Chapter Text
Knock knock. The rapping at my door was nearly inaudible considering I had my punk ass music blaring through my headphones. I quickly tugged them out because I felt the vibration on the wall that I had my back lazily pressed up against. I saw my mom, Joanne, with cellphone in hand standing in the doorway. I noted the horribly excited look that was plastered to her face. I wonder what could have happened. Did they finally announce a new season of Friends? I mused sarcastically. I could be such an asshole sometimes.
"Jeanbo, you know the neighbors, right?" She asked, her caramel brown eyes lighting up as she beamed. "The Bodts. Marco's their only son and he's around your age. You must know him from school. He's 17, just a year older than you." Marco Bodt. Did I hear that right? Did she just say what I think she said? Marco fucking Bodt, premier all-star straight A student who managed to be a delicious piece of eye candy at the same time. What the flying fresh fuck could he want with a dirtbag like me?
I froze in place. Those freckles that dusted his gorgeously tanned skin and that silky voice were the first things that came to mind. He was always the goody-goody who sat in the front of the class, eager to learn. Not to mention that Marco was popular as fuck, and I was the black sheep - your typical outcast who sat in the back of the room in that beat-up vandalized desk with a dick drawn on it. Girls swooned over him left and right, and I couldn't really blame them. I was torn between being completely envious of Marco or just succumbing to what I knew was going to happen: I'd keel over for him. It was some sort of Freudian penis envy theory. It couldn't really be explained.
Even if he was a social butterfly and perfect boyfriend material, I huffed because I knew how this was going to go. Mom was trying to get me out of my room and help me get a life.
The only time I remember holding a halfway decent conversation with Marco was last summer when I had a yard sale in my front yard and he came over to buy some stuff. He bought a few books and a knick knack or two. His parents probably put him up to it in order to make him look like an ethical good kid. I, meanwhile, was a flustered mess because he had come by shirtless in only swim trunks on a 90 degree day. I couldn't tell if it was water or sweat trickling down that spot in between his pecs where a few freckles popped up, but either way it looked damn good. After making his purchase, he returned to his backyard only to cannonball right into his pool. Needless to say, I really wanted to follow him back there. And there was also that one time he mowed the lawn for free because my father was having some kind of back malfunction. I had a good time watching through the bathroom window. Stop it Jean, you sound like a pervert for fuck's sake!
"Oh, honey. It'll be fun! Mrs. Bodt says she rented some movies for you guys to watch." My mother came even closer and plopped down on my bedside. So that's what it was about. A set-up. Could have told you that was going to happen.
"Mom, like he doesn't have enough friends. Why would he want to hang around with me of all people?" I asked, obviously ticked off as I rolled my eyes and looked up at the ceiling.
"Jeanny, get out of the house for once! Do you really want to pass up this opportunity? You might make a good friend. And from what I hear, Marco's really nice. I doubt he'll be a jerk," Her voice took on a more softer tone, and she rested a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
"And honestly, kiddo... You have no choice because I'm not leaving you here alone while your father and I go on a double date with the Bodts. Live a little. For me." Jesus Christ - his parents and my parents? In the same room? What is my life, one of those sickening family romcoms? I felt like I was being punked, but then again there was a surge of something almost electric inside my chest and it made me want to puke. I had a strong feeling that it was butterflies. No way. There is no fucking way that I, Jean Kirschtein, am getting excited over something as goofy as this.
"Get packing. We're probably going to come back to our house and have a few drinks after the date anyway. Like I said, make a friend, Jean. You can't be a recluse for the rest of your life. It's not healthy." Mom got up and started toward the door, but hesitated.
"You know, your father used to be that way. It took me a long time to bring him out of his shell, but I did it. Now he has no problem. You can do it too, if you put your mind to it." With that hell of a motivational speech that totally made me want to throw myself into the social bed of nails that was the Bodt household, she shut my door.
I lazily shuffled out of my knees-pressed-to-chest position on my bed, got up, and stretched. Heading over to my closet, I looked inside and found one of my old string bags that I used for gym class. I took a quick whiff of it to make sure it didn't smell like horse shit, and decided it would be alright if I sprayed it with some Febreze. Despite the sweaty smell, it was pretty cool looking. Neon green and black were nice when paired together.
My mom always made me do this silly thing in fear of people stealing my things: if we bought something worth money, I had to put my initials in it. This applied to basically everything except clothes, but coats had to be marked. Her method actually proved to be effective when infamous asshole Eren Jaeger tried to jack my leather coat in freshman year. He got in trouble for trying to steal it because the teachers could confirm that it was mine. As a result, Eren got his face rearranged behind the school while I was wearing the coat. There's probably still remnants of a blood stain somewhere on the sleeve. I thought I was so cool and tough back then. Smiling at the leather relic, I brushed my fingertips over it and then hassled to shut the closet door because it was so flooded with junk.
I began to stuff the bag with things I might need, including a night shirt and a pair of sweatpants. I didn't bother to fold them, because who the hell goes the distance to fold clothes that you're going to sleep in? Plus, Marco was a guy. He wouldn't care if what I wore had a few wrinkles, right?
If I wanted to get super hygenic about things, I'd pack a toothbrush. Contemplating it for a while, I figured it was the right thing to do because I didn't think Marco would be too happy with me visiting his house in rough shape like a hobo. With that in mind, I hopped in the shower and quickly used my father's soap that was supposed to make you smell like a sex god. I had my eyes closed as I reached for the shampoo: big mistake. I dispensed some into my hand and lathered it into my auburn hair, but realized I was fucked when the intoxicating smell of strawberries filled my nose. Great. Now I was going to smell like a man and a woman.
I could use my own shampoo over my mom's, but that would just make my hair smell like some kind of drug. That wouldn't be appealing at all. Deciding to let it be, I rinsed the foamy crap out of my hair and sighed. My hand reached for the dial, and I shut the water off. I hummed a no-name tune as I wrapped the towel around my waist. The mirrors were all fogged up, so I figured why not draw a funny face? Smirking at the distorted thing, I exited the steamy bathroom and headed for my own brethren.
Drying my goods, I slipped on a pair of boxers with a guitar pattern and some skinny jeans over them. I had to look decent. This was my only chance to make a real first impression even though I had technically known the guy since birth. I couldn't fuck it up. After I was done dealing with my bottom, I debated on which shirt should have the luxury of being seen by Marco.
"Ol' faithful, I choose you." Smirking, I grabbed my black trusty Pink Floyd tank top. It was awesome, and I felt awesome every time I wore it. It had a little bit of a backstory, too. The tank top had originally been a shirt that was a hand-me-down from my dad. One summer day, it got really hot outside and I decided to be rebellious and cut the sleeves off. Thus the tank top was born. Throw on some Converse and I'd be all set. I'd look like one hell of a hippie, but I'd be looking good nonetheless. All I needed was a flower crown. Not.
I made my way back into the bathroom and hastily brushed my teeth. Deciding not to make myself smell terrible, I put a very small amount of cologne on my wrists and rubbed it in. There was no way I wanted it to conflict with the way my hair smelled.
"Jean, hurry up! It's almost half past seven! We can't keep the neighbors waiting." My father groaned as he pounded on the door. "Yeah, yeah. I'm coming." I replied, setting the cologne back where it belonged and running a comb through my hair.
I got out of the bathroom as fast as I could because the last thing I wanted to do was spoil my father's mood. That would be disastrous for everyone involved. "The hell? You look like you just stepped out of the 70s. Hope that Bodt kid has the same sense of fashion or else he's gonna be laughing." He grinned, stopping to point out what I was wearing.
"Oh, shut it. I think he looks handsome," My mom walked up to me and pinched my cheeks. God, I hate when she does that. "And you're one to talk, Leon. You used to be the same exact way." She grinned and nudged him on the arm, to which he responded with an annoyed look.
"Joanne, it's not like he's going on a date with a pretty girl or anything. It's just a casual get-together with the neighbor's son." Dad grimaced and glanced at his watch, signaling that it wasn't getting any earlier and he was starting to get impatient. My jaw instantly clenched. I tried not to let the frustration show. Yeah. Just a relaxed, all-in-good-fun night at the house next door that's going to be completely normal. Mhm.
"Jean likes to make himself look presentable wherever he goes, anyway. It's a good trait to have. Isn't that right?" Mom smoothed my hair. I forced a smile and nodded.
"Welp.. You might as well head over there now, Jeanbo. Don't have too much fun." A hint of sarcasm was present in my dad's voice as he prodded the back of my neck. I grabbed my knapsack and made my way down the front steps. Marco's house was literally just a few feet away, and I noted that he was in the front yard with his parents who were probably waiting for mine to be ready to go. Fuck, this is going to be embarrassing.