pt2: thirteen

Jacob hated Olivia Adams. From the moment he’d seen the way Travis looked at her, he’d hated her, hated the way she made his best friend smile and look at her fondly with such ease.

Jacob wished Travis would look at him like that, jealousy trickling down through his skin and settling in his bones. When he thought this, a voice that sounded suspiciously like his fathers rebuked him, hissing whispered slurs and comments far too hateful for such a young boy to be exposed to.

Jacob was five going on six when he first met Travis. When Jacob says this, its a stretch: his birthday was months later, but this is how he remembers this. It was on the first day of first grade, loud and busy and filled to the brim of excited children. Jacob was as popular as a he could be, polite to all the teachers and outgoing with the other children.

Travis had been standing on the side of the playground at recess, long hair in his eyes, when Jacob decided to be his friend. Jacob remembers this moment specifically, clearly, without needing to think. He remembers looking at the way Travis's hair got in his eyes and feeling his little heart almost stop.

This is where it began.

Making friends with Travis was difficult, to say the least. Travis was shy, quiet, had a bad temper, very specific boundaries, and Jacob quickly learned he had low self esteem. Jacob had to do a lot to be good friends with Travis, had to work hard to worm his way into the nonchalant boy's heart.

By seven, Jacob knew the best way to get Travis to talk to him was to give him food from his lunchbox, lovingly made by his mom, despite the bruises always lingering on her pale skin and the tear streaks on her cheeks.

By eleven, Jacob knew he was probably the closest thing Travis would ever have to a best friend. 

When Olivia came, that opinion was uprooted. Travis never talked about her much, but Jacob was smarter than everyone gave him credit for. He saw how Travis looked at her all that day at the pool. He saw how withdrawn Travis was when Olivia left again, somehow regressing further than he already was.

Jacob sighed. He didn't even hear the teacher calling for him, and ignored the way Travis snickered beside him when his head snapped up. “Excuse me?” he asked politely, looking up at the teacher and hoping to displace the annoyance she would no doubt have in her eyes.

"Jacob,” she sighed, shaking her head. “What's the answer for question ten?” she asked, a disappointed look on her face. Somehow that was worse than if she was upset.

Travis leaned next to him, and whispered, “Napoleon.” Jacob shivered at the way Travis's breath ghosted the side of his face. The teacher raised an eyebrow at the action and reaction, but said nothing. 

“Napoleon?” he squeaked out, sinking into his chair. 

She sighed again. “Jacob, please see me after class.” Jacob swatted at Travis, checking the whiteboard to see if the other boy set him up. It was so. Travis laughed beside him, a rare moment of childish glee.

“Dumb blond,” he heard Travis snicker, and received a scowl from Jacob in return. 

When class got out, Jacob tried to sneak out by hiding behind Travis, but was held back when the teacher called for him. “Sit,” she said, gesturing at a front row desk. Jacob collapsed into the chair, and looked at her, a frown on his face. Travis waved from the door, disappearing to his next class.

“Jacob,” she began, “I'm going to refer your parents to a psychiatrist.” Jacob panicked internally. He bounced his leg up and down, eyes wide. He began to worry his bottom lip between his teeth, fingers tapping at his leg.

“Please don’t,” he begged. 

She glanced at his bobbing knee, at the anxiety obvious in his gaze. “Jacob, it's not for anything serious. I just think you might need to go to my friend for your trouble focusing." This did nothing to soothe Jacob. 

“Miss Lane, please don't call my parents in.” 

She narrowed her eyes. “Are there any problems at home?” she began, leaning forward.

“No, nothin’ like that, just…” he hesitated, “please.” 

She sighed, and picked up a pen. She twirled in her fingers, and looked at the lesson plan on her desk. “You know I'm fine with Travis helping you, but you can't lean on him for the rest of your school life. You two will be in high-school soon, and not everyone will be as understanding as I am."

Jacob frantically nodded his head. “I know Miss Lane. I'll do better, I promise.” 

She hesitated for a moment, and waved him away. “You’re going to be late for your next class.” 

Jacob jumped up, and moved to the door. He stopped with his hand on the handle, and looked back. “Thank you Miss Lane.” 

She only shooed him out of the room with a grin.

When Jacob came home, his mom was already cooking dinner. She smiled at him, and put a plate of animal crackers on the table. Jacob sat at the table, and watched her cook. When Jacob was younger, he used to help her. they would smear flour on each other's faces, and make a mess they had to clean up, but they had fun. 

That never happened now; They had Garrett to thank for that.

“How was school?” Jacob's mom asked, turning back to the counter. 

Jacob shrugged, not that she could see it. “It was okay.” He contemplated telling her what Miss Lane had said, but decided against it, choosing to cover up yet another thing, rather than worrying his already frail mother. “Travis got an A on an English test.” 

“Oh, that’s great,” she replied, looking over her shoulder at him. “Tell him I said good job.” 

“Mmkay.”Jacob looked at his mom carefully. She was thin, with pale blond hair and big hazel eyes. Everyone always said, “You look just like your mom, but you got your daddy’s eyes.” Jacob's dad didn’t like it when people said that about him. Jacob wasn't so fond of it either, but for different reasons.

Jacob looked at the hem of his moms floral dress, and the way it swished around her ankles. He thought of dancing with Lottie, of dispelling his fathers lurking presence and making her smile a true smile.

Jacob thought of dancing with Travis. He couldn't ignore his father hissing in his ear about this one.

Jacob couldn’t think things like that. His dad always said thinking those things is how men end up in Hell. Jacob didn’t wanna go to Hell. 

Jacob looked down. “Ma’” he began, “Am I a weird kid?” 

His mom looked at him. She narrowed her eyes. “Have kids been picking on you?” She asked, walking over to the kitchen table, brows furrowed. She sat at the table, her expression pinched.

“No,” Jacob murmured. “it’s jus’- Miss Lane was sayin’ I have trouble focusing and-“ 

His mom laughed, setting her hands on the table to lean forward. “Honey, that’s nothing to worry about,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. She gently tugged on a lock of Jacob's hair, tucking it behind his ear. “All kids have trouble focusing, especially ones your age.”

She chuckled again. “God knows I did terrible in eighth grade. So did your brother.” 

Jacob wrinkled his nose at the mention of his older brother. Blaine was not something Jacob liked to think of often; he and their father were similar in that way.

She ruffled his hair, and went back to cooking. “Go to your room and clean up,” she said, stirring her pot of mystery soup, no doubt potato soup again. Everybody and their mother knew Lottie loved her potato soup. Jacob sighed, and trudged down the hall. 

Jacob kept his room neat enough, all blue bed sheets and walls, posters of basketball players hanging on the walls. Jacob had wanted a bookshelf for his room once. His dad never bought it for him. He'd also wanted some movie posters, actual movie posters of films he liked, but he never got that either.

Jacob sighed, and threw his backpack on the ground. He laid on the bed, and stared at the ceiling. His dad had put an Avengers poster up over his bed for some reason. Jacob supposed he was supposed to like Marvel, but he didn’t. Not really, anyway. 

Jacob didn’t mind seeing the men in their ridiculous outfits, but he supposed he was supposed to like the girls in their unreasonably tight suits instead. Jacob wondered what his dad would say to that. 

It wasn't long when his mom called for him. 

His dad wasn’t home for dinner, but then again, he rarely ever was. He always made it home for church on Sunday though, no matter where he was. Garrett was always specific about getting shipments that paid well, but always brought him home for Sunday.

As Jacob ate, he wondered if Travis was eating too. He knew Travis's mother wasn’t the best, but she always tried to cook for him, even if most nights Travis was just warming up leftovers. 

Jacob had stayed at Travis's enough to know they ate leftovers a lot. As in every dinner a lot. Travis's mom rarely came home in time for dinner, and when she did, she cooked two meals for the week at once, then put the entire dish in the fridge. 

Some days Jacob wondered what she could possibly doing that kept her out, what with her office job, but he knew he didn't want to know, not really.

It made Jacob depressed. Some days when Travis stayed at his place for dinner, he looked ready to cry. Jacob knew if it was just the two of them, he probably would. Jacob liked knowing that. Jacob liked the thought of Travis sleeping over again, laying closer than necessary on his bed and listening to music on the Walkman Travis had found in a thrift store.

He liked thinking of that a lot. He didn't like the whisper that he would go to Hell for that. He didn't like that whisper at all.

When Jacob woke up Sunday morning, his dad was home, sitting at the kitchen table. He had a mug of coffee in his hand, and looked like he hadn’t slept. He probably hadn’t. 

“Hi, sir,” Jacob said, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. 

“Stop that,” his dad snapped. 

“Yessir.” Jacob held his hands behind his back, and tried to resist the urge to fidget, to run, to get away.

His dad raised his chin. “Go get ready for church. Your Ma’s already ready.” 

“Yessir,” was all Jacob said, trudging to the bathroom. 

Sitting through hours of church made Jacob want to die, made him want to run a mile in the rain, or claw off his skin. He supposed it would be better if Travis was there, but Jacob could never convince Travis to go with him. The last time Jacob asked it of him, practically on his knees begging, a look of disgust had crossed Travis's face. If it was Jacob's behavior or the idea of going to church, Jacob wasn’t sure. 

After the service, when the priest asked Jacob if he had anything to confess, Jacob lied and said no. He knew everyone in that church lied. He knew Mrs. Johnson lied about loving her kids equally, and her husband lied about being faithful. 

He knew his father lied about his treatment of Jacob and his mother. 

He knew his Ma also lied about how Garrett treated them.

Jacob really wasn’t as dumb as people liked to pretend. 

Jacob hid away in his room for the rest of the day. He didn’t need to be around his dad, slowly getting drunk, mother pampering to his fathers every need. He pretended to play video games in his room all day, which was apparently what men were supposed to do. 

In reality, he was reading a copy of The Alchemist that Travis had lent him, adding to Travis's scrawled annotations, and left a note or two for the other boy after a certain passage.

That Monday, Jacob turned thirteen. Jacob was popular, so he got a lot of gifts from the kids in his class. The only gifts that mattered to him were Travis's and Miss Lane’s. Travis gifted him an Oasis CD, and an old Aerosmith tape. He didn't say a word. He knew Jacob wasn't big on birthdays. 

Guys that he played sports with clapped Jacob on the back, girls gave him gifts and cards, and all Jacob could do was smile and say thank you. Jacob hated it. Neil and Chris didn't give him anything. They knew he wasn't big on birthdays too. He appreciated that. 

Near the end of the school day, Miss Lane pulled Jacob to the side and handed him a book. “I thought you might like it,” she said, and Jacob wondered if she was going to say if she only gave it to him because it had pictures. Adults liked thinking Jacob would like certain books because it had pictures. 

She didn't say why he would like it. Jacob was never really sure why she'd said that. 

When Jacob got home, he threw the cards away, and put the gifts from strangers in a pile for charity. His mom only kissed his head, and murmured a happy birthday. “Your dad’s not home,” she said across from the counter. Jacob sighed with relief. 

He went into his room, and put the CD and tape under his bed. He sat on the floor, and opened his gift from Miss Lane, unwrapping the glittery paper with care. It was a mythology book, and it didn't have pictures on every other page like he expected, just an illustration or two in each chapter. Jacob loved his gift.

Jacob and his mother ate cake for dinner. Jacob knew this wouldn't happen if his dad was there. His moms gift to him was one of her rings, one that Jacob knew his father wouldn't miss. It was small, and barely noticeable. He put it on the chain with his cross, and tucked it back into his shirt. She sat with him on the couch and didn't say a word. 

They fell asleep there. 

Jacob woke up in his mothers arms. They both lay there for a second, and Jacob listened to the sound of his mom breathing, inhaling and exhaling in sync with her, trying to match her heartbeat.

When he was showering later, he cried. He wondered if his mom did the same. He didn't need to wonder if Travis did too. Some part of him knew he did, knew that without a doubt his mother and his best friend were like him in this respect.

Jacob's dad didn't come home that Sunday. It was the first church day he'd ever missed. Jacob was never sure what happened that Sunday until he was 17, until he could afford to be truly comfortable in his own home.

Jacob and his mom still went to church, in case any of the parishioners said anything to his dad next Sunday. Jacob knew they were snitches through and through. Jacob confessed his sins to the priest, and felt the weight of his moms ring on his chest. That Sunday, he said he had nothing to confess. 

The priest knew that was a lie. He always knew, but he said nothing. 

Jacob knew the priest knew, yet he still lied. Jacob always noticed the way the priest's eyes lingered on him, how he singled him out in the congregation. 

The priest was arrested when Jacob was 15. Jacob didn’t have to ask what for. 

Jacob didn't see his father again until the Sunday after that. They ignored his absence, and went on as normal, if cowering and indulgence could be considered normal.