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Pulitzer folds his arms. “Detention, Kelly. Room B36, though I’m sure you’re familiar with it already.”
Davey sighs and rubs his eyes tiredly. He knew this was going to happen. Jack doesn’t look the slightest bit remorseful until Davey elbows him in the stomach and he manages a weak “Uh, sorry” to Pulitzer before the man rolls his eyes and continues teaching… some kind of poetry thing. Jack still isn’t sure of exactly what English class this is, since he decided to sign up for it just because Davey was doing it.
-
Jack hates his friends. Now that they’re all standing in the lunch line together, Davey and Racetrack have caught everyone up on why Jack can’t make it to the theaters with the rest of the group today.
“-and then he just said, ‘Uh, sorry,’ like a fuckin’ jackass-”
“Why are you even takin’ a classical lit class-”
“Jack, it’s only the third day of school-”
Jack folds his arms, “Why are we all lecturin’ me? Last I remember, that’s just Davey’s job only.”
Davey looks up from his phone. “They’re letting me take a break. You do a lot of stupid stuff, so I need to think ahead and conserve my energy for the future stupid stuff.”
“Fine,” Jack sniffs as he sneaks an extra pear into his pocket. Davey likes pears. “I’ll allow it, just ‘cause of ya energy and whatnot.”
As they settle into their usual lunch table, Jack gives Davey his extra pear and reaches for the milk carton on Davey’s tray. It’s a little known fact that Davey cannot, for the life of him, open a milk carton. He couldn’t do it at six years old, when Jack started opening it for him, and he can’t do it now, because Jack will still open it for him anyways. So, instead of attempting to open the carton, he unzips his backpack, pulls out the container of turon that he’d made the night before, and hands it to Jack, whose eyes light up as he takes the container. Davey’s been using him as a guinea pig for the last month or so as a part of his ongoing mission to perfect the recipe for Jack’s favorite comfort food.
Setting the opened carton back onto the tray, he takes the lid off quickly and eats the turon in a way that is all too fast and incredibly unrefined, shooting everyone a thumbs-up. The rest of the table groans out of disgust except for Davey, whose chest tightens out of fondness. He startles, however, when he looks away and catches Racetrack’s knowing look from across the table.
“You two are real gross, y’know that?” he announces. Everyone seems to share this sentiment, except Davey, who inwardly begs for Race’s mercy, and Jack, who just looks confused.
“Look, I know ya don’t like the way I eat,” he starts, “‘N’ that don’t bother me ‘cause I don’t give a shit about the opinions of the likes of you , but ya don’t gotta bring Dave into this. He does everythin’ just fine.”
“Oh, you’re killin’ me here,” Spot groans. He clutches his chest and it looks like he’s in actual physical pain, “That ain’t what he meant, ya moron.”
“He’s talkin’ about the two o’ you livin’ in eachother’s pockets,” Crutchie grins, eyes wide. He looks kind of insane. “You open his goddamn milk .”
Maybe Davey should’ve begged for Crutchie’s mercy instead.
“Livin’ in… huh?” Jack blinks. He still looks confused and it’s, frankly, a very adorable look on him. “None of us got pockets big enough for that.”
“You are so fuckin’ stupid,” Race mumbles at the same time that Davey says, “It’s a figure of speech, Jackie” with a smile.
Spot bangs his head into the table repeatedly until Davey tells him to stop.
-
“Have fun in detention, losers ,” Race had put emphasis on the word losers so that Jack is made keenly aware of how much he is losing at the current moment. He waved his ticket to the 4:15 PM viewing of Barbie: Princess Charm School in front of Jack’s face.
It doesn’t really seem like he’s losing, now, even though he had made a show of smacking the ticket out of Race’s hand. After all, Davey insisted that he come along to detention to keep him company.
“So that you have someone to watch the movie with afterwards,” he had offered Jack a nervous smile, as if Jack was going to say something stupid like no or something.
Now, Jack watches as he does his physiology homework at one of the uncomfortable, tiny school desks in the back of the classroom. The supervisor had looked at Davey a little weirdly when he first walked into the room, confused as to why the school’s valedictorian had detention, but seemed to understand when Jack trailed in after him and made no comment other than to keep quiet.
Davey’s stomach rumbles, so Jack pokes his shoulder with a pencil. Back when they were kids, he used to scare Davey out of his focus so much that the tiny boy would jolt and sometimes hit Jack in the face with his tiny, flailing arms. Now, Davey’s so used to it that he doesn’t look up for a few seconds until he finishes writing down an answer. He doesn’t say anything either, just stares, because Jack knows he’s listening anyways and starts talking.
“Seems to me that we been stuck in this hell for so long that’cha stomach can’t take it any longer.”
“You figured me out,” Davey snorts, “Nothing gets past the great Jack Kelly.”
“Ya can’t keep nothin’ from me. I’m too keen on ya,” he states proudly.
Davey scoffs. “I have secrets,” he says, just because he enjoys being a contrarian, “some that even you don’t know.”
He actually only has one secret that he’s keeping from Jack, but he’s sure that he’ll take that one to the grave.
“Oh, really? We can’t have that,” Jack grins, looking like he’s won the lottery. “That’s the whole point o’ best friends , ain’t it? For all of ya secret-telling needs.”
He puts a strange stress on the words “best friends” that has Davey gulping and fearing for his long-hidden feelings.
“Don’t pretend that you don’t have any secrets yourself,” he lightly argues. “It’s hardly fair for you to say I should be telling you my secrets while you have some of your own.”
“Then I’ll tell you my secret,” Jack proposes and leans slightly closer to him, “I only got one of ‘em, anyways.”
Davey feels a little lightheaded from the lack of proximity, but he manages to mirror Jack’s smile. “Out with it, then.”
“No can do,” he laughs softly, his voice nearing a whisper, “I asked first, so you’re answerin’ first.”
Davey stares, bewildered. He feels incredibly off his guard.
“I didn’t agree to this,” he protests weakly. The complaint is futile and completely lost on Jack.
“Tell me your secret,” Jack pronounces each word slowly, carefully, deliberately, like he already knows what it is, “Tell me your secret, Davey. I won’t tell nobody else, promise.”
Davey’s breath catches in his throat. He would usually argue more, because he’s just stubborn, but they’re so close that Jack’s eyelashes could get tangled up in his own and he’s looking half-lidded straight into Davey’s eyes and fuck . It would be so easy to just rip off that bandaid and say I’ve been in love with you since we were six or something else dangerous and incredibly detrimental to the future of their friendship.
“I…” he starts, but the sudden, striking fear of rejection turns Davey’s gut inside out and sends blood rushing to his head.
“…really want to go to the Seventeen concert in July,” he finishes, like a coward. Jack blinks and starts giggling softly and Davey knows that he isn’t fooled.
“That ain’t no secret and you know it, Dave. You got a poster of ‘em in your locker , ‘n’ I know that ya hardly put anythin’ on that second shelf so that they don’t get covered up,” he whispers, the ghost of his breath lingering on Davey’s flushed cheeks.
He feels overheated and tiny and oddly weightless. Jack’s stare burns into his eyes until it’s etched into the backs of his eyelids.
“I’ll tell you,” he assures him breathlessly, because he cannot recall a time that he has ever not given Jack what he wants, “I’ll tell you later. When we walk home.”
Jack leans back so that he can prop his arm onto the desk and rests his head in his palm. It’s the prime watch-Davey-do-his-homework position (he’s been experimenting for years). He looks extremely satisfied and knowing, which is incredible since he’s also looking at Davey so softly.
“Ya have yourself a deal,” he smiles.
-
Davey is so screwed. They’re packing their bags up because the detention period is over, which precedes the dreaded walk home. He’s actually not sure if he can do this. Maybe if he throws up right now Jack will take pity on him and carry him home in silence. He takes his sweet time putting his pencil case away.
“Ready ta go?” Jack asks as he zips up his own backpack. Davey nods, albeit shakily. At this rate, his heartbeat could probably be heard even if he hid it under the floorboards. He puts a hand over his chest, willing it to calm down.
They make it past three whole stoplights in amiable silence before Jack says, “So.”
This is it. This is the actual, real moment when Davey dies, collapses into a pile of his own nerves, melts into the pavement, never to be seen again. What would he do if Jack rejects him? God, it would be so awkward. He would probably have to get a new best friend, but who could ever replace someone who gets him pears during lunch and walks home with him and opens his goddamned milk ? He looks up from the sidewalk and stops short. Jack has the most honest, open smile on his face. He’s beautiful.
“Um,” Davey says. Jack tilts his head. He has a look about him that Davey has only seen a few times since he’s known him.
He looks hopeful.
“I’ve been in love with you since we were six,” Davey blurts out, unsure of what exactly emboldens him at the current moment. Maybe it’s the serenity of the setting sun and the lack of noise. Maybe it’s the way Jack is regarding him. Maybe it’s the feeling that this is the right thing to say. “You’re stupid and hot and annoying and I love you.”
The rush leaves him suddenly, and he feels simultaneously like jumping out of his own skin and exhaling in monumentous relief. He does neither as Jack engulfs him in a hug; he simply holds his breath.
“Can I tell ya a secret, now?” he’s beaming, Davey can hear it in his voice. He can also feel Jack’s heartbeat rivaling his own, thumping at a breakneck pace. “That ain’t no secret to me, either.”
Davey’s jaw drops and he pushes Jack away to look at him. “You- what- but I- fuck, what?”
“Maybe you ain’t as slick as you been thinkin’ ya are,” Jack shrugs as he ushers Davey to start walking again. “Maybe I just been waitin’ ‘til you told me yourself, since I thought ya might be more comfortable with that.”
They stop at the red light. “And maybe,” he says softly as he pushes the pedestrian button. “Maybe I’ve been so goddamn gone over ya for the past nine years that I didn’t wanna ruin it all ‘n’ scare you away.”
Davey’s heart bursts out of his chest. Perhaps this is how he dies. He cups Jack’s satisfied, pleased face in his hands and says, just as softly, “You could never scare me away.”
The indicator changes, signaling them to cross the street, which gives Davey time to cool his face down. Jack puts his arm around his waist and, oh, would you look at that, his temperature is right back up.
“Then, David Jacobs, wanna go out with me? I have to warn ya, I do a lot of stupid shit.”
Davey smiles, content and carefree and alive. He clasps his hand in Jack’s as they walk the rest of the way home.