second son

“Don’t sweat it.”,he shrugged.It’s not liked he rescued a kitten from a tree.All he did was punch a locker ,some people did that without being prompted.Those people did it because they had anger issues and not to help somebody out but it was still the same thing.

He leaned back further into the empty locker.Suddenly , fascinated with a mysterious brown stain on one of the ceiling tiles in the corner of the locker room.Jonah wasn’t sure what asbestos was but he was sure it didn’t look like a mustard stain or the kind of grime you can only find in public restrooms.His body was one of the few things he wasn’t insecure about.He didn’t think he was ugly or anything.He worked out three times a week and remembered the one time a drunk girl said he looked like ‘the guy from the new Harry Potter movies,the one with the cute animals, but your arms are better’.But he still didn’t understand how people could casually strip off in front of other people.It still felt weirdly personal and embarrassing.

“Roger that.”,he replied with a salute.”Hypothetically speaking,what would somebody have to say to get punched in the face?”He wanted to avoid getting punched in the face but he was curious and wanted to see how chill this guy really was.There were some people that would punch you for looking at them the wrong way or breathing in their general direction.He wanted to know where he stood.

Wasn’t that the question of the hour? Jason didn’t think himself a sensitive guy, and was usually one to let insults roll off his back -- you had to be, when you looked like him and went to a predominately white school in the capital of the country. But there was certain shit he didn’t tolerate from anybody.

“Starts with a C and rhymes with sink,” said Jason. He stood in front of Jonah in his boxers, hands on his hips as he rattled off a list of names from the DMZ of name-calling, most of which had racist or xenophobic undertones. A guy on his way to the showers gave him a confused look in passing, likely wondering why the hell this new kid was standing there in his boxers and reciting every ethnic slur known to man.

When he finished, he flashed his pearly whites. “Anything I should steer clear of calling you, Tiger?” Jason may has well have asked him what his preferred pronouns were -- he was so woke.

It wasn’t everyday that Charlie was randomly shoved into a locker by some strange douchebag he’d never seen before. Seriously, this guy was like the hall monitor from Hell. Maybe Broadripple had employed him after the pool party, to ensure that Big Doheny was always watching and no one could take too long at the water fountain ever again.

Charlie wasn’t preparing to fight back until he said it. I’ll break your other arm. It hit him in the guts, that one. It ripped off scabs Charlie had thought long ago healed. He didn’t know who this was or what he knew about any of that, but he didn’t care about figuring out the mystery as much as he cared about shutting him the hell up. 

He shoved him back, hard, forcing his hulking frame out of Charlie’s space. “I dunno who you are but you sure run your mouth like you know me,” he said. “If you’re that curious how we do it in VA then fuck around and find out. I can teach you a lesson real quick, asshole.” 

Jason stumbled back, hawking spit at the ground where Charlie stood. I’m not fucking afraid of you, he thought. I’ve got seventeen years’ worth of rage to hand your crippled ass. Let’s go. 

“What do you mean, you don’t know who I am?” he feigned stupid, cocking his head to the side like the dog he was. “Your daddy ain’t told you about me? Here I was, thinking you two were peas in a goddamn pod.” The words left an acrid taste on his tongue -- like spoiled almonds. Marshall never gave enough of a shit about Jason to tell his family about him, and it stung.

“The good news is I know plenty about you, so we can keep this conversation real short.” He got up in Charlie’s space again, using the inches he had on him to his advantage. “See, while you were off fucking around as the family disappointment, I was over here busting ass for a sports scholarship, climbing to the top ten percent of my class, waiting hand and foot on snowbirds at the country club just to save up for a fucking car. So imagine my surprise when I find out my dad’s skipped out of my life for a burned out fucking hillbilly son who couldn’t even make it past the junior ice hockey league.”

STARTER FOR: Anyone. TIME & LOCATION: Mid-afternoon @ The Cloisters.

   There was a certain pep in Cassidy’s step as she wanders through the academy. She weaved through groups of students, edging through the dense with her vintage backpack swinging from it’s place precariously hanging over her shoulder. It doesn’t take her long to get her destination, the cloisters. For months now it had been too cold to study at her favorite place on the Broadripple campus but it had finally started to warm up enough to risk moving her study sessions outdoors once more. As she settles herself against the wall the brunette can’t help but notice the fragrance of reawakening vegetation perfuming through the air around her. Her hair caught in the perfect post-winter breeze. The ghost of a smile subconsciously places itself against her features while busy fingers take to rummaging through her bag for a biology textbook.

  Preoccupied with the task at hand Cassidy accidentally knocks the entire thing off of her lap. Emerald hues watching in quiet horror as the contents of her bag spill over the cobbled stone. In a matter of mere moments everything’s sprawled across the walk way for anyone to peruse through. “Shit,” the junior muttered under her breath, quickly following behind her displaced belongings on the floor to collect them before anyone stumbled across anything too embarrassing. She manages to shove a couple items back into her bag before noticing a pair of feet approaching. “You’d think as an athlete I’d be less clumsy but evidently that’s not the case.” 

One of the downsides of making rash decisions to uproot your life and plant it in a new state at a new school because you want to stick it to your father was the lack of friends. The only person Jason knew at Broadripple was Charlie, and, well...look, he was well aware that this was his fault. He had a life in D.C. -- friendships, sports, the whole nine yards. But it was a glass half empty. Jason had no idea what he was doing or who the fuck he was, his entire life turned on its head when he found out he’d only ever been an asset to a lie. That shit stung. While some people ran from their problems, however, Jason North ran headfirst into the fire.

Someday, he was probably definitely going to get burned.

He made his way back to Bart after ASL class, idly scrolling through his phone as he walked through the cloisters. When the contents of someone’s backpack went tumbling across the cobblestone, Jason had to do a double take to make sure it wasn’t him. Forgetting to zip his bag shut was a bad habit he’d been trying to break since the third grade. 

“Nah,” Jason said, swooping down to help her gather some of the items, “I’ve been in sports all my life and spill shit all the time. I think it’s the universe’s way of telling me I’ll never be good at playing jacks.” His hand closed around a familiar tube-shaped wrapper, and he glanced up with a smile, twiddling it between his fingers. “You get nosebleeds? When I played football, we were always plugging our noses with these. They dry you right up, but it gets the job done.”

Charlie always found a reason to step out of class. He was the type to get banned from using bathroom breaks because he’d wander the halls aimlessly until someone was sent to come find him and drag him back to academia. That day, he’d sworn he forgot his water bottle and he was parched. Dying of thirst. He’d even done an inspired impersonation of Spongebob in the episode where Sandy invited him to her Tree Dome…

I NEED IT. 

So he found himself in the halls, taking his sweet time at the water fountain. He didn’t expect to be accosted by a stranger, but he was all the merrier for company. Charlie wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, sizing up this large stranger with his trademark smile.

“Uh, sorta,” he said. “I actually played ice hockey back home. For most of my life, anyway. I called it quits a couple years ago.” Charlie sensed something strange about this interaction, but he barreled through it with his usual friendliness. “Why? Are you tryna join the team?”

This motherfucker. Jason recoiled, a smirk that edged on affronted pulling at the corners of his mouth. He couldn’t tell if Charlie was mocking him or if he was just that fucking daft, unable to read the obvious disdain in Jason’s tone, his expression, his posture. 

You left me behind for that? demanded the voice in his head. For a stupid little motherfucker, all because he looks like you?

Jason snorted and wiped his chin with the back of his hand. And then, as though possessed by his fury, shoved Charlie into the lockers, a forceful clang reverberating through the hall. “Do I look like I wanna join your fucking team?” he asked. He could feel the vein bulging in his forehead, the heat of the metaphorical smoke pouring from his nostrils. All he saw was red, red, and red hair. “I’ll break your other arm if you ever give me that shit again, Charlie Boy.”

The door to the practice room opened, and Jason continued to play for about five seconds until he remembered where he was and stopped with a melisma of discordant notes. Jason offered his new company The Nod™, gesturing to the grand piano like it was a 1965 Shelby GT and he’d just been under the hood. 

“Hey,” he said. “Was just having it out with the Beets. You know how it is.” A long beat of awkward silence followed. “Did you wanna use the room? I can leave.”

Jonah had been treating locker rooms like a lethal war zone since seventh grade.He had a carefully planned out strategy with how to cope and fly under the radar.All he had to do was keep his head down and not do anything faggy.That wasn’t hard. Occasionally he’d join in with whatever jokes the other guys were having but mostly he was focused on quickly getting changed.

He was about to fasten the top button of his shirt when the new kid caught his attention.He wandered over.He could work with that.He was an expert at being polite.“I wish.That would have given me way more street cred in second grade.It’s Jonah.My name that is.That’s my name ,Jonah,."Fucking idiot.Of course New Kid would have realised he was introducing himself.He was making a great first impression.And street cred ?Who the fuck said street cred outside of characters in old teen movies written by people that haven’t spoken to teenagers in decades? The only option he had left was to become a hermit."Yank it if don’t remember the code ."He demonstrated his advice by tugging at the latch.Success.The locker swung open ,making the same sad creek as an asthmatic kid after cross country."Hey presto.But quick warning sometimes you gotta enter the code a few times.”

“So New Kid ,how are holding up?It’s a bit of a weird time to transfer.”,he asked , leaning after one of the empty lockers.It was daunting enough changing schools at the same time as everybody else in your grade he couldn’t imagine going somewhere else after everybody else had settled in years ago.He was genuinely concerned and curious.“And is there anything else I can call you other than New Kid?”

He watched the locker swing open with mild astonishment. His school uniform sat neatly inside, folded in a neat stack beside his dress shoes and backpack. “Well,” Jason said with a nod. “Thanks, Jonah.”

Giving himself a final wipe down with his t-shirt, Jason began to undress for the showers. The mark of any school’s gym program, in his humble opinion, was the quality of its shower room. He couldn’t end his workout beneath a stream of ice-cold water -- nor could he burn his skin off with a boiling-hot spray. Temperature was something that had to be just right. Also, Jason much preferred single stalls to an open floor plan, where everyone was free to get buck naked and come about as they pleased. Call him old-fashioned, but he didn’t like baring his goods for all to see. There was a trust there, you know? He only showed the ‘tals to real ones.

Plus, he’d spent most of his freshman year getting towel-whipped in the ass. Jason still had the emotional scars to prove it. 

“Yeah, well,” he dropped his shorts, “I figure there’s no time like the present.” His socks followed, landing in a dirty heap at his feet. “Name’s Jason. You can call me J, Jase, J-shot. I don’t really care. Just don’t call me anything that’d get you popped in the mouth, and we’ll be alright.”

He didn’t necessarily mind the attention, but he wasn’t actively seeking it, either. He just wanted to run.

After his cool down, Jason made a beeline for the locker room. The staff had generously assigned him the sole empty locker in the very back of the space, near the toilets and showers. He slung his makeshift rags over his shoulder and tried his hand at getting the lock open -- a task he’d been dreading since the beginning of class. His lock was old and rusted and looked as though it’d break apart if he applied just the slightest pressure. 

Eight. Fourteen. Nine. Nothing. Eight. Fourteen. Nine. Still nothing. Jason sighed, giving it a tug out of frustration. No luck. He caught the eye of the guy a couple lockers down and lifted his chin, gesturing to the offending lock. 

“Hey,” he said. “Jonas, right? You have any idea how to get this thing to work?”

Jason had an obsession with Charlie North. It wasn’t healthy, and it wasn’t unusual. 

Since day one at Broadripple, he’d been following the senior from afar. Catching glimpses at the front office. Casually observing him in the hallways. Sniffing out his schedule, and committing it to memory, taking every opportunity he could to map out the moments when Charlie was alone. Jason felt like a fucking stalker just watching that carrot top from his locker, seeing the way he interacted with his friends, with girls, stewing in his fury all the while. 

He smiled like his father. 

The opportunity came his second Tuesday during biology. Jason stepped out for a bathroom break to find Charlie standing there, hunched over the water fountain. He didn’t speak for a while. Not because he didn’t know what to say; he’d been planning it for weeks, had rehearsed it in his head until it became a second language. And yet, when the moment came, he found himself speechless. None of what he’d practiced could capture the wave of emotions that pulled him under when finally faced with reality.

“Field hockey, huh?” he said, looming over the Charlie’s bent figure, a tall, imposing shadow. “Is that what they do in bumfuck, Virginia?” 

JASON NORTH ( ROSS BUTLER ) is a 17 year old JUNIOR student at Broadripple Academy. HE is originally from WASHINGTON, D.C. but moved to Broadripple ONE WEEK ago. HE is HARDWORKING and GOOD-HEARTED but can also be ENVIOUS and HOTHEADED.