w h a t e v e r

In a civilisation where diners were watering holes, Jill wasn’t surprised when it turned out Freddies was completely full. Having already ordered a milkshake, she had been sighing as she snaked through the tables and crowd drink in hand to find a gap. “Just wondering why you’ve decided to take an entire booth to yourself,” Jill replied, her emphasis on the last word just barely cutting off her initial plan to reference Faith. Without asking him, she slid down the booth and put her milkshake down, sipping and looking him straight in the eye. Perhaps, her way of establishing dominance. Some might’ve been afraid of Christian’s might, athleticism and social admiration, yet Jill never appreciated his presence. 

“Since when have you ever asked permission before doing anything?” He rolled his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time since he started talking to her.

His response was amusing, but what a shame for him to view her as a villain like that. “And you asked the Pastor for permission to pull him up?” 

The problem Anna had with Jill was that she could never tell if what they were talking about was a joke or not. She wasn’t the best at picking up sarcasm as it was, but when Jill got serious like this, was she actually serious? Or was she joking? “Well, I’m bored. I don’t really have many better ideas and drawing mindlessly into the ground seemed like a good idea at the time. Do you have any better ideas for something to do?”

A curl of the lips subtly formed before it was quashed by Jill opening her mouth again. When Jill could bring out contrasts from people’s normal facades, that was what she considered success. For Anna to be so, awful, the opposite — it would be extremely fun. Yet, it marked some moral precipice for Jill to try to taunt Anna to the point of not being her usual delicate self. “Did you read that dumb idea in a book.” She huffed. “Walking around still sounds better. And you’re itching for something to do so badly because...?” 

“Well, no, I did have a life, it’s just… well…” she paused, realizing that, yes, she did have a life before two weeks ago and she had things to distract her then but now she was caught in it. Stopping, she turned to look over at Jill, letting her stick fall to the ground. “What have you been doing today?” she asked, changing the subject to get herself out of the awkwardness.

The backpack was inched towards Jill’s shoulders again, and she pulled upon its straps to fasten them, arms relaxed as she gave the lightest look of a grimace. “I’m surprised you think you did have a life,” Jill remarked, playfulness deliberately withdrawn. It was indeed what she truly thought of Anna, but she was a better person than most teenagers around town. “Not mindlessly drawing into the ground for sure.” Returning friendliness was not her specialty. 

Peter so wished Jill was someone he could stand in that moment. “You can think whatever you’d like.”

Jill tilted her head, lips pressed and eyebrows raised in amusement before straightening it again. “Are you gonna allow me to say whatever I’d like?” 

“Oh, it sounded like you were implying it. Sorry for misunderstanding,” he responded, giving her a soft smile. Will wanted to push further to hear her reasoning behind her taunt and to understand what her damage was, but confronting Jill would put him on her radar which in turn would only expose him even further. Maybe this was why Jill and Freddy were friends despite what had happened, they both could be aggressive with their opinions and thoughts on things. “It’s pasta. Who doesn’t like pasta?” he asked, slightly confused by the question. He wanted to consider the question an act of being polite from Jill but that doesn’t sound like her at all. Or maybe Jill really doesn’t like pasta? 

Her eyebrows lowered, partially as a natural reflex to thought, but also in some theatrical hyperbole towards Will. She took a moment, a beat, before riposting. “Unlike your stellar explanation skills, I’m quite a straight-forward girl,” Jill said, her self-description a play on words. She didn’t think of her dismissive comment about him as a deliberate insult, then again, the sarcastic ill-meaning words just left her. It wasn’t like Will was aggravating, especially as a person. All she had wanted to do was to finish her overdue essay, yet it bored her. His confusion struck her, ruined her rhythm as that tiny drop of pity leaked into her head. It felt like talking to a child, a genius child – yet Jill had no right to think that considering her own abysmal maturity level. “You’re right,” Jill admitted. “People who don’t like pasta are really fake.” It hit her. The thought, the remark, a phrase – her instant evaluation deemed it inoffensive enough to voice. “Those people are impastas, aren’t they.” 

He looked away from her when she spoke. It was irritating when people mocked him for his title, even if it was over exaggerated. But really it was only Jill who did that, at least every other person in Salvation had enough manners to say those things in private. Peter didn’t mind confrontation, but with Jill it took more time and energy than usual. “Save it, Jill.” He spoke after her question. “About what?” 

Jill, ironically, was taken aback by the lack of reaction by Peter. She hoped that he didn’t react as slowly in front of the pastor, that man should be ever the more grateful so. “Isn’t it rude to ignore a question?” Jill began, her voice rising and falling for just the right emphasis. She patted her flashcards on the table and began shuffling them. “Woulda thought good guys like you would consider see better ways in dealing with sinners, or be amused by it.” Consideration of people’s backgrounds were not Jill’s specialty. 

“I can’t believe that the Assumption of Mary celebration is already over,” Anna sighed, scratching a circle into the dirt with a stick. In the shade behind the school, at least the sun was not beating down so harshly. “Now What am I supposed to do to distract myself?”

Jill’s backpack slunk down her shoulders, her hands gripping them before it fell completely onto the dusty area of the floor. She looked up at Anna, backpack hovering above the stick she was holding, scrutinising the irony of her asking that question while mindlessly distracting yourself. “You’re not saying you didn’t have a life until two weeks ago, are you?” 

Jill was just about the only remnant of Freddy’s past life that he could stand to keep around. (He had a feeling that she wouldn’t budge even if he tried to push her, but that wasn’t the point.) The point was, they grew up together. She was more of a family to him than his own mother, and he loved her, despite everything that hoped to get in their way. 

Her eyes flicked downwards at the french fries shaped hole in her plate – and rather, heart as she admittedly enjoyed the greasy crap in here. One would’ve thought an overhaul of friends, especially in Freddy’s case, was one where he sought more excitement to hang with the losers wasting their time. Jill saw the group’s appeal – in a way in which to laugh at them – yet didn’t necessarily accept whatever they did. It was unnecessary, borderline pitiful, but that was something Freddy was part of them but those weren’t part of him. 

“I think I’ve been doing pretty well,” he said, shrugging, as he settled into their conversation. It was a familiar one and Matthew worked well with familiarity. Jill would throw a few jabs, he’d frown briefly before becoming amused, and then they’d banter back and forth - it was easy. He liked her though - Matthew didn’t have to work at that. “I mean, eighteen years of sensitivity, and counting. I’d say thicker skin isn’t a necessity.” If she only knew how thick his skin was; it smothered who he was, or who he thought he really was.  “What about you? Have you thought about being just a little more sensitive? Not to me obviously, it’s too late for me. But to, you know, other people?”

“Pfft, I’m plenty sensitive,” Jill remarked, pitch going high in her absolute insistence. A soft smile appeared just to enforce the joke of it, because Jill exulted in her lack of, but it just seemed like such an off-taste label when Matthew referred to it like that. “To what I see, what I hear, comment on them in an instant. The magic of improv. If other people understood, they’d laugh along, they do. Those who don’t—” she pops a fry into her mouth, briefly chews and swallows, an eyebrow lifts up. “—deserve it, probably.” The girl flashed a subtle shrug, despite the sheer assurance in her statement. She was trying to give a message to Matthew, reason with him that he was allowed to laugh. “Thin skin starting to sound like a bad idea now?” 

One more hour and it would all be over. Essie’s legs were swinging to the beat of the eerie carnival music that blared from the speakers around her. Donning an apron, she’d occasionally ( with reluctance ) take a ticket from a kid so they could play the game behind her. But at that moment, she was picking pieces of pink from the candy floss, her lips lined with bits of sugar. “You want some?” She held out the candy-coated paper cone.

Some teacher thought to stick Jill to some slow-moving ride that required the smaller kids to line up for a while. Wouldn’t it have been nice for the older girl to cheer the little ones up? It didn’t quite go as planned, being lightly reprimanded and force to move a sign instead when an insult slipped out. Halfway through Jill’s new task, she passed Essie (with no less than an eye-roll). Her irritation towards her punishment of dragging (in the more physical way) a heavy object, just had to be let out. “Don’t do it,” Jill warned the receiver, voice keeping calm. “ You’ve gotta wonder: sweet sugary snack, or if she’s literally offering you her less than savoury ways.” 

Peter hoped that by venturing into Freddies he would get some relief. The heat had done a number on him that day. When he heard a slap, he bent down without question as to who’s flashcards they were. It was only when he got back up to his full height that the smile was wiped off his face. Jill sat without a care in the world in her seat, making jokes about inappropriate topics. It made Peter squirm. He held the the cards out to her with a blank face. “Are these yours?” He was ninety percent sure they were, but needed something to say to her anyway.

“Oh my goodness! Pete,” her voice draped with enough faux sweetness to fill a candy store as she kept her mouth open with even faker shock. Her other straight palm covered the lower half of her face in further fake modesty. She gave a gasp. “How could I ever survive without your valiance and courage?” She rolled her eyes and settled back, reeling from her own theatre performance. He didn’t look like he had any in this scenario. “Unfortunately.” Jill pursed her lips. “Thanks.” Her hands glided to retrieve them and spun away from her chair. She turned back to him, deliberately wanting to provoke the bland face of his. “What do you think?” 

          “J-A-C-K-” Lily hesitated halfway through. She couldn’t remember if it was m-a-n or m-e-n. God forbid she gave Jill the satisfaction of seeing her sound it out. “A-S-S, right?”

There was a pang of satisfaction that Lily could retort her own, but quickly, fiery plunged Jill as she simply narrowed her eyes. Only pride narrowly saved her from bowing her head down in insult, clenching her teeth instead. “Great addition,” Jill deflected, nodding. “Hands brown the greatest addition.” 

He had been reading the same paragraph in his worn Bible for the last quarter of an hour. Despite the fact that he’d only allowed himself the cheeseburger if he could finish his homework, his plate was empty, his stomach was full, and his Bible was still unread. Freddie’s placed him somewhere with good food and usually decent company. It also, unfortunately, placed him right in earshot of the stray comment from Jill Jackman, whom he’d never really spent enough time with to know or care about. Still, he couldn’t help the way his shoulders hunched as he dog-eared the page (probably a sin in its own right) or the way his voice sounded more like a growl when he spoke. “Speed isn’t really the point, is it? They want everyone to suffer.” Not just the people being burned at the stake for their sins, but those watching, too. If he closed his eyes, he could still see Myra burning. Promptly, he blinked them back open and reached out to flip a few pages.

Jill was taken aback by the unexpected brusque in Garrett’s voice – not that she’d heard him speak often, or now that she thought about it, at all. The fry went back onto her plate and her head faced the boy next to her, observing the way he flicked the pages. Outwardly she pressed her lips, while inwardly was wondering why she found his little actions so odd. “It could be,” she began, slower than her previous delivery. “I’m sure those who don’t deserve punishment shouldn’t have so much time taken away from their day by sinners.” Her hand waved around, twirling her wrist as she tried to find the next words to say, or with her miles-a-minute thinking, which words to say. Material was short when Garrett wasn’t someone who drew attention to himself, nor had something to easily poke fun at him with, despite the association he had. But importantly, he didn’t laugh, that gnawed at Jill. “You can’t be so butthurt because of one incident, can you?” These people should learn to take a joke.

Disappointment flooded Freddy as the diner employees turned their back on him. He managed to catch a glimpse of an offended scowl from a busboy and a high-pitched squeal from the waitress, but neither of them engaged him. They were either too scared, or simply used to it. Here comes Freddy: damaged goods, a lost cause, crazy. Perhaps he should start being more careful.

Keeping up with Freddy, the newer different mannerisms she wasn’t used to. Ever since he stepped into this other dimension that hated the system a whole lot more than the average adolescent, Jill was tolerable of that. But the lapses in his flow, the current roughness to a kid that used to be smoother than anyone, it jolted Jill, more innocuously than haltingly. She was lost, where his eyes went or what he was focusing on or even, if he was to her – that tugged on her. She refused to dwell on it and spoke to interrupt her own thoughts.