2 Jackson's Scheme

Free time came to a swift close, which meant I would be attending P.E. next. I found myself slipping through the crack's of the coach's attention with a guy named Jackson O'Conner. The tree shaded us into a comfortable sweetness as we laid our backs unto the brittle bark. O'Conner carried himself three inches higher than me, even at a slough, as I brushed my shoulder with his. His arms were board with a sun-kissed tint that flowed evenly, riddling itself to every square space of his skin.

His gelled, ink stained mane trickled down to scrape the surface of his neck. The slack in his faded grey shirt became more evident as he sat aside me, though it compelled out his obvious rebellious qualities with his dark, hole ridden jeans that tucked inside his leather boots.

"Seven," Jackson stated huskily as his eyes squinted unto a passerby brunette.

A tender humming sounded through the wind as me as the source. Her body fell in the category of average, though her hair pulled itself up into a pony tail with loose locks framing her uniquely square face.

"Six," I rejected.

Jackson curved his attractively thick eyebrow. "Why can't you just agree on seven?"

My shoulders lifted, then relaxed themselves further into the tree that laid on our backs. "Because..." a thin air released from my lips, "Her body makes her a six. A seven would have a more decent body than hers."

Jackson and I often followed people watching as a pass time of ours. It usually entailed girls, which fell fine under Jackson and my account. Our little pass time never took a vacation, as we had followed it into summer break as well. At times, Jackson or I even initiated a conversation with the candidacies. A few numbers weren't uncommon to us whilst we played.

"You know," Jackson muffled as he laid further backwards, his eyes fell into the tree's branches, "I caught a wind of an excellent scheme for this junior year."

My ears actively had fallen out of sync with the trees brushing in the wind, along with the nearby chatter of students. My eyes gradually planted unto Jackson's priggish expression.

"Freya Scott, what are your thoughts on her?" his voice fell into delusive tone.

My eyebrow lowered as concentration gathered in that area of my forehead. "I'm not sure.." I spoke leery, "I'm not too interested. She is like a ghost."

A smile cracked unto Jackson's lips, satisfaction filling him. "If you aren't interested," he swung his face to meet mine, "Then I have a proposition for you," his voice carried lower, "Will you get close to her? I plan to make her mine."

A lump formed into my throat as a cough fell through my lips. Jackson's intensive eyes bore into me still, not weary by my reaction.

"You..." a scatter erupted my brain, "You want to date her? Or bed her?" a click traced into my thoughts as I added on, "Wait. Why do you need me?"

Jackson sighed heavily. His single leg found itself up to him, he leaned his muscular toned arm unto it. "Because her reputation... she's a heart breaker. Everyone she is with," he paused as his eyes fell into a far huddle of girls, "Gets burned. She breaks up with them, and let's just say... they aren't exactly over her."

"Which leads to me..." I budged him.

"Yes. You are going to be my wing man. I need to know about her." his eyes fell crookedly unto me as his smirk overtook his lips. I internally shuddered, and hesitation coursed into me. I had been Jackson's only partner in crime when it came to his schemes, yet this one had a certain unfamiliar ring clinging unto it.

I bit tightly into my mouth. "Fine," I agreed.

Jackson cocked his head to the entrance of the hall. "I think you should start that way," he requested, "And, now might just be that time."

My teeth fell gritted in a clench as I extorted myself to my feet; pressure applied to my strapped sandals. The grass clammed against my feet as I lingered to the door. Jackson's eyes bagged along my shoulders. I could only foresee the sneer that laid unto his lips as I had been complying.

Where was I even supposed to go? What was the next move? These wonders often followed me along when I held a placement in the certain of O'Conner's schemes. He never had been direct, nor would easily display the outcome he had desired. I wonder what O'Conner would've done if I did have an interest in her? I grasped unto the cold handle, pressing it into a turn. A relief ventured over my spine to have escaped Jackson's line of sight.

The hallways of this section of the campus fell deserted. The walkway elapsed thinly into a rooted set of grey speckled stairs. My feet ventured unto them as I planted each foot step without haste. My feet rested unto the middle space of the stairs as a melody hummed weakly within my ears. I followed the warm, vibrant noise that drifted along the walls.

On the door, on my next right, I halted my feet aside. The noise lifted into an energetic sting of notes. My eyes trailed into the window of the door, seeking to find the source. Instruments littered the immersive room. I considered each instrument before traveling unto a cracked window. A figure idled herself into the glimmering razes of light, the spot lit a square surrounding her. A pedestal posed itself adjacently in her direction.

Baby blue shined in the sockets of her eyes; those eyes fell sternly into the sheet that laid unto the pedestal. Ashen loose curls framed her triangular structure, some of those fine locks laid stray unto her face whilst the majority rested behind her, reaching past her shoulder blades. A violin arranged itself in the crook of her neck. Her hand steadily, taking the bow within it, strung soft and lengthy strokes unto the violin's strings.

I drew back within my breaths as the notes left me in a daze. Her core handled itself to be untethering to her instrument. My feet stepped themselves closer into the door. I pressed my hand unto the glass as my squinted eyes begged for a improved glimpse.

Without notice, my feet slipped from me as my weight came to an unbalance. The door slicked forward upon my pressure. My eyes stroke wide as I attempted to motion myself forward; the wrong direction. My nose arrived in a crashing rush of contact with the flooring. I whined upon the ache that coursed into my squashed nose.