Extra Credit

​JACKSON ​"You’re joking," I say, facing Mom with my hands on my hips. "You’re actually joking." ​I repeat it to them, my voice rising just a bit, as my parents smile at me like they didn't just walk into my room with a cake that said "Yay, we’re moving!" on it. They actually stood there with the expectation for me to smile and go "whoop-de-do" like a five-year-old on his birthday. ​You know, I knew something like this was going to happen because they did this a lot. They would make decisions about our lives—mine and my sister’s—and talk about it in hushed tones for days or weeks. Then they’d bring it up on a random Tuesday like they didn’t just derail our entire day, week, or in this case, our entire lives. ​It’s ranged from them planning spring cleaning weeks in advance and springing it—pun definitely not intended—on us the morning of, to them planning a full-blown vacation and telling us two hours before we had to be at the airport. But this? This is a new record for the Reed family vault of secrets. ​"How long have you known about it?" Jacklyn asks from the doorway. ​I’m pretty sure they left the door wide open hoping that I’d be loud enough for Lyn to hear. That way, they wouldn't have to perform the extremely hard task of actually sitting her down and telling her they were uprooting her life and moving us to god-knows-where. ​"You’re not curious where we’re moving to?" Mom asks, her face full of fake concern. ​"No, I’m curious how long you’ve known and chosen not to tell us," Lyn says. She puts her phone in her pocket as she walks into the room to stand between me—sitting on the edge of my bed—and my parents with their neon green cake and white lettering. ​"About a month or so," Mom rushes to explain as Lyn and I both let out a groan of synchronized frustration. "But we’re letting you know now because we didn't want you to worry about the logistics or for you to act differently towards your friends." ​"Wow, how considerate of you," I deadpan. I put my palms on the edge of the bed and stand up, placing myself right next to Lyn. I’m taller than her, but right now, we’re a united front. "When are we moving?" ​"In two days," Mom says, looking at the cake instead of my eyes. ​"Two days?" We both groan again. It was like a bad comedy routine at this point. ​"So, you both think it’s absolutely logical to tell your children to pack up their entire life and say goodbye to all their friends in forty-eight hours?" ​"Yes," Dad says, talking for the first time since they came into my room. For the third time, we both groan. "Stop being so whiny. It’s completely logical. Sometimes life throws you curveballs and you’ve got to make it work. Look at me—I was a mechanic for ten years and now take a look. I own eight dealerships across four states and I’m about to open up a ninth." ​There it was. That stupid f*****g story. The Legend of Jack Reed. ​Every other day, he would spout his stupid f*****g legend to anyone who would want to hear. He would go on and on about how he became rich by being a hard-working mechanic who opened up his first dealership with nothing but his blood, sweat, and tears. The man is so full of himself that he named both his kids after himself: Jacklyn and Jackson. We both go by different names just to spite him—Lyn and Jax. If there was another way to shorten my name where it didn't sound so close to 'Jack,' trust me, that’s what everyone would have been calling me. ​"Oh my god, you’re both actually crazy!" Lyn yells, throwing both of her hands into the air. "You’re both legitimately insane. How many times have I asked you to stop doing—" ​"Lyn," I say warningly. She stops abruptly. We exchange a look—the sibling telepathy—which was basically me telling her to shut the hell up before they grounded us both when we only have two days to see our friends. She understands the look and storms off, slamming my bedroom door so hard a picture frame on my desk rattles. ​"Where are we moving to?" I ask, my voice flat. ​"Colorado," Dad responds. He sets the cake down on my nightstand and turns to face me. He places his heavy hands on my shoulders. "I think this will be a great start for all of us, don’t you think, Jackson?" ​I shrug his palms off my shoulders. I hate when he tries to be the "supportive dad" after dropping a bomb. ​"Yes, but you know what’s also great? Communicating with your children. I tell you this repeatedly—let us know earlier. It’s like everything I say goes into one ear and escapes out the other... I apologize for that part, but I can’t believe you both. It’s one thing when it’s spring cleaning, but this is insane. All you had to do was let us know at least a week ago. Why is that so damn hard for you to do?" ​I grab a shirt off the bed and tug it over my head, continuing my rant through the fabric as I pull it down. "And another thing—why did you buy a cake?" ​They both look at the cake and then back at me. ​"It’s your favorite," Mom says. "Chocolate." ​I wanted to scream at them. Hell, I wanted to cry, but I couldn't, because this was all too surreal. Over the past few years, Lyn and I had come up with this theory that our parents never really wanted kids, but had them just to satisfy some societal obligation. But now that they have them, they don’t know what to do with them. So they do whatever the hell they want and hope their money can keep us alive. They treat us like pets they can preen and show off to their friends at country clubs and s**t. You’d think the hard upbringing Dad had would call for some character development, but nope. Nothing. ​"Are we going to a private school?" ​"Yes, Hawthorne Prep School, Jackie. It’s lovely," Mom says hopefully, though that disinterested look is already creeping back onto her face. "They have everything. Jacklyn can continue her tennis—" ​"Badminton," I corrected. ​"Yes, badminton. And you can keep swimming. They have a swim club that ranks nationally. Isn't that wonderful?" She looks at me like she’s waiting for a round of applause. "Don’t be upset, sweetie. This is great. Other kids would be grateful for this opportunity." ​I wanted to tell her I was allowed to feel however the hell I wanted and be as upset as I wanted to be, but I figured that was pointless. So I did the next best thing. ​"Oh, I’m not upset. I’m just disappointed," I say, and I pick up the cake. ​See, yelling at them would just make them upset, and then they’d be too mad to accept that they did something wrong. But making them feel bad for something? That usually gets you somewhere. I was hoping this 'somewhere' was a new car to take to Colorado. ​I walk into the kitchen and grab two forks from one of the drawers, then head for the garage. I open the door and, like I guessed, Lyn is already seated in the passenger seat of Mom’s G-Wagon. The engine is running and the AC is blasting. I open the driver's side door and just sit there, staring at the dashboard, waiting for her to say something. ​"I’m so... I don’t even know how to feel," she says, leaning her head back against the headrest. "I mean, I expected this from them, but not all of this." She gestures around her, referring to the entire mess. ​"I know," I whisper. I’ve never fully grasped how to handle my own emotions properly, so I really don't know how to help with hers. I do the only thing I can think of. "Cake? It’s chocolate. Our favorite." ​She lets out a little laugh. "At least they remembered that." She grabs a fork out of my hand and stabs it into the cake. ​"Yeah, I was actually surprised," I say. She shoves a forkful into her mouth. I take the cake, place it on the cup holder thingy between the chairs, and dig in too. "Lyn, we’re gonna be fine. I mean, it’s the two of us. Nothing and no one can beat the Reed siblings. We’re unstoppable." ​I scoop up a bit of the cake and hold the fork in front of her. "Us against the world," I say, waiting for her to finish the ritual. ​She looks at the cake and gives me a look of mock disgust before she lifts up her fork and clinks it together with mine. "Us against the world... you’re such a dork!" she says and laughs before stuffing her mouth with more cake. ​I eat my cake too and stare at the garage door through the windshield. See, I know I sound like I’ve got it all figured out, but that’s all big-brother bullshit. I really don’t. In fact, I’m just as confused as her. But it’s us. There’s nothing we haven’t dealt with together. ​KAMEO ​I give up. I admittedly hate physics. ​I slam the book shut and stare at the table, my vision blurry from looking at formulas for three hours straight. I jolt when the librarian shooshes me from across the room. I whisper a quick apology, feeling the heat rise to my face. I’ve decided to take a break because physics was going to be the one thing to finally break my brain. ​School was out, but we were still stuck in the library studying for a physics test that felt like it was written in an alien language. I turn to AJ, who was seated next to me, still scribbling away like a madman. ​"Hey, Adam... can we go outside and get some coffee?" ​"Yes, please. And also, don't call me Adam." ​AJ hated to be called Adam. His full name was Adam Joseph Jacobs and it legit pisses him off so badly because everyone thought his parents were some super-conservative Christians. They were always so confused whenever they actually met them and found out they were super liberal. So after we got into high school, he decided to go by AJ and hoped that everyone thought he was Anthony James or something. ​"Is it okay if we leave our laptops here?" I ask, looking at the expensive tech sitting unguarded. ​"People don’t steal at prep schools, Kam," AJ mutters as he searches his pockets for his car keys. "Let’s just grab something from Starbucks and sit in the car. I’ll order from my phone while you drive." ​He hands me the keys and starts walking in front of me, his mind clearly still on the velocity of a falling object. ​Fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting alone in the car in a Starbucks parking lot. AJ forgot to order the drinks on his phone because he was too busy texting a girl, so he’d left me alone to go in and order the drinks manually because he felt bad for being a distracted i***t. ​Now I was alone with my thoughts. I know it sounds silly, but I hate to think. I hate to be left alone with my thoughts because there is just so much pressure. So much expectation. I was a scholarship student at Hawthorne Prep—I wasn’t like the other kids here. What if I failed this test? What if I get knocked off my position as top student and just keep falling lower and lower? What if I lose my scholarship? What if I don't get into Harvard? What will my parents do then? ​The walls of the car felt like they were closing in. I grab a pack of cigarettes from the glove compartment—AJ’s secret stash—and light one. I step out of the car so the smell doesn't linger inside. I could feel the anxiety leave my body as I take that first drag... or maybe I’m just delusional and the nicotine is just tricking me. ​"Those are bad for you," a gruff voice says from behind me. ​"You know what’s bad for you? Talking to a random stranger who could be a serial killer and telling them what’s good or bad for them," I say, spinning around to face the stranger. ​The words die in my throat. I feel my breath get absolutely knocked out of me. He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. He had shoulder-length hair cut into a messy wolf cut and the prettiest green eyes I’d ever seen—honestly, I would describe his other features, but I’m a bit too busy being lost in his eyes. He looked like he belonged in one of those dark manhwas I read late at night. ​"Yes, that’s also bad," he responds, his voice smooth but deep. "Do you go to Hawthorne Prep?" ​Shit. I forgot to put on a hoodie over my uniform. Someone could see me smoking in my uniform and get me expelled. Heck, someone already did. My heart starts racing—this is exactly the kind of 'falling' I was just worrying about. ​"Hey, it’s okay. I’m not gonna tell anyone. Here." He had a hoodie in his hand and he was handing it to me. "Put it on over the uniform." ​"Thanks," I mutter, my voice sounding small even to me. ​He takes my cigarette out of my hand and urges me to put the hoodie on with a tilt of his head. I pull the heavy fabric over my head and look up at him. He’s tall—probably 6’2”. He’s staring at me, and he has this small, knowing smile on his face. ​The loud honk of a car horn has us both looking up. It was a Volkswagen Beetle. A bright, obnoxious pink one. ​"Just a minute, Lyn!" he yells to the impatient-looking girl in the car. ​ ​He turns back to look at me and hands me back the cigarette. "A serial killer could be really bad, but you know what’s much worse?" ​"What?" I ask, barely breathing. ​He leans in close, so close I can smell something that isn't cigarettes—like expensive cologne and rain. He whispers, "Lung cancer." ​A small giggle leaves my lips and I catch myself immediately, feeling my cheeks burn. ​"I’ll see you later, Curly," he says, referring to the strands of curly hair escaping my head. He turns on his heels and walks away toward the pink Beetle, and I’m just standing there, frozen, staring at his back. ​"Later?" I whisper to the empty air. ​"Later when?" ​I jolt at AJ’s voice and drop my cigarette onto the asphalt. I look at AJ with a frown as he holds two cups of coffee. He looks down at my chest, his eyes widening. ​"Where did you get that hoodie from? That’s definitely not yours." ​I look down at the dark fabric. It smells like him. "some stupid ass guy," I say, my heart still thudding against my ribs. "welp, new hoodie for me i guess."