Page 16 of Just Don't Call Me Yours

I know he does. Matt doesn’t go into anything without thinking it through.

“Don’t think this means I’ll hang around Margot more. I’m your friend, but I have to draw the line somewhere.”

He forces a laugh. “Understood.”

“Okay.” I pick up my fork, shoving it back into my bowl. “Ask her out, then.”

He grins. “I already have.”

11

margot

Rae has been on her date with Matt for a couple of hours now. My fingers tap against the keys as I sit on my bed, doing research for my Mass Media class. Faint voices of two girls further down the hallway help to keep me focused, giving me a sense of life around me. If I shut the door, I probably wouldn’t hear Jackson playing as much, but it’s still early.

He’s actually not bad once you hear him play at a decent hour. I’m starting to recognize the different songs he plays even if I don’t know the titles or lyrics. He’s practicing a few different ones tonight, rotating between four or five songs. One of them has a catchy beginning I always end up bobbing my head to, and I’m just glad his door is shut so he can’t see.

Every time I hear voices in the hall, my ears perk, thinking Matt and Rae are back from their date, but the voices always fade in the opposite direction.

I’m on pins and needles, waiting for them to get back. I want her to have fun. She’s my best friend, and I love her more than anything, but the selfish part of me is hoping she doesn’t like Matt as much as she thought.

Because if she doesn’t like Matt, it will be easier to pretend Jackson doesn’t exist.

The music stops, and my eyes instinctively jump to the door across the hall. The only time the music stops is when he finally goes to sleep, has to do homework (but usually music still plays on his stereo if that’s the case), or he’s about to leave the dorm. I stare at the door, waiting for it to open, but it doesn’t. The door stays shut, and somehow the silence is eerily more distracting than the constant strum of his guitar. Like the calm before one of us fires a shot.

My eyes fall to my computer again, but it’s hard for me to get back on track—especially when the door across the hall finally opens.

Jackson leans against the door frame with no guitar, wearing dark jeans and a Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt. He frowns when he sees me, like the fact that I live next door is an unpleasant surprise he’d forgotten about. “They’re not back yet?”

“Nothing gets past you,” I mutter and aimlessly scroll on my laptop for the sake of looking busy.

I expect him to scoff or say something snarky, but he just stands there.

Bringing my eyes to his again, I ask, “Is there something you need?”

He points a thumb over his shoulder. “I just . . .” but his words trail off, and he shakes his head. Staring at me with more clarity, he seems to remember who I am, his expression hardening. “Forget it,” he says. “I’ll just wait for Matt to get back.”

“And I’ll wait for Rae,” I say with a nod.

His frown deepens. “This is going to be weird.”

I can’t help feeling slightly offended even though I was thinking the same thing. Trying to be the bigger person, I go for a change of subject. “That one song you played tonight didn’t suck.”

He cocks his head, and my body warms with how intently he’s looking at me. “Which one?”

I force a laugh. “I don’t know.”

“Well, how did it go?”

I know how the song went, but this feels like a trap. He probably just wants to make fun of me when I try to mimic the sound of his guitar. “I don’t remember.”

Before I can say anything else, he rolls his eyes and goes into his room. I watch, my eyebrows creasing only to have him reemerge a moment later with his guitar in hand.

12

jackson

When I walk into Margot’s room, she’s watching me with untrusting eyes, and when I sit on her bed a few feet in front of her, those skeptical brown eyes widen. I look around, taking in her sun-themed posters and orange bedding. By the way she decorates her room, you’d think her disposition was a little more . . . well, sunny.

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