Page 94 of Something Forever

“Cool,” I reply, struggling to find footing in this conversation. “How’s school going?”

Jackson sighs, putting his comic down. “It’s Thanksgiving break, so I’m not even missing.”

“You gotta graduate.”

“You gotta chill.”

I shrug, crossing the alley to crouch down next to him. “I’m cool as a cucumber.”

He rolls his eyes. “Wow, that is lame. Did my brother talk to you?”

“Yeah. Pretty sure you both like me even though you try not to. That happens a lot.”

Jackson laughs despite himself, shaking his head.

“Is it too late? Have you missed too much school?” I push.

“No. My teacher keeps calling me. She’s annoying,” he says, kicking a rock with his shoe.

I nudge his shoulder. “Have Darius call her back. Come on. I know you like school, so don’t pretend you don’t.”

He glares at me. “How do you know?”

“Because you’re fucking reading, dude. You’re a nerd.”

I realize my mistake a second too late. His expression darkens, shutting down. “Fuck you,” he spits out.

“Hey, I meant that in a good way. I’m a nerd, too. My idea of a good time is being in a lab looking at slides of bacteria. My buddy and I used to memorize the periodic table with a song we wrote to the tune of a Drake song.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then throws me a glare. “Seriously?”

“Listen, man. Just ask yourself: WWIMD?”

He stares at me, his brow furrowed. “What?”

“What would Iron Man do?”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” he says, deadpan.

“Yeah, but it works,” I tell him with a wink. “Trust me.”

When I got home from work last night, I started compiling spreadsheets and resources for Jackson to look at. Whenever there was a lull in business, I talked to Darius about affordable colleges in the city and scholarships. I know how much he wants this, and I want to help in any way I can.

Quite selfishly, all the research gave me a rest from thinking about other things. Other things I’ve been thinking about a lot. Other things that smell incredible and feel even better…

I get home from the store and find Whitney in the kitchen with an apron around her waist and headphones on. The room is a total mess, ingredients covering the counter and a pile of open cookbooks in the corner. She turns and sees me in the doorway, relief and excitement settling into her features.

Pulling her earbud out, she smiles at me. “Thank God you’re home. I need help.”

I glance around with a sardonic smile. “That much is clear. It looks like a hurricane came through here.”

She sighs, turning to stir some sauce. “It’s for Friendsgiving. I’ve never cooked a turkey before, and I think I’m doing it wrong.”

“Friendsgiving?”

“Thanksgiving with friends. You must know this.”

I shrug. “Not American, remember?”

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