an opening at the bar, I slink in, ignoring the hands grabbing at me, ordering a drink before I locate their table.
It’s in the back near the pool tables. Jordan and Wilder’s name are on the chalkboard queue for a game.
Wilder…Wilder…
I try to place the name, but I don’t recognize him.
He must not play sports or participate in Greek life or do anything social.
As the campus-designated cruise director, the only people I don’t know are hermits.
Nothing wrong with preferring the comfort of your dorm—Jordan does—but c’mon, its college.
Even Beck graces us with his brooding presence from time to time—like tonight.
Broad shoulders roll back, puffing out his chest and pressing against the cotton of his ribbed Henley.
Tattooed arms lay lazily on the table. He appears to be half interested in the conversation taking place around him, but I know he’s listening.
Might be a statue, but at least he’s a listening statue.
I clap him on the shoulder, asking about the parent-teacher conference. Partly to deviate my focus from Wilder trying Jordan’s drink. Partly because Madeline is like a little sister to me.
“She talks a lot.” Beck sips on a light beer, fingers loosely holding it by the neck.
“Wonder where she gets that from.” I beam.
I’ve had Madeline as a camper back-to-back summers, and have spent plenty of afternoons sampling ice cream or getting my nails done by her.
The girl knows how to gab and is funny as hell, always smiling.
Except when I walked her home from school the other day.
She was silent and sporting a frown, I knew something was up.
She’d gotten in trouble for talking too much and being too loud.
I kicked at a rock, trying to kick away the memory and voice in my head of Mom using those same words.
Dropping to my haunches, I looked her in the eyes and reminded her that there’s no such thing as being too much. The world needed more Madeline in it.
It’s the same way I feel about Jordan. When she lets her guard down, that girl is warm and bright. The word needs more Jordan—I know I do.
“She blames you too.” He almost smiles.
A tipsy Chase throws his arms around my shoulder, drinks clutched in each hand. “Jaxxxxy poo, I’m so so so happy you’re here. No one’s as fun as you.”
I chuckle dryly. For whatever reason, what should be a compliment—one I’d bask in like it’s a spotlight—doesn’t land.
Elliot bounces up next, smacking a kiss on my cheek. I rub off the glossy residue. “Guess what?” She sits next to me.
“Hmm.” I lean into her orbit, muttering, “You’re finally going to put Chase out of his misery and admit you like him too.”
That earns me a shoulder swat and a dramatic eye roll. “Funny, funny. You know it’s not like that between us.”
“It could be.” I glance at my friend and roommate. He quickly shifts his yearning gaze away from the leggy blonde.
“Don’t, please.” There’s a foreign desperation to her tone.
“Sorry, E,” I say with genuine remorse. “What’s up?”
“Little birdie told me you kissed someone.”
“Jordan told you?”
“Ha. No, but my spidey-senses were tingling, and I see the way you two eye-fuck each other now.” She takes a sip of her Shirley Temple, her latest obsession.
“Plus, look at her. You think she wants to be on a date with that guy? She’s been miserable all night.
The only time I saw her remotely engaged was when Cooper told a story about you. ”
“Really?”
“Would I lie to you?”
“No.” Elliot won’t even let me remotely think I was the best hook-up she’s ever had. She likes to remind me that I’m top three, but not number two or one. Our drunken fling a few semesters ago lasted all of a month. “Who is he anyway?” She shrugs. “Elliot…”
“Don’t drag me into the middle of this.”
“You put yourself in the middle of this.”
“Fine,” she huffs out. “If you must know what my scooping dug up. Danny Wilder, junior soccer player—midfielder, ew running. Pre-medicine, chemistry and biology double major. Mom is from Argentina and Dad is from Portland. Was born in Oregon but grew up in Southern California when his mom’s family relocated there.
Formerly a serial relationship-ist.” A what?
“Doesn’t hook up or sleep around. Enjoys dating, and his last relationship ended because his girlfriend cheated on him.
His favorite color is orange, allergic to pineapple, somehow hates curly fries, and—”
“There’s more?”
“People pay good money for private investigators, Greene. I’m offering my services for free.”
I take a swig of my beer. “Basically, he’s a walking green flag.”
“Except for the curly fries, yeah.”
At the other end of the table, Jordan and Wilder get up to play pool.
He hands her the cue, and from where I’m sitting, I can read his lips.
Read her body language. She’s pretending to listen to his over-explaining of how to play.
Little does he know that Jordan’s better at pool than everyone at this table, probably everyone in the bar.
Hustled the shit out of us during siblings’ weekend our freshman year.
There’s a snicker from Cooper’s direction. He’s picking up on all of this too.
“A little birdie also told me,” Elliot fills the lag in conversation. “Someone’s in need of getting laid.”
Beck about spits out his new beer. “You two, again?”
“No,” Elliot and I say in unison.
A record of how sweet Jordan sounded while coming undone rings between my ears.
“So what are you going to do about it?” Elliot asks.
Wilder stands behind her, hands moving to reposition her pool cue. I blink, and it could be me standing behind her on the ice. Asking, unlike him, if I can touch her and show her how to pivot. I blink again, and it’s Jordan sinking a shot, high-fiving Wilder.
I down my beer before disappearing.