Chapter 5
Sam
Jameson leaves without another word, and once again, I’m alone.
I was starting to get worried earlier when Johnny was taking so long inside. Levi Baxston has a reputation, and so does his son. I’ve heard stories about Jameson but never met him before. Our school is huge, and he’s a grade above me, so our paths have never crossed.
Until now.
All the girls talk about him, and after meeting him, I can see why.
I’ve heard he’s an underground fighter, and he definitely looks like one—tall and muscular—but it’s the energy he gives off more than anything else.
He’s the kind of guy you know you shouldn’t want, but it only makes you want him more.
Except, the boy I just met doesn’t exactly match all the stories. He’s different than I thought he’d be. I’ve heard he’s mean and violent. That he never talks. There are lots of rumors about the things he’s done. I wonder if any of them are true.
He’s definitely … intense, but there’s something about him that makes me feel almost comfortable.
I’ve been around enough bad people that I feel like I’m pretty good at picking them out, and Jameson doesn’t seem bad to me.
He’s intimidating, for sure. I mean, you’d be stupid not to see that.
But … I don’t know, there’s just something about him.
Something that makes me want to keep being around him.
I push back from the table and pace around the small break room, needing to do something other than just sit here.
After glancing over at the door Jameson closed when he left, I look through all the cabinets and drawers.
I find an ashtray and set it on the table, wishing I’d found some food hidden away, too.
Going over to the fridge, I open the door and lean into the coolness.
Johnny’s AC is out, and it doesn’t seem like this place has any either.
I grab a couple more cans of soda, reorganizing them so you can’t tell, and put them in my bag for later.
When I’ve finished snooping through everything, I open the small corner window then slide back into my chair. At this point, I’m not so sure if Jameson is actually coming back, so I decide to get comfortable.
Taking a sip of Coke, I rifle through my bag and pull out my copy of Jane Eyre.
I grab the pack of cigarettes Johnny gave me earlier and a lighter.
Shuffling the bag around, I find a half-eaten pack of M&Ms and set that in front of me, too.
Then I drop my bag down by my feet, pop an M&M into my mouth, and crack open my book.
I startle when the door pushes open. Looking up, I see Jameson standing in the doorway with his eyes trained on me. They drift over everything I have spread out on the table then back to my face.
“I see you’ve made yourself right at home,” he quips, settling into the seat across from me.
I flip over my book, setting it on the table to save my place. “That a problem?”
He huffs out an amused breath. “No.” He lifts his hand to his hair, and I trace the movement as he brushes it through the dark strands a few times then runs it down his face, flinching when it passes over his bruised lip.
I take him in and notice another faded scar that runs through his eyebrow, right above his hooded brown eyes.
He looks exhausted.
“You gonna share?” he asks, and I realize I’ve been staring.
“Huh?”
He tips his chin toward everything laid out in front of me.
I tilt my head. “M&Ms or cigarette?”
He holds out a hand. “M&Ms.”
I pour some into his open palm. “Did you find out if my brother is still here?”
He absentmindedly sorts the colors. “Yeah, he left already.”
“Where’d he go?”
His eyes flick up to meet mine.
“It’s not like I’m gonna rat on my own brother.”
He hesitates before saying, “A pickup …”
I nod.
“And …” he starts.
“And?” I ask, trying to hide my fear.
“Never mind.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “No, tell me.”
He sighs. “Your brother any good with cars?”
Waving my hand around, I make a face that says, Duh, we’re sitting in a mechanic shop.
He gives me a face back that says, You know that’s not what I mean.
I drop my hand, tilting my head. “Yeah, really good.”
“Then they’re probably going scouting.”
Realization dawns on me, and I notice Jameson is watching to see how I’m going to react.
“Oh,” I mutter, pulling a cigarette out of the pack. I light it. “Do you know when they’ll be back?”
He shakes his head.
I wait to see if he’ll give anything else away, but he doesn’t, so I pick my book back up, needing to give my mind a place to escape to. I don’t want to think about what my brother is doing right now and what would happen if he got caught.
Jameson shifts in his seat, and I hear the zipper of his backpack sliding open. A brown paper bag crinkles and glass clanks together as he sets it on the table. I glance up from my book to see what’s inside, and my eyes widen when he takes out three jars filled with weed.
After pulling the rest of the things out—a Ziplock half-filled with joints, rolling papers, and something circular I don’t recognize—he gets up and rummages around the kitchen, returning with a tray and another Ziplock bag.
I flick the ash off my cigarette and follow his movements as he lines everything up. Once he seems content with the placement, he twists the lid off one of the jars and a pungent smell fills the room.
He blows out a breath and looks up at me. “You’re staring.”
“What do you expect?” I sweep a hand out. “This isn’t exactly normal.”
A laugh that sounds more like a push of air leaves his lips. “No, I guess it isn’t.”
“You guess?”
He runs a hand through his hair, which I’m starting to notice seems to be his tick. “Guess I’m just used to it.”
I set my book back down, giving him my full attention.
“Do you read a lot?” he asks.
“You’re changing the subject.”
“So?”
I stub out my cigarette as he starts the process of rolling a joint. “Yeah, I do.”
“What kind of books do you like?”
“Whatever I can find.”
“But what’s your favorite?”
I motion to my book. “I like classics.”
He hums in agreement.
“Do you read?”
He scoffs.
“What—too cool?”
“No,” he says, shaking his head.
“So, what then?”
“Just don’t think I’ve ever read a book.”
I pull my head back. “Ever?”
“I mean, probably at some point. A picture book maybe when I was a kid.”
“You’re missing out.”
He looks up at me. “Then lend me your favorite, and I’ll read it.”
“Really?”
He watches me for a minute, but it doesn’t give me that skin crawling feeling I get when other boys stare. He looks at me like I’m a person, instead of just a pretty face he wants by his side. And I realize I like his eyes on me. That I want to keep them there.
Finally, he nods, the motion pulling me from my thoughts.
“Why?” I ask.
“You seem like you have good taste,” he answers. “And I want to see what your favorite is.”
I roll my lips to hide a smile. “Well, I’ll lend it to you when I get a copy.”
“You don’t have a copy of your favorite book?”
“I did,” I start. “It … um … it got lost.”
“Lost, huh?”
I nod.
“So what is it?”
“What?”
“Your favorite book?”
“Oh, it’s The Picture of Dorian Gray.”
He watches me like those words mean nothing to him.
“What about you?”
He runs his tongue across the rolling paper before sealing it. “What about me?”
“What do you like to do?”
His brows furrow.
“Like, for fun?”
“I hang out with my cousin Billy.” He twists up the end of the joint. “You’ll probably meet him. His dad owns this place.”
“Oh, I thought your dad did.”
“They both do,” he mutters.
“So, you don’t have anything you’re into then?”
“Movies.” He clears his throat. “I like movies.”
“What’re your favorite kind?”
He smirks. “Classics.”
“Jameson,” someone calls out from the hallway.
Jameson goes rigid, and I watch as the light from his eyes fades. His chair drags across the floor as he quickly pushes away from the table like he doesn’t want to keep whoever just called his name waiting.
“I’ll be right back,” he says. “Stay—”
Before he can finish, a man fills the doorway and drags his gaze between me and Jameson. “What’s going on in here?”