Page 10 of Just Don't Call Me Yours

Jackson heads out of the room, already a step ahead of me, and doesn’t bother holding the door open on his way out.

“You know,” he says over his shoulder as he walks down the hallway. “Say what you want about my music, but it’s better than listening to Stevie whine into the mic.”

I stop.

When I don’t answer right away, he looks back at me. “You’ll never be able to unhear it now.” He points to his ear. “That’s shitty noise.”

“Um, Stevie Nicks is a goddess.”

“Right.” He turns back around. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you’re a little predictable, Red. Let me guess,” he says over his shoulder. “You’re also obsessed with Taylor Swift, and Paul is your favorite Beatle.”

I feel attacked.

My feet find their motion again, and before I know it, I’m marching after him.

“What do you have against Paul?” I demand as I catch up to him.

“Nothing,” he says as he rounds the corner without looking at me.

I follow him, practically nipping at his heels. “And how dare you mention Taylor Swift’s music like it’s a bad thing.”

He stops in front of his door and gives me a condescending look like I should know what’s wrong with Taylor Swift.

“You want to know what I think?” I cross my arms.

He rests one hand on the door handle. “Not particularly.”

“I think you’re just hellbent on not liking anything ‘mainstream.’ You think you’re better than the rest of us because your favorite band has never played on the radio, and if they ever do get popular, you’ll turn your back on them. You’ll talk about how much you used to like them and how good they used to be. You know, before they ‘sold out.’”

A slight crease forms between his eyebrows.

“Who’s predictable now?” I lift my chin, feeling pretty satisfied with myself.

After staring at me long and hard, he opens the door to his dorm. “You don’t get it,” he says dismissively with a shake of his head.

It’s the second time he’s shut the door in my face. I yank my own door open, slamming it behind me. I hate feeling like he’s somehow won this round.

You don’t get it.

What don’t I get? I think I was spot on. Hopefully, I never get to know him well enough to find out.

8

jackson

It’s been two weeks, and I still haven’t heard from Dave about my audition. Focusing on anything school related has been impossible. The first week, I barely thought about it. I knew I wouldn’t hear back from him right away. But as soon as the two-week mark rolled around, it’s like I’ve become obsessed. Every time my phone goes off, I nearly have a heart attack until I see it’s just my mom or Matt, asking if I’ve had dinner yet.

Sitting on my bed, I try to finish typing my first English paper, my pent-up anxiety and frustration coming out each time my fingers slam into the keys.

My noise-canceling headphones play “505” by Arctic Monkeys so loud I don’t even hear Matt coming into the room until he takes a hard seat on his bed directly across from me. Looping one of the headphones behind my ear, I give him a nod. “Hungry?” I’ll take any excuse to stop writing this paper.

“Yeah,” he says without looking, still focused on whatever he was doing before he walked in here.

“Cool,” I say, closing my laptop. “Where do you want to go?”

“What?” he asks like he’s forgotten I’m here.

“To eat,” I clarify, eyeing him. “Are you okay?”

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