Work Text:
“Dude, Taylor hasn’t texted me back yet.”
Jacob didn’t look up from his script. “First period just started.”
“She always texts me before first period,” Hunter said, ignoring his own packet.
“Whatever, man. I don’t want to hear about you and your perfect girlfriend anyway. With the thirty minutes it's been since you’ve seen each other, she’s probably forgotten your face by now.” He started stabbing away at his script with his highlighter. “Piece of shit. I’ve had this thing for two whole days, and it starts dying on me.”
Hunter might’ve countered his friend’s snark with his own, but the two were interrupted by Mr. Kingston, their Theatre teacher. Kingston commanded respect amongst the seventh graders just by sheer loudness, which was a skill to be respected when you’re in a stuffy classroom with thirty disrespectful twelve-year olds.
Mr. Kingston went on, about morning announcements and their agenda for the day and blah blah blah, Jacob zoned out for most of it, staring ahead at Jenny, who was sat perfectly across from him.
“Now, Miss Jennifer,” Kingston said, pointing to her. “If you’d start us off at page 31, with Eliza’s first line?”
Jacob first met Jenny in fifth period gym.
The coaches brought the entire class outside to do laps around the softball field for the mile run. It was only the second week of school, still late in August, and the midday heat was so potent that he felt it radiating from the concrete below.
Jacob shuffled behind the pack of faster runners, tugging his shirt collar to try and fan himself. As his mile time got worse, she appeared.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” she said back.
(Both of them were very out of breath, so this passed for conversation at the time.)
After a minute of slow jogging, she spoke up again. “Do you think — do you think they’re going to yell at us to speed up again?”
“I hope not.” Jacob panted back.
Then most of their attention was focused on urging their tired legs faster, fighting the stitches in their side to finish their final laps. Jenny made 13 minutes and 45 seconds. Jacob made 13 and 43.
Laughing deliriously, the pair stumbled to the shade of the trees where the rest of their classmates were standing, or talking, or sprawled out in the grass.
“Dude,” she said, hunched over with her hands on her knees. “D’you think that they were waiting on us?”
“Maybe,” Jacob mimicked her pose. “It’s an accomplishment to make it to last place. I think — think it takes more effort to let everyone else win first.” He tried for a laugh, but he was still too winded to manage anything other than a pitiful wheeze. “Jacob and—” he paused to read what she’d written on her gym shirt. “Jennifer. World champions.”
She laughed, the noise ringing out clear like a bell. For the first time, Jacob caught her eyes, stunning warm hazel. “I think you mean Jenny and Jacob. World champions.”
After Jacob met her in gym class, he suddenly was finding Jenny everywhere else. Not only was she in his fifth period gym, but also his sixth and seventh ELA, his third period math, and most importantly, first period Theatre. He’d even catch her during passing periods, her mousy brown hair an instant giveaway in the mess of students.
Every class now she was his partner. Every class now Jacob counted down the days until his teacher announced it was time for a seating arrangement change. Every class he learned more and more about his fellow world champion.
Even now, as he was supposed to be taking notes on long division, Jacob couldn’t help his eyes finding her. He stared at the back of Jenny’s head, wishing he’d had the foresight to sit at her table on the first day of school, and listed off all of his favorite things about her. On the worksheet in front of him, he absentmindedly drew the loops and curves of different flowers, memorized from hours of internet research the night prior.
Orchids. The way that her nose scrunched up whenever she got peeved, scattering the freckles there.
Carnations. The quick dimples of her smile, sure to show up whenever he saw her.
Tulips. The delicateness of her hands, how they gracefully drifted from task to task with ease.
Forget-me-nots—
“Hey,” his classmate whispered from his right. “Did you catch that last thing Ms. Dawson said?”
Jacob shook his head, not taking his eyes off of Jenny. He had more pressing matters anyway, first of all carving the five-petaled star of a forget-me-not on top of problem six.
When the bell rang, Jacob shot up from his seat, hoping to rush over to her side — but he was too late. Jenny’s sycophants, Friend 1 and Friend 2, had already surrounded her, and were marching her toward the door, away from Jacob.
His chest seized, watching Jenny disappear into the hallway, and he curled his lip, finding his way back to his seat to pack up his bag. Never mind.
On the last day of Tech Week, after the longest rehearsal of his life, he found Jenny in the green room, wrestling her way out of her obnoxiously large Eliza hat. It was outrageous, its left-leaning curve dwarfing her face, tulle and plastic roses hot-glued haphazardly on its side. Jacob watched her, straining and yanking at the slightly-too-small headpiece, before ripping it off in victory — and then gently setting the Edwardian monstrosity on the table beside her.
“Jenny,” Jacob finally spoke. “Can I talk to you?”
She turned. “Sure.”
Every inch of Jacob was alive with nerves. “I — I uh,” he searched for the folded piece of paper in his pocket, decorated with flowers. “I wanted to know if…”
Jenny tilted her head to the side. “If…?”
If you wanted to go to the Winter Formal with me. If you wanted to go to the Winter Formal with me. If you wanted to go to the Winter Formal with me. Jacob swallowed, his brain fuzzy. “If… you wanted to go to the Winter Formal with me?”
And in that moment, time froze. The green room around them was a painted set, the fluorescent school lights now lamps from the fly above. Jenny, in front of him, was still, face pale.
“Jacob…” Jenny’s brow furrowed, an uncomfortable grimace stretching across acne-riddled cheeks. “I’m sorry. No. I’m sorry. I don’t…”
“Why not?” he protested. “I mean, I’m nice, and you’re pretty — and we’re World Champions—”
“No!” Jenny shouted. (Later, when she replayed this moment in her head, she would’ve found reasons — they hadn’t known each other for that long, she and Jacob barely talked, she didn’t know if she was ready for that sort of thing, she didn’t even like him that way — but in the moment she came up short. She knew she didn’t need a reason. She knew.) “Just, no, Jacob.” She sighed. “I’m going to go check out with Kingston. Goodnight, Jacob.”
Jacob didn’t watch her leave. “Goodnight,” he said to the empty green room.