Chapter 33 Jordan Yates, Uncomplicated

Chapter 33 Jordan Yates, Uncomplicated
Juni

Tuesday. New semester, new AP English seating chart. I hate the library rotation. The air always smells like old paper and the kind of floor cleaner that stings your nose. I walked to the back corner. Table four.

There was a boy sitting there. I didn’t recognize him. At Crestwood, that’s like seeing a unicorn in the hallway.

“New?” I asked. I sat down and put my bag on the floor.

He didn’t look up right away. He was looking at a paperback book. Not a school Kindle. A real book with bent corners.

“That obvious?” he asked. He looked up then. He had a face that looked like he’d done this before. The new kid thing. He looked easy. Not like he was trying to hide, just like he was waiting to see what happened next.

“The paperback,” I said. “Everyone else has the Kindle edition. It’s mandatory.”

“I bought the paperback version two towns over,” he said. He tapped the cover. “The text is the same.”

“Better edition,” I said.

“That’s what I told the teacher.”

“What did she say?”

“That the Kindle version has footnotes,” he said. He leaned back in his chair. He didn’t seem worried about the footnotes.

“The paperback has soul,” I said.

“Exactly what I said.” He flipped the book over. “I’m Jordan.”

“Juni.”

“Nice to meet you, Juni.”

We didn’t talk for a while after that. We were supposed to be reading the first chapter of the new unit. I usually do what I’m told. 

But Jordan wasn’t a ghost. He was just there.

“What do you think of the narrator?” Jordan asked. He didn’t whisper. He just talked normally. “He seems like he’s lying to himself.”

I looked at my notes. I had the standard answer ready. The one the teacher wanted. But Jordan was looking at me like he actually wanted to hear something else.

“The narrator’s unreliability isn’t a flaw,” I said. “It’s the whole mechanism.”

Jordan frowned. Not a mean frown. A thinking one. “But if you can’t trust the narration, what’s the point? Why read it?”

“The point is that all narration is unreliable,” I said. I felt my face get a little warm. “He’s just honest about it. Most people pretend they’re telling the truth when they’re really just telling the version of the story where they look the best.”

“So the unreliable narrator is the most reliable character,” Jordan said.

“Now you’re getting it.”

“Is that your original read or borrowed from somewhere?” he asked. He leaned in closer.

“Original,” I said.

“Good.” Jordan smiled. It was a small smile. “I wanted to know how you think.”

I looked up from my notebook. My heart did a weird little skip. No one has said that to me in a very long time. Tyler only cared if I thought he was smart. 

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I’m going to be sitting across from you for a semester,” Jordan said. “And I’d like to know who I’m actually sitting across from.”

He went back to his book. I stared at the page, but I wasn’t reading. I was thinking about a truck. I was thinking about a parking lot and a boy named Declan who asked me the same thing a few weeks ago. Declan pushed me until I gave him the real answer. Now, here was someone else asking for the real version of me. It felt crowded in my head.

The bell rang. I packed my things fast.

Bree was waiting by the library doors. She was leaning against a pillar with her arms crossed. 

“Transfer kid,” Bree said as soon as I reached her.

“Jordan,” I said.

“I know the name. I’ve been monitoring,” Bree said.

“You’ve been monitoring the new transfer student? He’s been here for like, four hours.”

“I monitor relevant developments,” Bree said. We started walking toward the cafeteria. “He like you.”

“We had one study session, Bree. We talked about a book.”

“He asked Ethan about you during fifth period.”

I stopped walking. “How does Ethan know who Jordan is?”

“Ethan knows everyone. He just doesn’t talk to them,” Bree said. She narrowed her eyes at me. “What did you think?”

“He's easy to talk to,” I said.

“Easy.” Bree said the word like she was tasting something sour.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Bree said. “Nothing at all.”

I went back to the library after my next class to turn in a form. Jordan was still there. He was sitting at a different table with a few other students. When he saw me, he waved. I walked over. I didn’t want to, but it felt ruder to run away.

“Hey, Juni,” Jordan said. “We were talking about putting a study group together for the mid-unit essay. Do you want in?”

“A study group?”

“Yeah. The essay’s in three weeks. I’ve been looking for people who actually engage with the text,” Jordan said. He looked at the other people at the table. They seemed nice. Normal. “I saw your notes earlier.”

“I engage with the text,” I said.

“I know. That’s why I’m asking.”

I hesitated. My life was already messy. Declan was a mess. Our "fake" relationship was a mess. But Jordan looked… uncomplicated. He looked like a normal high school boy who liked books and didn't have a dark secret in a truck.

“Okay,” I said. I took his phone and punched in my number.

“Thanks, Juni,” Jordan said. “I’ll text when we have a time.”

“Sure.”

I walked out of the library and found Bree again. She was sitting on a bench outside, scrolling through her phone. I sat down next to her.

“I gave him my number,” I said.

Bree didn’t look up. “For what?”

“Study group,” I said.

“Sure.”

“It is,” I said. I felt defensive for no reason. “It’s a real group. There are other people.”

“I know,” Bree said. She finally looked at me. “How does Declan not officially being yours yet complicate a completely innocent study group?”

I opened my mouth to say it didn't. I closed it. I thought about the way Declan looked at me in the parking lot two nights ago.

“He said he wanted it to be real,” I said.

“And you said okay,” Bree said.

“And I said okay.”

“But you haven’t talked about what real means,” Bree said. She put her phone away. “Or what the arrangement becomes now. Or if you’re allowed to give your number to guys with paperbacks.”

“No,” I whispered.

“So you’re in a situation that’s more than fake and hasn’t fully become real,” Bree said. “And Jordan Yates just asked for your number.”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Bree said. She stood up and brushed off her skirt. “That’s what I thought.”

She walked away toward the parking lot. I stayed on the bench. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I didn't look at it. I was too afraid to see whose name would be on the screen. I felt like I was standing on a frozen lake and the ice was starting to make a very loud, very thin sound.

I thought about my mom. She always told me that the truth is the simplest path. But my mom isn't here, and my dad's version of the truth depends on the day. I didn't know what the truth was anymore. I just knew that I had two boys in my head, and only one of them knew how I actually thought.

I stood up and followed Bree. I needed to find a way to make the ice stop cracking. Or I needed to learn how to swim.