Everything That Makes You(28)

"He'd been sick a long time."

She nodded like she understood, which she didn't. The conversation lagged, their first awkward silence.

"What about you?" Jackson leaned forward, and she let him pick through  what remained of her breakfast. "Any brothers or sisters?"

"A brother. He's a freshman, too-at Clemson." She felt guilty suddenly, like having a living brother was showing off.

"You're twins?"

She shook her head. "He's ten months older. It just worked out, how our  birthdays fell. He was one of the oldest in our class. I was one of the  youngest." She pulled out her phone and held it out to him. "That's him.  Ryan."

Jackson took it, eyes squinted. "That girl he's with-she looks familiar."

"Gwen. His girlfriend."

His eyes widened as he studied the phone's small screen. "Otherlands, right? She works there?"

"You go there?"

He wiggled his hand back and forth. So-so. "You?"

"All the time."

"Liar. I never saw you there." He speared a chunk of cantaloupe, pointed it at her, and winked. "I'd have remembered."

Oh, what her body did when Jackson flirted.

With Trent McKinnon, Fiona's fantasies were gauzy and girlish, all  smiles and chaste kisses and happily ever after. Not so with Jackson.  The specificity of her imagination regarding this green-eyed boy was  alarming.

Which then led to guilt. Because, uh, what about David?

Since she couldn't handle flirting, she avoided it. Like right now, by  getting them back on track with the original conversation. "They've been  dating since eleventh grade."

"She goes to Clemson?"

"No, Furman. Nearby, but I'm not sure they see each other much. He's on  the soccer team and never has a free second, apparently."

Jackson laughed. "Not that it bothers you."

"It's that obvious?"

"You look like a tractor ran over your toe."

"We were just-are just-really close. But I never talk to him anymore."  She looked at Jackson's drawn face and was horrified. "Oh, Jackson. I'm  sorry. I shouldn't-"

He held up a hand to stop her. "You're allowed to miss your brother."                       
       
           



       

"You miss yours."

"He's why I deferred, at first," he said, while idly picking through her  fruit. "I didn't want to leave, you know, with him still around. Even  after he died I waffled about it, but Mom got sick of me moping. She  said stalling didn't change anything. He died and not moving wouldn't  keep it from being true."

"How did he die?" she asked quietly.

"Heart failure."

"Oh my God. That's terrible."

He nodded. "Four years ago, he got food poisoning, which gave him this  fluke infection. Everything just went perfectly wrong after that. By the  time the doctors figured it out, his heart was shot."

"It sounds awful."

"Since his immune system was messed up, my parents pulled him out of  regular school, to teach him at home. He was so pissed. He wanted a  normal life." He gave a short, bitter laugh. "Selfish bastard that I am,  I pushed him to stay home, too. I did it with him."

"You were homeschooled?" Fiona imagined sitting with Ryan in those  little kindergarten desks that used to be in their playroom, while her  mom wrote lessons on an old-fashioned chalkboard. The brief daydream was  very unappealing.

"In theory," Jackson said, with a little laugh. "Teaching is not my  mother's calling. We pretty much just followed the city school  curriculum. I took some classes at U of M," he said. "Marcus kept  telling me to go back to school. He said I was missing everything."

"Like what?"

"Football games, clubs, prom. Stuff I didn't care about-but he did," he  said. "He always said that even if his life was screwed up, mine didn't  have to be. Which is ridiculous. I mean, just because it's not happening  to me doesn't mean it's not happening to me."

"And you aren't sad?" she asked. "That you missed high school?"

He shook his head. "I got my brother. I was kind of a jealous girlfriend  about it, too. Trying to get all the time with him I could."

Fiona felt that way about Ryan-though she wasn't a jealous girlfriend so  much as jealous of his girlfriend. "Sounds nice. I mean, not nice.  But-"

"Don't worry," he said with a cute smile. "I know what you mean. And  yeah, it was great actually, having him to myself like that. Although  it's come around to bite me, since I really know what I'm missing."

Fiona wanted to know more but felt like she'd been nosy enough already.  However, after a few sips of coffee, Jackson offered more up on his own.  "This past year, he couldn't even walk up the stairs without getting  out of breath. Still, every day he wanted something new."

"Like what?"

"Like, well, like food. But he couldn't stomach much, so I had to eat  everything and then describe it. And books. He sent me to the library so  often, the librarian, Linda, and I were on a first name basis." He  shook his head. "We didn't let him out much, but whenever his blood work  came back strong-or if he'd had some good days-he'd get a reprieve. And  man, he grabbed it."

"What would he do?"

"Anything, really. Sometimes just regular stuff, like bowling. Fishing.  Sometimes he got a little goofy. Like-have you ever been to that open  mic night at Otherlands?"

Fiona's heart practically stopped beating. She nodded.

Jackson wagged his eyebrows. "All the ways our paths have crossed." For a  moment, he just looked at her, all smirky and adorable, before  continuing. "He even did that once. Read Sartre, of all things. He got  booed off the stage, which was probably a first for that place. Still,  he was so pumped. Alive." He stared at the table. Suddenly, it looked  like all happiness and sarcasm left him. "God, it sucks."

The lump in her throat made her forget her stalled heart. "How did he handle it? Knowing he was dying?"

"He never admitted he was dying." He shook his head, like this still  baffled him. "He was the world's biggest optimist. The doctors told him a  new heart was a long shot. Like, long. Still he thought he'd pull  through it."

"You didn't?"

He shook his head. "No. Which felt like crap."

Fiona watched him, this lovely, heartbroken boy. The wavy hair and olive  skin and lopsided smile and broad shoulders just the package for all  the invisible, real stuff hidden inside.

Gradually, a crooked smile appeared on Jackson's face. "Your turn."

"My turn to what?"

"Share."                       
       
           



       

Fiona narrowed her eyes at this suspicious question. Just because they  were in Jackson's land of personal information didn't mean they had to  cross into hers. "I've got nothing."

He pointed to her cheek. "What's the story with that scar?"

Automatically, Fiona dragged her bangs forward. "Nothing."

She hadn't told anyone here about Old Fiona and her life-changing  surgery. She hadn't planned it that way, but whenever anyone asked, she  remembered her mother's comment in the hotel elevator. No one would ever  know. And she just kept vaguely deflecting the questions.

"You don't have to do that." Jackson leaned across the table and tucked  her bangs behind her ear. His fingertips glanced the skin on her neck,  and all the original bits of her erupted in goose bumps. "It's not  bad-cool, really. Like there's a little badass lurking under all that  cute."

Oh my. "Next question."

Jackson smirked. "You realize I just want to know more now."

Jackson had told her about his dead brother, who'd gotten booed off a  stage. Who'd fit all the living he could into the life he got handed.

Jackson had told her something true.

"I had some scars growing up," she said. "But surgery this summer fixed them."

"Fixed them?" he asked, eyes widening.

She shrugged. "It's not a big deal."

"What happened?"

She wanted a sip of coffee, but her hands shook in her lap. Acting as  relaxed as she could, Fiona gave a two-minute recap of the day when she  was five that, theoretically, no longer mattered.

"How big were they?"

She gestured vaguely to the right side of her face.

Jackson whistled. "So you had the scars from five until-"

"Eighteen."

"Wow," he said. "That sounds pretty bad."

Not knowing what to say, Fiona did what she did best-just like with  covering other people's songs, she substituted someone else's idea for  her own. "What doesn't kill us makes us stronger. Or so they say."