Why Won't You Fall Into My Arms?

I had known Jack for years and years, since we were small children. Long before we had a broad enough vocabulary to hurl proper insults at each other or even understand the ones we would later throw.

We weren’t childhood sweethearts but just friends who shared two childhood necessities: toys and advice. When his hair used to grow in pointy tufts and my clothes consisted of hideous dresses, we were virtually inseparable. I wasn’t afraid to get into mud fights or go exploring around the woods or play pranks on the other boys who teased me for being so tall and different. Jack never used to tease me about those things; in fact he had never touched on them.

There isn’t a time in my life I can remember not being abnormal from everyone else. All the other girls stood at average height, flipping average hair and smiling average smiles. I was tall, the tallest, peaking 6, 0 ft when everyone else seemed to stay 5, 5. My hair was a pale orange flicked with gold, blonde to some and strawberry blonde to others. Red if the light caught it just right. When I was young it hardly mattered but as soon as age crept up on me it seemed so vital.

I distinctly remember a day just after my 10th birthday when the boy I’d thought I laws in love with hurled mud at me. We were now too old to play with the stuff; we girls stared at it with narrowed eyes of disgust while boys eyed it in a jealous kind of pleasure, as if they knew it would only end in their reprimand but desired it even still. If you threw mud at 10 then there was no promise of a fight but instead the contempt with which you held that person at. I came back into the classroom, crying weak tears with dirty brown overalls and sticky mud stuck in my mass of hair.

“Freak.”

The word wouldn’t leave me alone for the rest of the pitiful day after it had left his lips. In fact, it still rang in my ears sometimes when I passed muttering girls or laughing boys, insecurity isn’t as easily rubbed away even if the mud was.

Jack Adams had patted me as I had cried and made no sign of disgust when the mud transferred onto his hand. He waited with me as my grandfather came to pick me up and didn’t fully let me go until I was safely in my car.

The next day the boy who I now hated had apologised profusely to me, a nasty black bruise already forming along the rim of his eye. Jack stood watching the scene with his arms crossed and shot the boy a nasty look when he chanced a glance.

It was a naïve kind of friendship, one easily forgotten, but I had depended on him once to heal the bullets that sometimes pierced my body armour. To help the bruises which didn’t always disappear.

It’s almost impossible to be nostalgic and look back on my childhood without wanting to laugh. Jack had been such a goofy kid who couldn’t have cared less about girls unless they wore ponytails that could be tugged out teasingly. I was the only girl permitted to touch him and I only did that when punching him for being an idiot. He’d never managed to shake off that particular trait.

But he’d also been a reserved boy. I’d never entered his house until now, only seen his parents from a distance and known he was shy about family. Something had happened at some point, something must have done. I didn’t speak about my family because my parents had died when I was young - my story was straightforward, my secret understandable. I couldn’t imagine for a second what Jack’s could be.

As soon as high school had hit us, and hit us hard, we both knew we couldn’t be friends. He had tamed that hair to sweep attractively to the side, his face was tanned and smooth as if enticing girls’ hands to caress it and he had that popular High-School-God style stamped down perfectly.

I was still too intelligent to be cool and too tall to blend in. I had friends, the most loyal of any, and trundled through life at a substantially accepted rate but Jack flew higher than ever. He was the most popular guy in school and the only time we spoke was through spiteful sarcasm or heated insults. I couldn’t take it that he was more popular than me, he thought. He was just a jerk used to getting his own way, I thought. We hurtled around different solar systems that barely touched except when causing excess destruction.

He slept with any girl fake enough to resemble a Barbie doll, their killer heels teetering dangerously whenever they baby-stepped over to him. They were pathetic. They were easy. That’s how Jack liked them.

I remained closed off in my shell, watching boys pass by like a mere flower gazing upon a whole forest enviously. People knew my name but didn’t really take the time to know me. I was just the tall girl, the smart girl, just any other girl.

Although, that suited me just fine. I had my wonderful friends who loved me unconditionally and I knew just what jerks like Jack were capable of. Ever since I was 10 years old I knew not to let a boy get close enough to hurt me and especially not close enough to throw mud on my favourite dress.

“Soph?” the younger Jack disappeared from my reverie to be replaced by the reality of teenage Jack Adams. The one who I couldn’t stand and who equally couldn’t stand me.

“What?”

“That’s not very nice.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked irritably, the heat and memories getting to my anger again.

“You don’t have to bite my head off every single second, Soph,” he grumbled, looking truly affronted.

“Well…” his expression made me falter “you don’t have to be such an asshole all the time.”

I knew that was a pathetic comeback, if we were actually arguing, but I hated letting Jack have the last word, even if his words weren’t insulting.

“Whatever, I was just going to ask if you had any ideas about what we could do?”

I gave him my best are-you-stupid look.

“Guess not…”

“I’m sure it’s nothing too serious, I’m sure that whatever is happening will be better in the morning. In fact, we’ll probably get out of bed tomorrow to find that everything is back to normal,” I said, mainly to myself than Jack.

I was sprawled out comfortably on Jack’s bed while he was pacing the floor just metres away. When he stopped, I couldn’t help but gaze over at him, watching his face shift through all of him emotions one by one.

“Why are we always arguing Soph?” I stared at him unsurely, doubting whether this was some kind of a trap but finding no obvious pit-falls.

“You’re a popular jerk and I’m a quiet freak, remember?” I explained slowly.

At the word ‘freak’ we both flinched somewhat. I hadn’t meant to say it, say my branded word, the name permanently tagged to me like a tattoo.

“Whatever” he mumbled quietly, obviously angry at my answer.

“You asked,” I said defensively “it’s only the truth.”

“I said whatever Soph, that means drop it.”

He was almost shouting, fury blazing behind those bright pupils. I flinched at it. This was the teenage Jack I was used to but didn’t want. This was the person my best friend Jack Adams had turned into over the years.

I didn’t say anything else as the atmosphere fizzled with his anger. Sighing loudly, I curled up on his cover so the sheets blocked out his rampage of rummaging around with belongings. After a few minutes of this a low neat beat started to tap out across the house, across the street, across the entire town of stifled silence.

Curiously, I rolled over to gaze at Jack, a blue Hollister t-shirt now covering his chest, sitting behind his drum set. The sticks rose and fell rhythmically in his hands creating a pretty arrangement of beats that subconsciously my toes flexed to.

It came as a complete surprise that Jack Adams could play the drums. And play the drums well.

Slowly I heaved myself up and off the bed, walking over to where Jack sat to stand behind him. His hands worked magic and I found it hard to tear my gaze away from them. All too abruptly they stopped to curl up rigidly in his lap so the silence greeted us unpleasantly again.

“That was actually pretty good,” I said blankly, still too shocked to realise I had just complimented him.

“I’ve been playing since we started high school; it helps calm me down.”

I could hear the smile in his voice, probably a gloating one that was proud. It made me jealous to hear someone so gifted with a musical instrument. Music was beautiful. I hadn’t the patience or stamina to deal with learning something as a beginner again. Being bad at something infuriated me to the point of throwing something, say an instrument, out of the window.

“You want to try?” Jack asked.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because?”

“I said no.”

“Is Sophia afraid of being worse at something that the ‘completely incompetent’ Jack Adams?”

I narrowed my eyes at him dangerously but he still didn’t face me, looking out the window probably wearing his infuriating grin. Because he already knew he was right.

“Shut up.”

He swivelled around to look at me, indeed with that smile which drove me insane. And made me want to clobber him over the head with his drum sticks.

“I’m right aren’t I?”

He was which had me fighting back an unpleasant blush. Jack had the popularity and I had the brains, that was how it had always gone, never would I allow him to show me up at anything.

“Shouldn’t we be focusing on more important things like how we’re the only two people left in this god forsaken town?”

Of course, I was just changing the subject. Of course, we’d already covered ever possibility to death and established that there was nothing to be done at the moment. We were alone. We were together. And I was determined not to embarrass myself in front of Jack again.

“The internet doesn’t work” he repeated monotonously.

I reached for the machine anyway and clicked various buttons frantically, more worried about my distraction fading than actually getting it to work.

“It doesn’t work Soph” Jack’s breath tickled the back of my neck, giving away his silent movements closer. I swerved around him as if dodging a tackle to stand with a hand clutching my chest, my heart beating hysterically.

“Sweet Jesus Jack you scared me shitless.”

He laughed at my panic before penetrating me with intense eyes.

“Just admit it; you’re worried that I’m actually better than you at something.”

“I hardly think picking up more girls than me makes you superior,” I quipped.

“You know I was talking about the drums Soph, even though I am better at picking up girls.”

“That doesn’t make you superior either.”

“But you think you’re better than me?” He brandished his hands as if willing me to continue his thought.

“I know that after high school is over and the best years of you life with it, I’ll be going off to college to make something of myself.”

“God,” he groaned “could you get any more boring? Listen to yourself, your idea of life improving is going to college.”

“You wouldn’t understand, learning to you is a chore and one which apparently you’re not very good at.”

We glared at each other for a few minutes, neither one of us moving a muscle. And then he smirked. A smirk which set off a million different emotions in his eyes with one becoming obvious, the one which only ever meant trouble.

“Nobody’s around Soph, and we’re all alone here in my bedroom,” he took a step toward me “left to our own devices,” another step “where anything could happen. Where popularity and brains mean nothing and you’re just a girl and I’m just a boy.”

He was too close. Too hot. Too sneaky. I fought and won with the blush that so desperately wanted to reach my cheeks.

“Stop screwing about Jack” I shoved him away, hands pressed tightly to his chest. It felt stupidly toned. I scolded myself for even allowing my thoughts to linger on his physique.

He laughed and raised his hands in defeat “can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“Actually,” I couldn’t help but let a smirk of my own emerge “I can blame you, prosecute you even. I swear to God as soon as things get back to normal I’ll have a restraining order placed against you so you won’t be able to come within twenty feet of me.”

“As if I of all people would want to get close to you anyway. In case you haven’t noticed sweetheart, I’m not the virgin here, and I’m not the one who’s never been in a proper relationship.”

They were both low blows but I had plenty of weapons of my own up my sleeves.

“These so called relationships that you’ve had normally last a few days and involve you already cheating with their best friends and worst enemies. Heck, it involves you cheating with anything that moves!”

“It’s funny. I never remember you being this bitter,” his voice was low, gruff, almost as if he genuinely cared.

“Times were different then, you and I were different people,” I bit my lip and looked away from him. “We hadn’t hurt each other yet.”

“We could be like that again; sure I’d have to get over you being a bitch but…”

“Me being a bitch?” the familiar annoyance rose within me “you’re the one throwing insults around here.”

He smirked but I just sighed out, tired of this back and forth place we seemed to be stuck in. It was exhausting being so high strung about our situation and arguing pointlessly with Jack just wore me right down.

“Whatever Jack Adams, why don’t you go make us something to eat.”

He snorted “why should I be the one to cook? You’re the girl here.”

“Because if I go down un-chaperoned again I might just break into your private rooms and discover all of your secrets.”

He shook his head, almost amused, at my half-threat.

“But mainly because I can’t cook at all and would end up poisoning you, accidentally of course,” I beamed innocently.

He was already halfway to the door as I smiled contentedly to myself. I really was hungry now that the topic had been broached to my stomach.

“I’m thinking a ham and cheese sandwich with mayonnaise,” I added cheekily.

He turned to show his disgusted expression but I cut him off “you have your disgusting habits too Adams, do I need to remind you of the countless sluts who have messed up possibly these very covers?”

He shot me a playful glare before storming downstairs.

“Just because you wish you were one of them,” he called behind him. I laughed sarcastically loud enough for the sound to carry to him before pulling his covers closer to my face and softly inhaling his scent, trying to fight off the notion to just fall asleep.