wip amnesty, continued. #5.
in every life i've lived. December 12 2007. NML; five things that never happened to Jack and Nancy, or something to that effect. 1308 words.
we'll make them so jealous / we'll make them hate us
"It's Thursday," Isaac says, eyeing Regan warily. "That means that Saturday is in two days." Beat. "And I have a history paper due tomorrow that I will have, until about eight tonight, only thought about starting." Beat. "And you still want me to learn the drum parts to two of your songs."
"No, no, that would be stupid, Isaac, and by the way I'm in your history class, dumbass, fifth period, I know you have that paper due because I do too, and I'm probably not going to start it until eleven so shut up." Which he has, really, he always does when she starts talking, but he figures it's probably more sentiment than command anyway. "I'm not asking you to learn the drum parts, because that's too complicated and besides you'd probably end up letting the drumstick go and hitting someone in the throat. You can't perform a field tracheotomy, either, can you?"
"I --" don't see why that would need to result in a tracheotomy unless it was the tracheotomy, is what the sentence would have been if he'd had time to say it, but he didn't. And wasn't really surprised.
"What I want you to do -- what we all want you to do, really, and who are you to let four people down, hmmm? -- is to be our tambourine player, since we're going acoustic instead." Apparently this is the end of her thought, because she's stopped talking, looking at him cheerfully as he shuts his locker door and shoulders his backpack.
"I don't have a tambourine," he says; it's the only thing he can think of.
"Oh, don't worry," she tells him, beaming. "We can Hook You Up, Isaac, never fear." He raises an eyebrow; she clarifies, surprisingly. "I have one in my room. Come over after dinner, I can teach you the Noble Art of Playing the Tambourine and then we can complain about how history papers are horrible assignments that deserve horrible deaths."
"Okay," he says, because it's not worth it to say anything else, not even to ask whose plan this was, because it's that special brand of crazy he associates with his best friend.
"Awesome," she says, and grins. "But oh, I have to go, I need go to make up that math test. See you later!" She leans up and kisses him on the cheek, hand to steady herself at the small of his back, and runs down the hall, heeled boots sparkling as she goes.
When they do perform on Saturday -- and Regan talked him into putting stuff in his hair and wearing "a nice shirt for once, Isaac, really, at least one person in the band has to look halfway decent and nobody will suspect the percussionist!" -- it's to a crowd that was significantly larger than Isaac had expected to see. He'd been planning to come to the show anyway, since all the members were friends of his, but if he'd been out in the audience he probably would have been glued to a wall for most of the night.
There are about five people in the crowd who don't boo when they finish, and Isaac thinks he knows all of them.
Still, she's grinning even as she and Isaac walk home, can't stop talking about how this time nobody even threw anything at the stage, they must be getting better, as Isaac wonders what the hell kind of shows she's been playing that she hasn't been telling him about. When they stop at her door, she sort of just smiles at him softly. "I -- thanks for playing for us, Isaac, we couldn't have done it without you."
"-- of course, don't worry about it," he says, smiling back. "You know I would never say no."
"I know," she says, "but thanks anyway."
"Good night, then," Isaac says after a pause. "Sleep sweet."
"I will." She smiles again, and stretches up to kiss him -- she was probably aiming for his cheek, but it's dark and they're both tired and she gets the corner of his mouth instead. From what he can tell, she doesn't seem to mind, though, squeezing his shoulder before opening the door and slipping through quietly. "Good night," she whispers just before shutting the door, and in the dark, he smiles.
"For the fifth time, Nancy, the wig is glued to your head, okay, it's not going to come off, it's not even going to come loose, and most of the people are going to be looking at your cleavage instead of your hairline."
"Okay, the fact that I even have cleavage is still fucking me up," Isaac says, starting to make a face and then forgetting about it halfway through. Jack's found her fedora and is putting it on; it's kind of distracting. "And," he says a moment later, when he's got his wits about him again, "I still don't see why I have to be the woman. You actually have breasts, you know, it'd be a lot easier for you."
Jack rolls her eyes, smooths her hands down the sides of Isaac's dress again. "Because I'm too short to be a woman here, even in heels, I have told you that. And I can play bass convincingly."
"... you have heard me sing, right?"
"Yes, dear," Jack says, and he can tell she's rolling her eyes -- in her head, at least. "Don't worry about it, okay?"
When they do get on stage, fifteen or so minutes later, he realizes she was right. The band starts playing, he waits for his cue, and just before he's due to open his mouth the shooting starts.
That, he can handle.
"You know," he says dryly, sliding her books across the counter and scanning them in, "it's not actually going to change from week to week."
"Why, my dear librarian in shining armor!" She puts a hand to her chest, trying her best to look stricken; it only sort of works, because her eyes are sparkling. "What if I really am just here for the books?"
"I would put a good deal more stock in that idea if you did not show up at the same time every Tuesday," Isaac tells her, smirking. "I think if the clock ever goes out I'm going to set it by you."
"I am sure I don't know what you're talking about!" She pulls her books across the counter, grabs them up into her arms but doesn't actually leave. "But if I did, I would mention that I feel in the deepest part of my heart that I am wearing you down, and that one day I will come in and you will have decided you've grown tired of leading this double life, and you will own up to -- well, everything. Being That Guy in That Band, liking Hanson, being afraid of dogs .... And I will laugh, and then pet you, and then keep you as a pet."
"... gosh, I can't wait," he says, trying not to smile. She leaves, then, waving before she goes through the double doors, and when the other librarian on duty conveniently pops up exactly twelve seconds after she's gone, he promptly steals his hat.
"I hate everyone," Isaac hears from his spot in front of the range in the kitchen; a second later, the front door slams, and he mentally pays himself five dollars. "Everyone in the whole world," she continues a second later, voice getting louder as she moves down the hallway.
"So I guess you've got no use for the dinner I'm making?" He raises his eyebrows at her when she finally gets into the kitchen, and she rolls her eyes and huffs.
"You're not part of everyone, Nancy darling, you know that. Especially," she says, wrapping herself around him and hooking her chin over his shoulder, "when you're making pasta. You are my hero, tonight, I am not even joking."
we'll make them so jealous / we'll make them hate us
"It's Thursday," Isaac says, eyeing Regan warily. "That means that Saturday is in two days." Beat. "And I have a history paper due tomorrow that I will have, until about eight tonight, only thought about starting." Beat. "And you still want me to learn the drum parts to two of your songs."
"No, no, that would be stupid, Isaac, and by the way I'm in your history class, dumbass, fifth period, I know you have that paper due because I do too, and I'm probably not going to start it until eleven so shut up." Which he has, really, he always does when she starts talking, but he figures it's probably more sentiment than command anyway. "I'm not asking you to learn the drum parts, because that's too complicated and besides you'd probably end up letting the drumstick go and hitting someone in the throat. You can't perform a field tracheotomy, either, can you?"
"I --" don't see why that would need to result in a tracheotomy unless it was the tracheotomy, is what the sentence would have been if he'd had time to say it, but he didn't. And wasn't really surprised.
"What I want you to do -- what we all want you to do, really, and who are you to let four people down, hmmm? -- is to be our tambourine player, since we're going acoustic instead." Apparently this is the end of her thought, because she's stopped talking, looking at him cheerfully as he shuts his locker door and shoulders his backpack.
"I don't have a tambourine," he says; it's the only thing he can think of.
"Oh, don't worry," she tells him, beaming. "We can Hook You Up, Isaac, never fear." He raises an eyebrow; she clarifies, surprisingly. "I have one in my room. Come over after dinner, I can teach you the Noble Art of Playing the Tambourine and then we can complain about how history papers are horrible assignments that deserve horrible deaths."
"Okay," he says, because it's not worth it to say anything else, not even to ask whose plan this was, because it's that special brand of crazy he associates with his best friend.
"Awesome," she says, and grins. "But oh, I have to go, I need go to make up that math test. See you later!" She leans up and kisses him on the cheek, hand to steady herself at the small of his back, and runs down the hall, heeled boots sparkling as she goes.
When they do perform on Saturday -- and Regan talked him into putting stuff in his hair and wearing "a nice shirt for once, Isaac, really, at least one person in the band has to look halfway decent and nobody will suspect the percussionist!" -- it's to a crowd that was significantly larger than Isaac had expected to see. He'd been planning to come to the show anyway, since all the members were friends of his, but if he'd been out in the audience he probably would have been glued to a wall for most of the night.
There are about five people in the crowd who don't boo when they finish, and Isaac thinks he knows all of them.
Still, she's grinning even as she and Isaac walk home, can't stop talking about how this time nobody even threw anything at the stage, they must be getting better, as Isaac wonders what the hell kind of shows she's been playing that she hasn't been telling him about. When they stop at her door, she sort of just smiles at him softly. "I -- thanks for playing for us, Isaac, we couldn't have done it without you."
"-- of course, don't worry about it," he says, smiling back. "You know I would never say no."
"I know," she says, "but thanks anyway."
"Good night, then," Isaac says after a pause. "Sleep sweet."
"I will." She smiles again, and stretches up to kiss him -- she was probably aiming for his cheek, but it's dark and they're both tired and she gets the corner of his mouth instead. From what he can tell, she doesn't seem to mind, though, squeezing his shoulder before opening the door and slipping through quietly. "Good night," she whispers just before shutting the door, and in the dark, he smiles.
"For the fifth time, Nancy, the wig is glued to your head, okay, it's not going to come off, it's not even going to come loose, and most of the people are going to be looking at your cleavage instead of your hairline."
"Okay, the fact that I even have cleavage is still fucking me up," Isaac says, starting to make a face and then forgetting about it halfway through. Jack's found her fedora and is putting it on; it's kind of distracting. "And," he says a moment later, when he's got his wits about him again, "I still don't see why I have to be the woman. You actually have breasts, you know, it'd be a lot easier for you."
Jack rolls her eyes, smooths her hands down the sides of Isaac's dress again. "Because I'm too short to be a woman here, even in heels, I have told you that. And I can play bass convincingly."
"... you have heard me sing, right?"
"Yes, dear," Jack says, and he can tell she's rolling her eyes -- in her head, at least. "Don't worry about it, okay?"
When they do get on stage, fifteen or so minutes later, he realizes she was right. The band starts playing, he waits for his cue, and just before he's due to open his mouth the shooting starts.
That, he can handle.
"You know," he says dryly, sliding her books across the counter and scanning them in, "it's not actually going to change from week to week."
"Why, my dear librarian in shining armor!" She puts a hand to her chest, trying her best to look stricken; it only sort of works, because her eyes are sparkling. "What if I really am just here for the books?"
"I would put a good deal more stock in that idea if you did not show up at the same time every Tuesday," Isaac tells her, smirking. "I think if the clock ever goes out I'm going to set it by you."
"I am sure I don't know what you're talking about!" She pulls her books across the counter, grabs them up into her arms but doesn't actually leave. "But if I did, I would mention that I feel in the deepest part of my heart that I am wearing you down, and that one day I will come in and you will have decided you've grown tired of leading this double life, and you will own up to -- well, everything. Being That Guy in That Band, liking Hanson, being afraid of dogs .... And I will laugh, and then pet you, and then keep you as a pet."
"... gosh, I can't wait," he says, trying not to smile. She leaves, then, waving before she goes through the double doors, and when the other librarian on duty conveniently pops up exactly twelve seconds after she's gone, he promptly steals his hat.
"I hate everyone," Isaac hears from his spot in front of the range in the kitchen; a second later, the front door slams, and he mentally pays himself five dollars. "Everyone in the whole world," she continues a second later, voice getting louder as she moves down the hallway.
"So I guess you've got no use for the dinner I'm making?" He raises his eyebrows at her when she finally gets into the kitchen, and she rolls her eyes and huffs.
"You're not part of everyone, Nancy darling, you know that. Especially," she says, wrapping herself around him and hooking her chin over his shoulder, "when you're making pasta. You are my hero, tonight, I am not even joking."