Date: Sat, 2 Aug 2008 00:40:50 +0100
From: mac_manap@msn.com
Subject: American-English, pt. 2

	Before you begin, I would like to apologise to any readers I may
have for the delay in posting of this next chapter. You see, I poured tea
onto my laptop- as you do- and so was unable to use it until I replaced my
keyboard, which seemed to take forever and a day. So, I apologise if anyone
was waiting the next instalment, although I doubt that there were many.
	Also, thank you to all who emailed me their kind words and thoughts
regarding this story. I deeply appreciate it. It's encouraging to keep
writing, knowing there are some who enjoy what I have written- although, it
does add on the pressure to deliver something new.
	Thank you, and enjoy!


	AMERICAN-ENGLISH

       CHAPTER TWO.
       JUST ANOTHER MANIC MONDAY.

       I hated my alarm clock. Almost as much as I hated Monday
mornings. Especially this Monday morning. I knew that Saturday evening's
events would come back to bite me in the arse. Sorry, "ass". I guess it's
pretty condescending the way I continue to correct my own speech to the
Americanisms. Oh well.
       Lying there in bed, I began to ponder what the appropriate response
would be for the way I spoke to Estralita, Evander, Chrissie, Brady, Dylan,
the twins Georgia and Gloria and, of course, Mr. Jockstrap himself-
Clay. Boy did I piss the wrong people off.
       I made my way to the shower, stopping to look in the bathroom
mirror. I looked pretty shitty. My brown hair was a mess. I really needed
to get it cut. I turned on the shower and stripped out of my shorts, giving
myself a hearty scratch.
       Leaning against the wall, I allowed the perfectly warm water to rain
down on me, cleansing my body from the heavy state of weariness. Grabbing
the soap, I rubbed the bar into my skin, washing away the tired dirt from
my body.
       An hour later I was standing outside the school gates, desperately
trying to think of a plan to not have to walk through them. I began to feel
like my presence was not going unnoticed by the students walking across the
threshold to school sanctuary. Were they whispering about me? Or was I
being paranoid? Just as I thought I saw a couple of girls giggle blushingly
at me, the little procession of fabulous cars pulled into the car
park. Before the engines had even stopped I stormed across the school
grounds, past the pristine courtyard, past the numerous pairs of eyes and
stupid fits of laughter. I headed for the administration building which
housed the school library. Funnily enough, the room was completely
empty. Boy, I must have looked like a right fool.
       I roamed around the full shelves, taking comfort in the deserted
room. I enjoyed the quiet of the library. I could just sit and think to
myself without being disturbed by anyone. I found my way to one of the soft
cushioned chairs and flumped myself into its arms. No sooner had I sat back
did I hear someone open the door. Grabbing the closest book I could, I hid
my face behind the cover. I could hear footsteps. Perhaps the librarian was
doing her morning check? She hated loitering, her fierce eyes and
penetrating stare always creeped me out.
       "'Confessions of a...Shopaholic'? I err, hear that's a must-read..."
came Clay's voice. I hadn't realised which book I had retrieved. I
uncovered my face and rested the book in my hands, trying to maintain some
posture.
       "Yeah...I suppose," I dismissed casually. "It was just lying there,
so I thought I'd give it a go," I turned back to the book and pretended to
read, realising how stupid I must've looked with the bright pink cover
resting in my hands. Clay just stood their silently, coming with hundreds
of ridiculous mocking-jokes no doubt.
       Feeling his stare on me and the book, I put it back on the table,
defeated and sat back in my chair. "Bit weird, seeing you without your
posse. Did they get lost?"
       "Ouch!" he replied insincerely. "Actually I left them to their own
devices. I think they can survive without me for a few minutes."
       "You sure about that? I wouldn't bet on it. What will they do
without Mr. Jockstrap to lead them?"
       "Mr. Jockstrap? I like that. You're probably right, though. I can
just see it now: all my buddies wondering aimlessly and calling my name
idly. `Alas! Where is Clay? Clay? Return to us, for we are lost without
you!'"
       Did he just use the term "Alas"? I turned to face him as he finished
his speech. A smile shone out as he ended his parody.
       "What? Surprised by my above-average use of the English language?"
       "Actually, yeah." I didn't get what was going on here; something
didn't feel right. I knew this in my gut. But I couldn't stop the gentle
laugh escape my lips.
       "I see you're lightening up, Jay. Jacob- sorry... Jacob," he
corrected, anticipating my response. He sat down in the chair opposite my
own. "Look, I just wanted to come and apologise for what happened on
Saturday. The guys were way out of line." I couldn't believe that
Mr. Popular himself was apologising to me. "We shouldn't have bombarded you
like that," he continued. "And I sure as hell didn't realise they were
gonna do that to you. And then to do what they did with it...must've been
real embarrassing."
       Wait...what did he say?
       "I just wanted you to know that I didn't have anything to do with
that."
       "To do with what?" He just stared at me, clueless. "What the hell
are you talking about?"
       "You know..." he paused.
       "Well obviously I don't."
       He began to fiddle with his pocket and pulled out his phone. He
pushed a few buttons and then handed it to me.
       I could have kicked something. Someone.
       On the screen of his fancy and, I can only assume, expensive phone
was a picture. Of me. On my porch. In my towel. Dripping wet. And a bulge
in the towel of my flaccid penis that would have only been more obvious if
it was circled with a red marker and an arrow, captioned: `This is Jacob
Hylton's penis. Commence laughter now.'
       "What the fuck...?"
       "I'm guessing you didn't know..."
       "What the fuck is this?"
       "It's you."
       "I can see that! What are you doing with it?"
       "Well...after she took the picture, Lita uploaded it on..."
       "Who?"
       "Estralita. She took the picture of you on Saturday. I thought she
had a thing for you. But then she uploaded it to her-"
       "Don't say it"
       "...and then she sent it to every-"
       "Just stop!" I sat back in my chair, staring at the wall.
       "I just wanted you to know that it had nothing to do with me." I
continued to sit there, silently. "You alright, dude?"
       "Am I alright? Fucking fantastic. I'm living in a different country
where I have no friends, parents who are too busy living their own lives
and you and your fucking group of friends who are determined to make my
life a living hell."
       "Look, it's not that bad. It could have been worse."
       "How so?"
       "Well you could be naked," he sniggered and stopped when he saw the
look on my face.
       "How many people did she send it to?"
       He stared at me dumbfounded. "Err...it's Lita...she has everyone in
her contact list."
       "So what you're saying is that everyone in the school has seen the
picture?"
       "More than likely."
       "Fucking bastards. The lot of you!"
       "Well, that's a bit-"
       "Shut the fuck up, Clay! You and your friends can go and fuck
yourselves. Just leave me the fuck alone!" Grabbing my bag I crossed the
library and stormed out the door, leaving Clay staring after me from his
chair.
       As soon as I stepped outside the admin building the laughter began;
a crescendo of giggling girls and heckling jocks. Pulling up the hood of my
sweater I walked across the grounds, not looking at anyone until I reached
home room. I had hoped the room would be empty, but no such luck. A small
congregation of girls had already arrived and seated themselves in the
middle of the room. I headed for the back corner as the group broke out
into lively whispers. I saw them pass a phone around. Two guesses what they
were looking at.
       The day surely couldn't get any worse...
       "Mr. Hynd? Would you remove your hood please? Mr. Hynd? Mr Hynd?!"
       I looked up and saw Mrs. James staring at me. She was an older woman
with a sour face which complimented her squawky voice.
       "Actually, it's Hyl-" I began, pulling my hood down.
       "It's Hylton, Mrs. James. Jacob Hylton." One of the girls I didn't
recognise piped up. She punctuated her statement with giddy snicker. Her
group of girlfriends turned and stared at me.
       The joyous students began to clamber in as the bell sounded. A haze
of jackets, bags, chairs and desks filled the room, lively and friendly
banter passing back and forth as the kids caught up with each other after
the weekend. I tried to ignore them by staring out the window, getting lost
in the vision of the school grounds. The sun shone down onto the benches
and tables in the court yard, the parasols branching out across the area
like strangely formed trees. The school was meticulously maintained; not a
grass or hedge was out of shape. There wasn't even any litter
outside...which was strange as there weren't that many bins.
       The whispering laughter followed me as I wondered down the corridor
to my first lesson.
       "Mmm-mmm, is that what they're brewing in the mother land?"
       "What, no towel today, Guv'nor?"
       "...imagine what it's like hard."
       I think one of the more embarrassing moments was when there was a
debate of what my name was: Jesse, Jason, Jonathon, Joshua, Jamie, Jack,
Jim... Harry, Chris, Martin, Sammy...
       I had never been so thankful to step into a maths lesson in my
life. I relished in my new sanctuary and found a seat in the back
room. Estralita, Brady, Chrissie and Clay all walked in not long after me,
the first three all laughing embarrassingly at me. Clay, however, offered
me an apologetic expression as he followed his crew to their seats. I
returned the favour with a scowl toward the lot of them and hid my head in
my maths book as the teacher walked in.
       The students parted like the red sea as I walked down the corridor
to my locker after the lesson. My locker appeared on the other side of the
taunting ocean of kids. As I approached it I saw it. Someone had produced a
hard copy of the picture and pasted it on the door. And not just one, at
least thirty pictures were posted all over the lockers and the surrounding
wall.
       I walked on, feeling my face turn a deep shade of red. I pulled the
picture from my locker, opening the door.
       SMACK.
       Someone had forced far too many wet towels inside- they proceeded to
enthusiastically escape their confinement. My books, work, spare jacket and
other personal items had all been dampened by their presence. Feeling more
heckling laughs from around me, I grabbed my now-wet book and slammed the
door closed, revealing Clay standing behind it. He just gave me another
apologetic smile, his brown eyes staring at me, a look which looked
sincere. Ignoring this, I glowered back at him. I muttered to him as I
turned and walked away.
       "Fuck you, Clay."
       This was too much now. It was everywhere. The whole freaking town
was going to see that picture.
       "Yo! Jake! Jacob! Come on, man!" Clay called after me, his voice
drowning from the constant chortles.
       I rounded the corner furiously, as his apology drowned in the sea of
comics, and almost knocked over the Vice-Principal.
       "Ah, Mr. Hylton. I've been meaning to talk to you. Can you come with
me please?"
       "I'm going be late for my next class..."
       "That's alright, I'll write you a note for your teacher."
       We headed to his office, passing more than a few copies of the
picture. Walking through the glass panelled door, I sat down in the offered
seat and looked around the large, blue office. Pictures of the V.P.'s
family were neatly assembled on his desk and wall. A poster of the United
States hung on the wall also while the famous flag was attached to a pole
behind him. It was a very impressive room. I found it hard to believe it
was for a Vice-Principal of a high school. I couldn't imagine what the
Principal's office looked like. I wonder what I'd have to do to get an
invite in there.
       "So, how are you settling in? We haven't really had a chance to talk
since I gave you your tour."
       "Alright, I suppose," I lied. "It's different. But it's a school; as
long as I'm learning something..."
       He chuckled a little. "Well, very good. Nice positive attitude. Good
to know. Your grades are looking impressive and your participation in class
is acceptable."
       I sensed a however coming on.
       "However-"
       Told you.
       "- I do need to discuss some of your...out of school activities."
       "OK..."
       "I'm not really sure how to address this appropriately, so I'm just
going to cut to the chase." I had a feeling I knew what was about to come.
       "I don't know if you've noticed, but there appears to be a picture
of you floating around the school." Imagine the most condescending tone of
voice you can, and double it. That was what he sounded like. "It's become a
cause for concern. Now I know that teenagers get up to all kinds of antics,
which is fine, so long as it doesn't disrupt my school or the
teaching. This, sadly, has."
       He stopped and just stared at me, waiting for a response. I didn't
know what else.
       "Yes, sir."
       He smiled widely, exposing everyone of his yellowing teeth.
       "So, I need you to put an end to this debacle."
       He stared again; I assumed waiting for an approval of his plan.
       "Err, sir, how can I do that?"
       "Remove all the pictures!" He bellowed obviously. "Stop all your
friends from discussing it! And stop it from turning my school into a
circus!"
       What the fuck? Was he joking? This couldn't be for real...could it?
I gawped at back at him, not knowing how to respond.
       "Well?"
       "Sir, I think there's been some misunderstanding..."
       "Oh?" He was clearly a little narked that I would dare insinuate
anything of the sort. "Do explain my `misunderstanding'."
       Apparently all the pleasantries at the beginning were an act.
       "Well, sir, I honestly didn't have anything to do with that
picture. It was taken without my knowledge and it wasn't until I showed up
for school this morning that I found out about it. This day has been a
complete disaster. I can't do anything or go anywhere without being laughed
at or pointed at or mocked or anything..." The face staring back at me made
me draw my speech to a close. Obviously he wasn't concerned by this in
anyway. He leant back in his chair, not taking his eyes off of me, and
asked:
       "Mr. Hylton, who is in the picture?"
       Trick question? `Me, you patronising prick,' I thought.
       "I am, sir," I sighed.
       "Are you the only subject of the picture?"
       "Yes, sir," I fought the urge to punch him.
       "You are the focus of the picture. You yourself have just admitted
it so. Therefore, it is your picture, meaning that it is your
responsibility to stop all activities relating to the picture. I want it
out of my school. I don't like having the school falling to pieces over a
ridiculous prank like this. I don't know what they did with you over in
merry old England, but here in the United States of America we do not allow
scandalous pictures and gossip to overrun us. Do you understand me?"
       I don't think he realised what he had just said. The twat.
       "But sir-"
       "Do-you-understand?" he restated.
       "Yes, sir." I must have said it a little too sarcastically.
       "I don't care for that attitude boy! Don't make me give you
detention as well. Now, get out there and sort out this mess."
       He crossed the room, held open the door and handed me a note to
excuse my lateness to my next lesson. I headed out of the office for the
corridor which had since become deserted. Thundering down the hall, I tore
down and picked up every picture I could see, stuffing them into the
nearest bin. Hundreds. Thousands. There were so many copies of my towel
covered self...how did anyone have the time to print all of these?
       I was furious beyond any rage I had ever felt. What reasonable logic
would point the blame for this at me? What possible motive could I have for
wanting to have this picture plastered all over the school? And detention?!
I had never, ever received a detention in my life, and now I wasn't even
responsible for my first one.
       The classroom fell immediately silent when I walked in the
door. Nearly thirty pairs of eyes stared up at me as I passed the note to
the teacher. Pulling up the remaining chair, I tried to ignore the
inaudible and unsubtle whispers of the class.  My attempt to concentrate
all of my thoughts on the assignment failed me; no one would be able to
focus in this environment. My fury towards both the Vice Principal and the
crowd of hungry vultures was boiling deep inside of me. I wanted to tear
into Clay and his band of merry men for causing all of this anarchy.
       A whisper from my left caught me off guard.
       "Hey, Jacob," it said, huskily. I turned to face it. Clay looked
back with another sympathetic expression on his face. I scoffed and
returned to my book annoyed.
       "Hey. Psst! Jacob?" he whispered at me.
       Although I punching him in the face seemed like an appropriate and
satisfying response, I decided to go with a different approach.
       "What the hell do you want?" I muttered back.
       I could see he wanted to respond, but Miss Stokes started speaking,
preventing his rebuttal. Defeated, Clay sat back in his chair, only
pretending to listen to what was being said.
       As soon as the bell rang I headed for the door with my things and
walked as far as I could to distance myself from the rest of the student
body. I needed to get out of the way, from the staring and the
laughing. Pushing my way into one of the lesser used bathrooms, I walked
straight over to the sink, and splashed my face with the ice cold water. My
dripping face reflected my stressful day; I looked weary and my eyes looked
heavy. I felt my jaw clenching, my teeth grinding. With a burst of pure
rage I began attacking the mirror wall, my red-raw fist beating at the
plaster.
       "I can't do this anymore!" I shouted at the wall. Without hesitation
I punched the mirror, smashing my face, my anxiety, my rage...my self to
the floor into a million pieces of shiny dust. I fell to the floor, sitting
in the mess I made.
       My knuckles were red. Blood washed all over them. A few shards of
glass were embedded inside my skin.
       I had only just finished washing the blood and mirror from my hand
when the door opened and I was once again face-to-face with Clay.
       "There you are. I've been look-" he stopped, realising the mess on
the floor and what I had just done. "What the fuck...? Jake, what have you
done? Are you alright?" He walked over and tried to grab my hand to examine
it, but I pulled it away just in time.
       "I'm fine. I have to go." I picked up my bag, but he blocked the
door.
       "You need to have that seen to...Jesus Christ, I can't believe you
did that."
       "Move, please," I said impolitely.
       "What? No. We need to talk. This is going too far now. I have tried
to apolo-"
       I cut him off. "What part of leave me alone do you not fucking
understand? I said move out of my way."
       "Or what?" Clay's sympathetic tone disappeared completely, replaced
with a more aggressive voice. Finally, I thought, something to attack.
       "You'll find out what," I said as confidently as I could. I really
was not the violent type, but right now all I wanted to do was knock him
down hard.
       He just stared at me, a cocky expression on his face. The look read
`Try it. I dare you.' Sure, he was bigger than me, but I had all my angry
adrenaline behind me. Before I knew what I was doing I stepped forward
quickly and grabbed him by his shirt. He countered by going down and
reaching for my left thigh. I pulled at his waist as he clung on. I knocked
us both to the ground, a crunching sound broke the room as we hit the glass
stained floor. We wrestled around on the diamond encrusted tiles until,
eventually, Clay had me pinned to the ground. Tired, angry and hurt, I
couldn't manage to pull him off me; he sat on me, smiling
arrogantly. Unable to bear that face, I did the only thing I thought of and
spat disgustingly right in his face.
       "You fucking asshole!" He yelled, wiping it away from his eye and
nose. I must've been smiling back now, because I didn't even see him swing
his fist at me. My head rang so painfully I couldn't feel anything. I felt
myself go momentarily deaf and blind for a split second after contact.
       He hit me again. And again. It was only when my head started
bleeding that he finally stopped his assault. His final fist, raised and
ready, froze in it's place as he just stared at me as the blood from my
hand, mouth and head began to paint the floor scarlet. His expression
changed instantly and the apologetic Clay returned, his eyes soft natured
and sorrowful. He looked traumatised by what he had done.
       Climbing off of me, he reached for my good, trying to help me to my
feet. I snatched it away quickly. Standing all alone, I walked to the sink
and washed the blood from my skin. My head had never felt so painful; it
took all my energy to stop myself crying, although a few tears still
managed to escape. I saw Clay staring, stricken, at me through one of the
other mirrors still attached to the wall. His lips were shaking horribly,
as though he were trying to say something.
       Good, I thought. I didn't want to hear him right now. It would have
been easier if he would just run off triumphant. It would prove I was right
about him. Was he just tormenting me further? It's difficult to focus all
of one's contempt on a person who looks so regretful. The bastard.
       A few minutes later, I was cleansed as best as I could be. A fat lip
and a potential black eye. I would cause even more commotion
tomorrow. Turning back to the communal area of the bathroom, I pulled up my
bag and strolled out of the bathroom with as much dignity as I could
muster. Clay didn't say anything to me, but I could have sworn I heard him
mutter, "I'm sorry" as the door closed behind me.
       Sore and limping a little, I continued out of the school building
and off the grounds. Many of the students had already left, a few lagging
still, sitting on the bonnets of their cars, chatting with their peers. I
pulled up the hood on my sweater again. I did not want to be seen right
now.
       Thirty minutes later I walked in through my front door. My parents,
surprisingly, weren't home. I headed up stairs and went straight for the
shower. I could feel the blood still seeping from the cuts in my forehead
and mouth. My hand was still aching too. The water was such a
relief. Rejuvenating and refreshing, the warm shower eased my aching head
and limbs.
       My thoughts began drifting back to the fight; CJ's fist smacking me
in the head over and over. Then, his face. His sorry, face. His eyes looked
so sincere with regret. Did he nearly cry too? It annoyed me that I felt a
little sorry for him. But I couldn't fight his face out of my head. It
haunted my every thought.
       "Arsehole," I said to myself as I stepped out of the shower.
       My parents must have returned from another adventure as I made my
newly cleansed self downstairs. The bleeding had stopped, but my lip was
clearly swollen and there was a bump on my forehead. I wasn't sure how I
was going to get around this one.
       "Hello dear," my mother called to me from the kitchen. "Good day at
school?"
       "Awesome," I replied sarcastically.
       "Aw, that's good." She doesn't get sarcasm.
       I walked into the kitchen and headed for the fridge in dire need of
some nourishment.
       "Can I have one of these cakes?"
       She turned to face me. "No, those are for our dinner guests this
evening. I'm having some of the neighbours round tonight, and those cakes
are for dessert." She turned back to her chores.
       It seemed that I had managed to get around this little problem after
all. Although, now I had the unfortunate prospect of having people around
for dinner.
       "Who's coming round?"
       "Tommy and Mary-Sue who live down the road, and Richard and Jessica
from up the street."
       "I don't know these people?"
       "No. You would have done had you come with us to one of their
parties. You're so unsociable recently, Jacobean." An old pet name my mum
had for me. She likes to crack it out now and then. "Anyway, I need you to
go and set the table, help make the salads and go and put something a
little more respectable on, please."
       An hour and a half later I trudged upstairs and fell onto my bed
exhausted. I really couldn't be bothered with a freaking dinner party,
today of all days.
       "Jacob!" Came mum's voice. "You had better be getting changed."
       I groaned in response and started to change into a more presentable
son. I didn't even know who these people were, why should I care about
making an impression?
       I returned to the kitchen fifteen minutes later in a shirt and tie
my mother had very subtly hung on my closet door. "Oh, don't you look
handsome," she cooed.
       The doorbell rang while I headed for the dining room. Eight places?
I had only set seven. I could hear mum greeting people at the door and
exchanging the standard pleasantries; "That's a gorgeous outfit!", "Oh,
what a lovely home you have," and "Mmm...something smells fantastic!"
       "Well, let me lead you into the dining room," I heard my mum
say. She sounded very posh in comparison to her new American friends.
       In walked my mum, followed by two middle-aged coupes, one pair
looking older than the other. And behind them? I couldn't believe my
eyes. One of these pairings had obviously brought their son with them. Clay
and his parents stepped to three of the seats, Clay keeping his head down
to avoid my gaze.
       "Jacob, I'd like you to meet Tommy and Jessica Clark," I shook the
hands of the older couple with a polite, `Hello, how are you?' "And this is
Tommy and Mary-Sue Jefferson-" I shook again "-and their son Clay. I think
you two are both in the same year? Or grade, rather!" She chuckled to
herself. "It's so difficult to change all of the little colloquialisms like
that."
       Clay looked up when his name had been mentioned and nodded in my
direction. He still didn't look directly at me though. I nodded back.
       "Kids today!" my mother tutted lightly at this different greeting,
sending her off into a long winded discussion about the differences and
challenges with today's youth.
       The food was actually really good. My mum outdid herself again. She
had never cooked such a meal; roast beef with all the trimmings. It was
very homey and did make me think of England. There were even Yorkshire
puddings. Very traditional. It's strange that the national dish of United
Kingdom is actually a curry... Fish and chips would even seem more
appropriate in comparison.
       The conversation was peppy, filled with all kinds of anecdotes from
the three parties, although Clay and I remained fairly silent unless asked
a direct question. Tea and coffee were brought out for the women after
dessert, while my dad led the gentleman to the patio for brandy and cigars,
no doubt.
       "Jacob, why don't you take Clay upstairs to you're room? You can
show him your computer, hmm?" As if Clay didn't know what a computer looked
liked. "We're just going to be chatting grown up stuff. We don't want to
bore you," my mother added with a toothy smile.
       "That sounds like a delightful plan," the richly smooth Texan accent
of Mrs. Jefferson said. Her voice was very warm and humble. I didn't
understand why the southern accent was frequently slated.
       Clay and I looked at each other for the first time all
night. Realising my lack of choice, I forced a smile and agreed. "Yeah
sure. It's this way."
       Our house in England was a shack compared to our new place. There
were four bedrooms (two with an en-suite), a living room, dining room, a
large kitchen with a breakfast bar, a study, a bathroom and a separate
toilet, a swimming pool with a Jacuzzi, two nicely sized gardens with a
drive... basically for the same price as the one we left. It was
ridiculous. Not that I'm complaining. My room was on the top floor in the
loft extension.
       Clay followed me up the two flights of stairs and into my room. He
looked around the space as I flopped onto my bed. I had no idea what to do
now. There's the computer, I thought to myself as I had been instructed to
show him. Clay grabbed my computer chair and began to swivel himself on it,
both of us trying to ignore the awkward, deafening silence.
       Grabbing the book on my bed-side table, I continued reading the
chapter as Clay stared up at the ceiling and down at the floor. Noticing my
impressive collection of CDs, he walked over to them and glanced over at
the labels, selecting a few to read the track listings and returning
them. What seemed like an hour lasted ten minutes. The pleasant banter from
downstairs indicated that this could go on for a while.
       Clay finally broke the silence. "How's your hand?" He asked turning
to face me.
       "Fine." I droned my reply.
       He returned to the chair, still watching me. By this point I
couldn't focus on the text. I was only pretending to read, his eyes burning
a focused hole in my head.
       "I'm sorry." I fought the urge to face him. "I... What I did was
completely uncalled for. I just... I didn't mean for it to get out of
control like that. I didn't want to hurt you. I... I'm really sorry,
Jacob. For everything."
       I froze with the book in my hands, staring at the blank words.
       He paused before, "Aren't you going to say anything?" I
didn't. "Fine. But you could at least make it look like you're pretending
to read." He turned in the chair, facing the other side of the room.
       I looked up at him, over the top of the book. His face was red; I
couldn't tell if he was angry or upset. His eyes looked glossed over from
tears from either of the emotions.
       Arsehole, I said to myself. I hated that he made me feel bad, but
his eyes made my gut churn with guilt. I put the book down on the side and
sat up.
       "I'm sorry too."
       He turned to face me. I was surprised to see that he looked hurt. I
didn't realise I had upset him so. Who'd have thought that a guy like Clay
was sensitive? He always came across as the macho jock type. The alpha
dog. Though he wasn't crying per se, his eyes were clearly teary, though he
didn't surrender a single drop.
       "I shouldn't have acted like that in the toilet," I went on. "I
can't really believe I acted like that. I don't usually... I'm just not
normally a violent person."
       "You could have fooled me," we both laughed quietly.
       It was strange, sitting in my room talking to CJ like this. I'd
never have believed this would happen a week ago. Or even a few days
ago. It was oddly pleasant. I watched as his eyes dried up and his red face
eased. The tension in the air had disappeared.
       "And about the picture, if I had known that she was taking it I
would have stopped Lita. But I swear I had nothing to do with it."
       Pausing for a few seconds, we continued to gaze at one
another. Silently, I nodded in agreement and accepted his lack of
involvement.
       "So you believe me?"
       I nodded again. His face broke out into a smile, relief etched into
his chiselled face. My stomach tightened; his smile was so welcoming and
friendly. This must have been the reason why so many people admired him,
when he wasn't picking on him. That expression on his face was warm and
kind. Any bad feelings I had towards him seemed to melt away momentarily. I
couldn't help but smile back at him.
       "Cool. Great. I'm glad we sorted this out."
       "Just one thing though- why did you guys show up at my house on
Saturday? I doubt it was to come out and play..."
       "Look, I gotta explain something to you about my friends," he leant
forward in the chair. I had the feeling he was about to reveal something
that he never shared with anyone. "I'd never bad mouth them to anyone, so
you and I never had this conversation. Seriously, I've never told anyone."
He took a pausing-breath. "My friends? I love them all. I do. But they can
be such shit heads at times. They like to mess with people's heads. A
lot. They really buy into this whole "rule-the-school" shit. They wanna be
liked, envied or loathed by everyone. And most people do. Too many are like
you and hate us. I know what you're thinking: why do I hang with them if I
don't like how they act? Well, to be honest it's a lot easier just being
part of the group than splitting. But also, they can be really
cool. They're my buddies and they always have my back. Just because I don't
agree with what they do all the time. I try and stay out of all the messed
up stuff they do. They like to get wasted all the time and even smoke a few
joints, but I'm not into that shit." I scoffed, surprised at his
revelation. "I know, right? Everyone thinks I act like them but I
don't. It's one of the things I hate most about being associated with
them. Like today, if I wasn't part of the group you might have believed my
apology this morning. Would have been easier to understand that I had
nothing to do with it. I dunno...it's all messed up, I guess. I'm probably
just scared about what'll happen if I split with them all. I'd have to
break up with Chrissie- she wouldn't leave their safe confines- and I
really like her, man. Oh, god yeah she wouldn't leave them. She's too tight
with them to walk away. She'd dump me before the gang," he had obviously
anticipated my question from my puzzled look. "It's only another year I
guess. Then college. Meet new people. Be myself more. I'm tired of the
crazy shit they bring. I can't doubt they're fun to be around though. As I
said, I like chilling with them and they'll always have my back and support
me. I hope anyway..." he chuckled as he drifted off.
       I sat staring at him, surprised by how much he had
divulged. Something he had said, however, didn't seem right to me.
       "You said you tried to keep out of all of the crap they do, right?"
He nodded suspiciously. "Well, then why did you treat me like crap for the
past couple of months? They weren't even there for some of the stuff you
did. I mean, it was mostly you who pushed me around."
       I thought he had reddened with anger. Maybe I should have kept my
mouth shut, I thought. However, I realised I was wrong. He was
blushing. Really blushing. His whole face had turned red. I'd never seen
anyone turn that red from embarrassment. He was even sweating a little.
       "I err, well..." Why was he so nervous? "Well, I... I thought it was
kinda funny?" He wasn't convincing even himself with that lie. "I was
pressured into it by the gang, I guess. Look, I'm sorry about it all. I
didn't mean it to go that far, but yeah. I'm really sorry
Jay. Jake. JACOB," he corrected himself. He spoke so quickly and anxiously
I didn't want to press him any further. But I didn't buy it. Something was
wrong with him.
       "You got a nice room here," he stood up and walked over to the
window. I accepted his change of subject, although I still felt weird about
his fibs. "Cool view. You can see my house from here. Mine's that one up
the street. That's actually my room at the back there. If you had a
telescope you could look straight in! Ha, ha." Man he was acting strangely.
       "Well, I don't have a telescope, so you don't have to worry about
it." I smiled softly, turning away from the window.
       "Yeah, probably for the best. Man, it's warm in here. Mind if I open
the window?"
       "No. Go for it."
       He stuck his head out for air, his face relaxed some, the white tan
returning. Pulling back into the room he looked up at a poster on my wall.
       "Soccer fan then?"
       "Yeah, kinda. I play a little. Follow the teams. Not fanatical like
a lot of people though."
       "Yeah, me neither. But I like the game. A lot. A.F.C.?"
       "Arsenal Football Club. My team."
       "Ah, yeah, I know these guys. Seen `em play a few times on
TV. Pretty good."
       "The best!" I corrected him. He laughed.
       "Sorry, my bad. I don't really have a team. Don't follow it
enough. I just like playing. I used to play all the time, but when the team
got cut. Not enough interest. Shame." He'd picked up my football, throwing
it in the air to himself.
       "That sucks. I would have joined up. Not really into any other
sports..."
       "Yeah? Football is awesome. And baseball. I'm alright at basketball
too."
       "Well, I might get into it now that I'm here. But none of it beats
football, mate."
       "Soccer, you mean. You said it yourself! `Now that you're here'. So
call it by the right name. Less confusion that way."
       "Yeah, I'll do that!" I replied sarcastically. He laughed, picking
up the ball and throwing it at me. "Hey!" I laughed back. "Arsehole!" I
threw it at him, and he headed it back.
       "CJ?!" the dulcet voice of Mrs. Jefferson rang up from
downstairs. "CJ, we're headin' home now!"
       "Looks like I gotta get going, buddy." He headed to the door. "I'm
glad we sorted this mess out."
       "Yeah, me too." We exchanged grins. My stomach tightened again. I
must've eaten something that didn't agree with me, I thought, feeling the
knot.
       "And we should get together some time and have a little game of
`football'," he tried putting on an English accent as he said it.
       "Ha, yeah. Would be good. But, err, don't do that again."
       We laughed and swapped goodbyes as he closed the door behind him.
       Lying back on my bed, I smiled. Who'd have thought that I would have
had a pleasant evening with Clay Jefferson? I sure as hell didn't. Heck, it
was more than pleasant. For the first time since we had arrived in America
I felt really happy.
       What the fuck was going on...?



------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------





	So, I hope that this chapter was worth the wait. Please, feel free
to email me at mac_manap@msn.com. I do reply to all mail I receive
eventually- I don't consider this a one way-system. While all responses are
welcome, nasty criticism is just plain rude and I hope that you can respond
aggressively by refusing to continue reading any further.
       This is my first fictitious story (i.e. newly developed characters
and plots) which is the result of some random thoughts I had one windy
day. Anyone who chooses to copy or re-use this document should contact me
first please to inform me beforehand.
       As a few people asked me after the last instalment- yes, I do have
another story on Nifty. I wrote it a few years ago under an assumed name
and email address in the celebrity section. It's called "Usher's
Justification". Guess who that's about... So if you're interested go and
read it and let me know what you think... but reply to this email as I
deleted the alias.
       Also, for those who may be intrigued, there are a couple of other
stories on Nifty which I wish to recommend:
       Firstly, one called "Falling for a Straight Guy" which is located in
the High School section. I am the current editor of the story, a role which
is both difficult and interesting. It is a very good read and is a slow
burner like my own with realistic and captivating characters, although it
is fortunately not as long and rambled as my own. So check it out.
       The other is my personal favourite story on the site (at least from
what I have read). Located in the College section of the site is a story
called "Operation: College Quarterback". It is a very real story with
incredible characters, themes and issues that are relatable and- for those
who want it- great sex scenes. However, it is not simply just a shag-and-go
post. It's thought provoking and...well, read it for yourself. You may have
to search for it a little as it's a couple of years old. I don't know if
the author still replies to mail, but if anyone wants to discuss it, feel
free to email me about it too.
       Anyway, thanks again and I'm sorry for rambling...but it's my
nature. I can't help it. I'm just enjoying the new keyboard.
       Yes, I am a weirdo.

       Later dooooods.