Page 10 of Like You Know
After another stretch of silence, he glanced at me again. “I’m sorry about your dad. Did he pass recently?”
“No, it was six years ago. Thanks.” And that was about when I hit my limit for talking about my feelings.Ugh! I definitely wasn’t getting into my dead daddy issues in the gym with some new guy I knew nothing about. “Anyway, I’m fine now. And you owe me some answers.”
“I do?” He chuckled, but he was smart enough not to push me.
“Yep. I just spilled some really personal shit. I think it’s only fair that you tell me about yourself too.”
“I mean, I did pull you out of your funk, so I think we’re even.” A teasing smile pulled at his lips.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I had a momentary lapse of sanity and said things to you I hardly even talk to my friends about. Now it’s your turn. I need something to hold over you so you won’t go around telling people I have emotions and shit.”
“I won’t tell anyone what we talked about, Amaya. No mutually assured destruction necessary.” He had that serious tone in his voice again, and I didn’t like it. It made me feel awkward and kind of itchy.
“What’s your deal, Jethro?” I forged on with the lighter topics—or at least ones not focused on me. “Why’d you transfer to Fulton so late in the year?”
“I got a scholarship.” He shrugged. That explained the living situation but not the late admission.
“They hand out scholarships with barely two months left in the year?Senioryear, no less?”
“I think we both know Fulton Academy doesn’t hand out much of anything,” he grumbled.
“True. So what’s your deal then?”
“I had to move. They agreed to let me start now.”
“Your parents got a new job or something? Why’d you have to move?” And why Devilbend North of all the shitty neighborhoods in the country?
“No, my parents are ... they’re not in the picture.”
Oh, now this was getting interesting. “Siblings?”
“Only child.”
“Same. So you’re staying with a relative or something?” Did his parents both die suddenly? He had that look in his eyes—that look that people got when they’d seen some shit. I hoped I wasn’t bringing up something painful.
“Nope.” Despite the short answer, he didn’t seem offended by my questions. Could be just a defense mechanism ...
“Look, I’m sorry if I hit on a touchy subject. If your parents are—”
He cut me off with a loud laugh. “My parents aren’t dead. They’re just ... not currently parenting.”
“Yikes. Yeah, OK, say no more. I get it.” My one remaining parent hadn’t been parenting for some time. I guessed it was even tougher when you didn’t have the kind of money we had. Mom may not have been around much, but the fridge was always full and the house was always clean.
“Are we done with the interrogation?” he teased. “Because I got shit to do.”
“No, actually.” I grabbed on to the safety bar and jumped to the sides of the treadmill so I could look at him properly without risking a face-plant. “Now that I know I’m not being a bitch by making you talk about your dead parents, I’d like an answer to my original question.”
He grinned without looking at me, still maintaining a steady jog. I forced my eyes to stay trained on the side of his head instead of wandering down all that sculpted muscle and sweaty skin.
“If you must know”—he was actually starting to sound a little winded after all that exercise—“I was supposed to finish my senior year last year. But, ya know, life got in the way and that never happened. So then I tried a few times to get my shit together this year but ... yeah, life. To cut a long story short, I managed to get myself a scholarship at Fulton—for next year. But because I’m eighteen, I’ve aged out of the system, so to keep receiving benefits, I have to be in school. Fulton agreed to let me start now so I wouldn’t end up homeless.” He powered down the treadmill and stepped off, turning to face me. “You seem to be back to your demanding, abrupt self, so I’m going to get on with my evening now. See you tomorrow.”
With one last dimpled grin, he turned and walked into the men’s locker room, grabbing his stuff on the way.
I stared after him, slightly stunned, my treadmill still whirring under me. I didn’t know jack shit about the system and benefits and homelessness, but I felt as if I knew a bit more about the real Jethro Collins now. He hadn’t been dealt an easy life, yet he still walked around with a smile and a positive attitude every day. He still took the time to make me feel better when his problems made mine pale in comparison.
I admired him. And he probably thought I was a spoiled rich girl who had no idea how good she had it.
The next day at school, he sat with us at lunch again. He just waltzed up, and my friends made room for him as if he’d been a permanent fixture of the group for years. It irritated me, and I buried my face in the book I was reading. But it also made me feel ... some kind of way to have him close by. I worried he’d tell people about the personal shit I’d shared with him at the gym, but I also wanted to go sit closer to him at the same time—I craved more of that calming, grounding energy he seemed to have.