Flicker: Chapter Two

    Detention for the next two weeks went just about the same way, even when she didn’t sit anywhere close to Nikko. It was like his very presence angered her. However, more often than not it was just pure unadulterated fear: he still chilled her to the bone.

    As for her job, Jean kept shelling out stories every morning with a new sense of purpose. She was Jean Janis freaking Parker! Her stories were excellent! She wasn’t desperate! Although she hated him for it she had to admit that Nikko drove her to nigh-perfection. More people were paying attention to her stories and the principal had even remarked that one of them was a “job well done.” Even Aron was starting to notice Jean’s new drive. But none of this helped to calm her fear and she vowed to one day find out what made this irrational phobia so...palpable.

    By the time the weekend of the second week came, Jean was extremely relieved. Yes, Mr. Curette had won this round -- and yes, he would be smug -- but at least he would soften a bit. Maybe? And most of all, Jean no longer had to endure the hour-long bane of her existence. She now had two days to herself to get her mind, and most importantly her schoolwork, back in order. She was ready to buckle down and get some more stories worked out, already studying and triaging her mental corkboard when Aron sprinted up to her, looking concerned. Jean wrote it off as nothing. He ran up, his peach-fuzz head bobbing, and doubled over to catch his breath.

    Okay, maybe it wasn’t nothing then. I wasn’t walking that fast, thought Jean, Was I? Of course, the rejection of that idea opened the door for a stampede of new ones. Then something bad’s happened! Jean was usually a composed person, but perhaps the stress lately had been getting to her; because by the time Aron finally caught his breath she had already imagined dozens of horrible possibilities. She may have been doing fantastic lately, but there was no doubt her overachieving may have pushed her just a little too hard.

    This realization made it a bit easier to hear what Aron had to say. Rubbing at his peach fuzz, he gave Jean a sheepish look before finally spilling, “You’ve been working really hard. And though you’ve been doing really great, I think it’s time you took a break. Reap the benefits of your hard work: enjoy yourself this weekend, ya know? Don’t stress yourself out anymore.” The weird look on Aron’s face cemented the fact that this was the longest speech he’d ever said to Jean. The look on her face probably proved everything he’d just said.

    Aron cleared his throat awkwardly after a minute or so, and with a quick “Have a good weekend!” took off far more quickly than he ever had before through the double doors, pulling a neon beanie over his peachy head.

    And so it was that Jean ended up in a pizza place, kids screaming all around her, on a Friday night. She sat there apathetically, picking at her supreme pizza but never really eating more than a few nibbles. Is this what teenagers consider ‘fun?’ Jean glanced around her, but there were no teenagers to be found. ...Guess not.

    Sure, it probably would have been better if she had actually ordered a pizza she liked, but Jean had figured if she was going to ‘have fun’ why not try something new? She was now regretting even considering that option. So much for ‘relax.’

    She had just forced another miniscule bite of stringy, greasy cheese when she spotted a familiar nest of black hair a few yards from her. CRAP! Jean almost choked on the contents of her throat as she struggled to evacuate the premises as soon as possible. She had just made a mad dash for the trash can to dump her half-eaten meal when an all-too-familiar sarcastic presence phased behind her. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of meeting you here?”

    The foreboding THANK YOU on the trash can lid was like a slap to the face, creaking out a giggle as it swung and slowed to a stop. Jean fought the urge to walk out the bright glass doors that were just a few feet further. She was so close! However, being civil seemed like the only escape route at this point. “Isn’t this where teenagers come to, ya know, ‘chill?’”

    She noticed Nikko’s battle to stifle a laugh, but chose to ignore it. When he finally gained composure of himself, he answered, “Well, you’re about three decades behind on that one, but yeah, I guess. Of course, children are more likely to now.” After a glance around, he added blandly, “Actually the only reason so many kids are here is because of a birthday party.”

    Jean spared a look around herself, and then, squinting, analytically eyed the group forming around another table. “Is that what’s going on here?”

    Trying so hard to stifle another chuckle, Nikko casually leaned against the side of the trash can, looking her up and down. “You don’t really get out much, do you?”

    It was a rhetorical question. Of course. He wasn’t expecting an answer, especially not the frank one Jean immediately gave him.

    “No,” she replied simply, a blank look plastered on her face.

    Nikko’s expression took on a reaction somewhere between complete shock and an uncontrollable fit of laughter, but Jean chose to ignore it yet again to ask the one question that had been nagging her since he had decided to ruin her fun: “So if this allegedly isn’t the place teenagers hang out, then what are you doing here? Hmm?” She was done being civil. The journalist had taken over.

    With a look of sheer disbelief, he scoffed and stated, “Pizza is the best food this planet has to offer,” like it was the most obvious thing. “So may I ask again why I have the pleasure of meeting you here? It couldn’t possibly be because of an innocent comment made by li’l ole me that you’re seeking entertainment.” He fluttered his eyelashes innocently, tricking her with such a blank look that anyone would think he was blameless. Jean wasn’t fooled. Jean would never be fooled. “Not that you haven’t been doing fantastic because of my comment, but I’m glad you’re finally taking some time to relax.” Can he get anymore patronizing? Jean probably shouldn't ask that.

    She tried to stab right through him with a look laced with venom and disgust, but of course Nikko wasn’t fazed. While trying to stare him down, Jean finally got a look clear enough to cement his features in her mind -- not that they weren't already practically memorized. And though she tried to help it, she found her eyes trailing along his face to etch it in her memory.

    There was the black that curtained the chub of its edges: it was long and wavy and stringy. Then the eyes these curtains hid: all black and deep and foreboding in their almond-shaped capsules. She’d always thought he’d worn eyeliner like a typical goth; but no, the intensity of his eyes and the dark bags beneath them were natural, along with the deep sockets they resided in. Then his nose with the defined bridge and rounded tip with a slight curl to it. But the mouth was what hardened his expression the most. His jaw was always clamped and the broad line that was his mouth always tight, giving the illusion of no lips. But they were there, thin and pale as death. All these features made up the most terrifying face Jean had ever known, but somehow she couldn’t look away even though her throat tightened and her newly-eaten dinner threatened to force its way up. Something about him felt wrong, very wrong. And the feeling that she shouldn’t be associating with this character was only growing stronger.

    This deep examination of his face didn’t escape Nikko’s notice. Neither did the fact that the more Jean studied him, the more her glare softened. At this, a rare grin swept across his face and he suddenly proposed, almost in a whisper and with a hint of danger to his tone, “Lemme show you what fun really is.”

    Jean, lost in this stupid daze of fear, let herself be dragged out of the pizza parlour and into the parking lot, where they continued down a row of cars until they reached the end. She shot a puzzled look Nikko’s way when he continued pulling her, “No car?” she croaked out, immediately horrified by her voice, “Aren’t we going to drive wherever you’re going?”

    The grin widened, even more sinister now. “Nah. It’s not that far. And plus,” winking, “walking’s more fun, right?”

    “Right,” Jean whispered, not wanting to disagree with the devil that had ahold of her arm.

    They walked along the sidewalk for a good while, the sounds of traffic making conversation dubious. So Jean kept silent beside this suddenly beastly mystery of hers. The more she was frightened, the more the journalist in her wanted answers. It screamed for answers, while the rest of Jean was yelling at her that something just wasn’t right, and it had to do with him. Of course, she had no choice but to follow her instinct, which just so happened to be made up of the journalist. In short, she knew she was screwed. What scared Jean the most, though, was that she didn’t even care.