Chapter 4

Realization hit Thomas like a semi-truck. Cold and crushed, who shows up to comfort but his friend Jonathon? Is hope completely lost, or will Jonathon help Thomas get back on track? And what is with Jonathon's family?

 

Chapter 4

 

          Jonathon.

          I tried to tell him what happened, but it all came out in a mumble. “. . . not going to make it.”

          He lifted me to my feet. “Yeah, yeah, it’s not that bad. Just tell me where your key is, Thomas, and we’ll go inside.”

          I slowly patted my pockets. All I felt was loose change. “Uh.” I opened the screen door and checked the space between the doors. Nothing. “Oops.”

          Jonathon sighed in exasperation. “Brilliant. Oh well, I guess there isn’t much choice. Come on.” He began to walk down our porch and onto the street.

          “Wait, where are you going?” I called.

          “To my house, dummy,” he said. “You’ll come, too, if you don’t want to freeze out here.” Jonathon continued walking, not turning around to see if I’d follow. I tried. As soon as I had taken a step, my knees gave out for the second time today. I stumbled forward and rolled down the porch steps, finally landing on my back. I heard Jonathon running over to me as I stared at the clouds. “Thomas, what happened?” he asked, pulling me up. I slumped back down.

          “Can’t feel . . . anything,” I mumbled. I had sat outside for so long on my knees it wasn’t surprising that I couldn’t stand up properly, let alone walk. “Though, that is a lovely view of the sky.” 

          Jonathon sighed and ran his hand through his dark hair. “I guess it can’t be helped.” He turned his back to me and crouched. “Get on,” he said, looking over his shoulder. 

          I stared at him for a second, and then realized what he wanted me to do. “O-oh,” I stammered. “Sure—.” 

          I know it’s kind of embarrassing to talk about, but I’m just letting you know the thing between you and Jonathon is completely fine with me. Ren’s words echoed in my mind for a brief moment. What thing between me and Jonathon? 

          “Then get on. What are you waiting for?” Jonathon frowned with impatience. I glanced around, wondering if anyone was watching.

          “I-it’s alright,” I said, “I can walk on my own.” I tried hoisting myself up to a kneeling position, but only succeeded in falling back on my butt and feeling dizzier than before. 

          Jonathon smirked. “Liar,” he said. Grabbing my arms, he pulled them over his shoulders and stood up. He hooked his arms under my knees and adjusted me on his back. I tightened my arms around his neck, not wanting to fall off. It would have been difficult to, though, because of his broad shoulders. Jonathon scooped up my bag and slipped the strap over his arm.

          “Hey, let me down!” I said. “People are going to see.”

          “Stop yelling in my ear, it’s making it harder to walk. Besides, who cares if anyone sees? They don’t know that you’re hurt.”

          “Exactly! They don’t know why you have to carry me, so it’ll seem weird if people see us.” I was cut off when Jonathon shifted me up again as he climbed up the front steps.

          “Weird,” he murmured. “Yeah, I guess it would seem that way.” 

          Still holding me up, Jonathon took out his key and unlocked the front door.  As we made our way through the entryway, I was amazed. The old Victorian house his family lived in was the gem of the neighborhood, a relic in itself that gave our town historic value. On the outside, the house looked washed- out, but as Jonathon carried me through the living room I found that the rooms had been restored and beautifully decorated. The ceilings were high and the beams were carved with great detail. Even the pictures hanging on the wall were placed with care and taste. 

          “Wow, this place looks better from the inside,” I said quietly. I was still gaping at the rooms when I was unceremoniously dumped onto an overstuffed chair. Jonathon dropped my bag on the floor next to me and handed me a phone.

          “You should call your mom and let her know where you are,” he said, “Just in case.” I nodded and dialed her number. After leaving a message on my mom’s cell phone, I hung up and Jonathon came back with two steaming mugs. He handed one to me. “Hot chocolate, careful.”

          I accepted the cup with a nod and took a sip, burning my tongue in the process. “Ow, this is really good.”

          “Homemade,” he replied, setting his cup on the coffee table between us. I cupped my hands around my mug, instead. I knew what was coming.

          “So,” Jonathon began casually, “what was that all about?” I fiddled with my mug handle, avoiding eye contact.

          “Which part?” I asked, trying to be nonchalant as well.

          “You mean there’s more to this? Wha— no, we’ll talk about that later. What I want to know is why you were sitting out in the cold for half an hour. I was looking all over the campus for you. You said you’d wait for me.”

          I blinked in surprise. Even though he was trying to hide it, Jonathon was actually worried about me. “I was running.”

          Jonathon leaned forward on his sofa. “From?” he prompted. I took a swing of hot chocolate to stall for time. As expected, I burned my mouth again. 

          “Him,” was all I managed to say before sputtering into a coughing fit. Jonathon thumped me on the back several times until I could regain control. When I looked up at him, his eyes were cold and hard, staring into space. Neither of us spoke for a minute.

          “He came all the way to the school?” Jonathon finally asked.

          I nodded. Then I noticed that Jonathon’s hand was still on my back. I quickly scooted back in my chair, just short of touching range. Jonathon looked momentarily confused as he lifted his hand up, but was back into his serious expression when he asked, “What did he say?”

          “He just wanted to remind us of the due date. He didn’t come to pick anything up, only reminding me that if I did anything stupid it could cost a life. Or three.”

          “So what did you say?”

          “I told him he had nice socks.”

          Jonathon sighed and shook his head, giving a small smile. “I’m not even going to ask. Which reminds me, when you were outside, what was this about ‘not going to make it?’ ”

          I let my head hang. I’m not exactly a pessimist, but I can tell when things aren’t going to end nicely. “I know we’re not going to make the due date. I was set up from the start.” I fingered the mug in my hands. “We’re not even a quarter of the way there.”

          “It doesn’t hurt to keep trying, Thomas. Wait, did the leader say that three lives could be lost?”

          I looked up. “Yeah, he did.”

          Jonathon sighed again and this time it was his turn to hang his head. “So, he knows about us helping you. The good thing out of this is that it seems that he doesn’t really care as long as he gets his money. But that also means he knows what we look like.” He lifted his head and steepled his fingers. “Perfect.”

          Maybe it was the cold still making me slow or the warmth from the hot chocolate that spread lazily through my body that made me sleepy, but I could have sworn he sounded pleased with this outcome. 

         “Wait,” I said, “did you just say this was ‘perfect’? How is this situation in the least bit close to perfect? My mother owes five million dollars to some crazy lunatic who doesn’t seem the least bit bothered when it comes to threatening people and I’m the one who— ouch!” Hot chocolate soaked my clothes. I hadn’t even realized that I was ranting until Jonathon laid his hand on my arm. For some reason, even the slightest touch from him set me on edge and I ended up spilling my mug because I jerked away so fast. Jonathon was already returning with a roll of paper towels. I reached up to take some sheets when he grabbed my hand.

          For a moment, time stopped. I looked up to see Jonathon’s dark eyes, full of concern, and they held me there, unable to break free. Why does he affect me this way? Then, time came back into play. He practically flung me out from the chair and began cleaning the fabric. I picked myself off the floor.

         “Hey, what about me?” I asked. Jonathon handed me two paper towels. “Thanks,” I grumbled sarcastically, sponging the wet stains on my shirt and pants. After several minutes of scrubbing, Jonathon stood up and examined the stain from above. 

          “It’s not all that noticeable now, thank goodness,” he muttered, more to himself than me. Jonathon glanced over at me and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry about that,” he said, “it’s just that my parents are a bit fanatical about furniture, so I didn’t want them finding a stain right after someone’s been over.” Jonathon walked over to me and brushed my hand away to look at the stain. “I don’t think you should go outside with these wet clothes,” he said. “Here, I’ll lend you some of mine. Can you walk now?”

          I stood up. “Yeah, I can. But thanks for asking after hurling me across the room.” Jonathon only shrugged and led me up the staircase into a wide hallway. He stepped into the second room on the left and beckoned me in. 

          If Ren’s room wasn’t scholar material, then Jonathon’s was. Three bookshelves took up a wall and a half. A full-fledged mahogany office desk took up a corner and a couch sat on the opposite wall. Everything was spotless.

          “Wow,” I said, “I’m kind of surprised and yet, kind of not. I always knew you were smart, but this is way too perfect. I bet you hide porn in here.”

          Jonathon was rummaging through a dresser. “You wish I did,” he replied, pulling out a pair of sweats. “Then you’d never leave. Here, see if these fit. They’re the smallest clothes I have.” He handed the sweats to me and left so I could change. When I stepped out, he was waiting in the hallway. Jonathon turned to ask if they were comfortable, but stopped when he saw me. I stood there wearing the sweats, looking like a little kid playing dress up with clothes much too big. The sleeves were a few inches past my hands and the pant legs, though rolled up several times, and still able to hide my feet from view. I could tell Jonathon was trying not to laugh, for my benefit.

          “I feel like a dwarf,” I complained, pushing up the lengthy sleeves, only having them slip down again. 

          “Hi-ho,” said Jonathon, smiling.

          I set my hands on my hips and pretended to pout. “Think that’s funny, do you? Then take this!” I quickly stuck my arms into the sweatshirt, leaving the sleeves to flop to my sides. Then, sliding the pant legs under my feet, I began to spin my body like a human top, my sleeves whirling around me like a weed whacker as I headed toward Jonathon. Between the wood flooring and the cotton of the sweats, friction could do little to slow me down as I twirled like a frenzied ballet dancer.

          Jonathon backed up as my makeshift blades closed in. He rested his back on the staircase railing and held out his hand, grabbing one sleeve in mid- rotation. My momentum kept me spinning and soon I was wrapped up in the sweatshirt, trapped by my own ingenuity. 

          “N- not fair,” I complained dizzily, my eyes still reeling from the brief rollercoaster ride across the hall. I could hear Jonathon laughing in my ear, and then suddenly realized that we were beyond close, my back against his chest and his hands holding my shoulders. I wanted to pull away, but something in my mind told me stay put. I felt a blush creep across my face, blending in with the flush from my work-out. “Wow, everything’s a blur,” I chuckled, trying to be nonchalant even though my heart was pounding in my chest. Only part of it was from the actual spinning.

          Jonathon paused to catch his breath. His eyes were starting to water from laughing too hard. “But I must say you’ve got outstanding balance to have pulled that off. You spun non-stop for four feet.” He sighed and gently pushed me away, straightening up from the railing. He was back to his cool self. But then he cocked his head and smiled crookedly. “It seems like you’re, more or less, back to normal. It’s good to see you laugh again.” He held out his hand, and for a moment I thought he wanted me to take it. Then he said, “If you give me your uniform, I’ll throw it in the wash. You can leave when it’s done, unless you’re in a hurry.” Jonathon said this last part quietly. 

          Should I stay? I can just wear his sweats and walk home with my clothes. I’d just have to return them tomorrow. I thought for a moment. Then I spun around, letting the sleeves untangle themselves. “Duh,” I replied, grinning, “I’m locked out of my house right now, so I don’t really have a choice, do I?” Surprise flickered across Jonathon’s face, and then he frowned and cuffed my head.

          “So what are you waiting for? Get your laundry.”                       

          I quickly ran into his room, retrieved my clothes and handed them off to Jonathon. While he was in the laundry room, I took the liberty of looking around his house. Usually, family photos are scattered in a normal household with pictures ranging from little toddlers to family reunion photographs. But as I walked down the halls and around the living room, I didn’t see any old pictures of Jonathon and his family, aside from photos taken in the recent past. A closer inspection at a family portrait made me realize that Jonathon didn’t look like either one of his parents. There was no family resemblance in his parents’ auburn hair and his black. I couldn’t find any in their facial features, either. While his parents’ skin had a ruddiness that faded with their age and humor (they weren’t really smiling in any of the pictures), Jonathon’s was a smooth ivory color.   Even their noses were contrasting. Although his parents appeared to be very sophisticated and maybe even snooty, they both possessed roundness to their noses that didn’t even look close to Jonathon’s long slender one. Hmm. 

          “We look nothing alike, do we?”

          I started, turning to find Jonathon standing directly behind me, staring intently at the same picture I had. I sidled casually, putting some distance between me and Jonathon and the photograph. “Yeah,” I replied. I looked up at him. “It seems like your parents are Irish, or something.”

          The side of Jonathon’s mouth twitched into a small smile and he continued to stare at the faces within the frame. “Good eye. Both my foster parents have an Irish heritage.”  He glanced down and met my wide eyes. “Yeah, I’m adopted. It’s not a big secret or anything, just something that doesn’t seem worth mentioning. You’re not upset that I didn’t tell you about it, are you?” he asked, his tone sounding slightly worried.

          I shrugged. “Nah, it’s fine. It’s not like it was any of my business to begin with.” I looked back at the picture then spared a glance at Jonathon’s face, analyzing his features. He caught my gaze and cocked his head questioningly. I took a couple paces back and evaluated him top to bottom. “I’d say . . . mostly Italian, maybe.” 

          Jonathon’s face broke into a smile. “Impressive. And I didn’t even have a weird name to give it away.”

          I shrugged again, making the sweatshirt’s collar droop to one side. “Useless talent. I could tell right off the bat that Ren was part Korean.” 

          Jonathon nodded, and then reached over and pulled my collar back up. It took all my self- control not to flinch in surprise. For a moment, his hand lingered around my neck. Then he dropped his hand and turned away, walking back toward the laundry room. “Your clothes are done,” he said over his shoulder. The end of his sentence was punctuated nicely with the sound of the dryer’s buzzer. I watched him stride across the living room and shivered when he was out of sight. I wasn’t sure if it was all in my head or if all of this was actually happening. The logical part of my brain dismissed it as me being overly-sensitive. I mean, it had only been forty-five minutes since my breakdown in front of my house. This was just a side effect of extreme--yet brief-- depression. That’s it. 

          I shook my head, dislodging any awkward thoughts that clung to my brain. Then I scuffled over to the laundry room, my feet muted by the fabric as I slid across the floor. I peeked in, and then clapped a hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t gasp in shock. 

          Jonathon’s tall frame was bowed, his arms crossed on the dryer. He rested his chin on his forearms and breathed deeply into my freshly washed uniform. His eyes were almost closed, as if deep in reminiscence. He breathed in again and let out a long sigh, burying his face into the shirt. After a second, Jonathon recovered himself and stood up straight. He started when he saw my head peeking from the doorframe.

          “H- how long were you standing there?” he stammered. His cheeks began to redden.

          “Long enough. What are you, some kind of bloodhound?” I asked, knitting my eyebrows together and arching one, simultaneously.  

          Jonathon fingered the shirt, almost as if wishing that he could press it to his face one last time. He folded it up, along with the pants and handed them to me. Because of his height, he couldn’t stare at the floor without the risk of seeing me down there as well. So instead, his eyes focused on the wall beside us. 

          “I . . . like the smell of clean clothes,” he confessed, still not looking at me. His face was a light shade of red. “It’s the only thing that reminds me of my real parents.” Jonathon frowned, as if admitting this habit was like letting me in on a weakness. When I didn’t answer, his face became anxious until he couldn’t help but glance at me. What he didn’t expect my reaction to be was an understanding smile. Jonathon seemed startled, but then he relaxed as well. I took my clothes from him gently.

          “It’s alright,” I said.  “I get how you feel. My dad passed away a while ago.” I fiddled with a button. “Sometimes, when my mom isn’t home, I sneak into her closet and get the hat he used to wear. It calms me when I’m upset.” I suddenly realized something. My dad’s anniversary was coming up really soon. Ever since the encounter with the loan sharks, I had shoved that detail in the back of my mind. Soon even I began to forget about it. “Almost three years, now,” I muttered to myself. I was looking down at my bundle of clothes. To my horror, tears stung my eyes for the second time in one day. Sissy, I chided myself as I blinked back the swell of emotion, taking a deep breath. “Got something in my eye,” I lied lamely. “I’m gonna go change now.” Clutching my uniform, I turned to leave. As I walked away, I felt two hands grasp my shoulders and pull me into a warm embrace. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. The air caught in my lungs and I felt Jonathon rest his chin on my shoulder. His breath was light as he whispered.

          “I’m sorry I brought that up. I didn’t mean for you to cry.” 

         

                              

Author's Note

Yes, nice reviews are accepted as well. It's just more fun to peg someone for doing something completely stupid. Don't you agree?

Reviews

[Vera Iconica]

I've read so many horrible stories lately that your is like a well written breath of fresh air. All of your chapters have a nice flow. They never move so slow that a person loses interst, but never so fast that the reader feels detached from the story.

All of your characters and situations are personable and realistic.

All in all, one of the best stories I have read in a long time.