Knowing Jude

“My name is Ava Jordan Hansen, and I—”

“Yes…”

“Seventeen.”

“No, but…”

“Please, if…”

The line goes dead on the other side, and I slam my phone on the table.

“Where the fuck do they expect me to get experience if nobody will give me my first chance?” I complain out loud, fighting the urge to hurl something across the empty space and down the library balcony. Which would have to be my English textbook, my essay notebook, or my copy of Hamlet, so no thanks, I would rather keep my anger in check.

My shitty old phone is obviously out of the question. Shitty, old or not, it’s the only one I’ve got.

“Beats me too,” a voice comes from behind me, and I swivel in my seat.

A tall blonde guy is standing behind my chair, carrying a backpack, holding its strap in one hand and a lollipop in the other.

“You are late, Jude,” I accuse, looking at my wristwatch.

We were supposed to meet at 4.00 pm, not at 4.12 pm.

Jude Walker walks forward and drops his bag on top of my books. I push it away.

“God forbid that we all be on time,” he says, taking a seat directly opposite me. His blue eyes rise to mine. “Remind me again, what’s your name?”

What? Really?

“Gotta be kidding me,” I mutter beneath my breath, collecting my English books and stuffing them in my bag.

“No, I’m not,” he answers. “Arya? Angela? It’s got an A somewhere, right?”

I hold my bag on my lap and stare at him, speechless. He is fucking serious.

Wow.

I’ve gone to the same school as this guy for three freaking years, going on to four, and he doesn’t know my name? Yes, we are not in any class together, but we are in the same year, so what the hell?

He lifts his lollipop and pops it into his mouth. He continues looking at me, waiting for my response.

Hah!

I ignore him and start digging for my Math book. I place it, more like slam it, on the table, then follow it up with a workbook and a diary. I place my bag aside and grasp a pen.

I look back at him.

“We need to make a schedule,” I tell him.

He frowns, then pulls the candy from between his lips, leaving them glistening and red.

“You’re not gonna tell me your name?”

“What do you want? My name, or help with Math?” I snap.

“Both.” Then before I can catch on to him, he reaches forward and grabs my workbook. He looks at the cover before returning it. His red lips stretch into a smile. “Ava. Ava Hansen. I knew it had an A somewhere.”

I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth loud enough, so he doesn’t miss the sound. “Congrats on the close guess, genius. How about we work on that schedule now?”

He winks and leans back in his seat, all carefree.

I stare at him and wait for him to say something, but it looks as if he is doing the same thing, waiting for me to say something. Which I already have, but oh well.

“You going to say anything?” I prod.

He leans forward again, twisting the lolly stick between his fingers. “You know, I always thought you were nice.”

I groan and press the heel of my palm against my forehead, fighting a fresh urge.

To throw my pen right between his eyes and see what happens.

“And I always knew you were an annoying asshole,” I shoot back.

He draws back, his brows actually coming together in a frown.

Did I surprise him?

I know sometimes we don’t realise some things about ourselves until another person points them out, but really? That should have been obvious to him.

“No, I’m not,” he denies.

I throw my hands around, suddenly tired of this pointless conversation.

“Whatever, can we make the fucking schedule right now?”

He shrugs. “I didn’t know you were the cursing type either,” he says, his red lips turning up in a hidden smile.

Oh, what the hell.

Jude Walker is the classic blond, blue-eyed beauty, trust me when I say.

Don’t go getting any cute boy next door images in your mind, though.

Jude Walker is not cute, and he is not nice.

Well, that last one I don’t know, but judging from my first ever proper meeting with him, which was a Math study session that ended ten minutes ago—after lasting ten minutes, half of which we argued and the other managed to make a schedule—I can confidently say I didn’t detect a single nice bone in his being.

Jude is hot. Not cute.

He might be a jerk, but I’m a girl with eyes, and when I see eye candy, I name it for what it is. I’ve been around the guy for three years, so I’ve seen his hotness a lot of times, but one thing is sure.

It never diminishes.

Sometimes when you get used to something, it eventually loses its appeal after a while, but this one guy seems to get hotter and hotter as the days go by.

Two days ago, my Math teacher told me there was a student who needed help with his Math, asking whether I could offer to tutor him. I’m good at Math and always welcome a little practice, so I agreed.

I don’t know who I had expected, but Jude had been a surprise.

School football team star Jude Walker, school bad boy Jude Walker.

The moment I left Ms. Fernandez’s office, I did a bit of digging here and there, otherwise known as stalking.

Jude is not a dumb kid. In fact, I think he has more As on his transcript than I do. I was wondering why he needed my help when I noticed his Math grades. We were halfway through our last school year, and the highest he had managed was a B, which, compared to the rest of his subjects, was poor.

He was going all out on As. I couldn’t help but admire him.

I was a bit flabbergasted at his high grades, however. Let me confess I was a victim of believing in the stereotype of dumb jocks.

If he wasn’t so annoying, maybe I would like him a little.

We have successfully made a schedule, though I wouldn’t exactly call it a schedule.

We have the days.

Not the time.

Which, if you ask me, makes the whole thing useless and pointless.

We cancelled out the days he has football practice and the days I have club meetings.

Drama and Journalism, which he thinks are too many.

Which leaves us with Tuesday and Friday.

“I’m pretty sure nothing will be happening on Fridays,” he says as we head out of the library area.

“Why not?” I ask, irked that he is making this hard, even though it’s all for him.

He shrugs. “I mean, it’s Friday,” he says.

The reason of reasons, if you ask me.

“Why are we restricting ourselves to evenings, anyway?” he asks.

“You want to do it early in the morning before classes?” I suggest.

“Hell no, I barely get up in time for the first class.”

Makes two of us.

“I’m saying four to six. What about you?”

We walk in silence for a while.

“Only four hours per week?” he asks.

“I’m up for more, just give me the time,” I say.

I literally have all the time in the world since finding a job after school has proved futile for me. I snicker mentally, remembering the voice over my phone.

“How old are you?”

“Have you had any experience waitressing before?”

“I’m sorry, in that case, we can’t take you in. We need…”

Like what the heck? It’s a waitressing job in a restaurant at the very edge of town, not a hostess at a five-star spa in the middle of the city or something fancy like that.

“I’ll let you know,” Jude says as we come to the front of the school.

“Cool,” I mumble and start off on my way.

“Hey, wait,” he calls, and I look back at him.

I stand still and wait for him to say something.

“Thanks for taking me up,” he says, serious for once with no trace of humour in his voice.

I shrug. “It’s a way of revision for me,” I answer and turn away. This time round, he doesn’t call me back.

Later on, at night, I’m in my room, done with my homework and texting my bestie, Jennifer.

“Jo?” I hear Mum’s voice shout from the kitchen. “Aren’t you supposed to do the dishes tonight?”

I put my phone away, cursing. “What? No, it’s Maria’s turn tonight,” I scream right back.

We are not lunatics; communicating across our expansive house just requires a little bit more effort.

“You didn’t do them yesterday.” Maria’s voice joins the clatter.

I leave my room, already guessing how this will end. I go down the hall and through the living room to the kitchen.

“Sam did it for me last night,” I say when I get there.

“You didn’t do it; that’s what matters,” Maria says, turning to face me with a self-satisfied smirk. She tosses her long, dyed hair back as if challenging me to say something.

Oh, the little devil.

“I got it done; that’s what matters,” I shoot back.

“Why would you get your small brother to do dishes for you?” Mum asks, hands akimbo, a pinched look on her face.

“He’s not so little, Mum. He is ten, for heaven’s sake. He can even cook better than some people in this household,” I say, making sure to shoot a glare my younger sister’s way. Maria Hansen doesn’t like getting her hands dirty, and I guess not learning how to is how she keeps it that way.

Mum waves her hand in dismissal. “Just clean the dishes, Jo. And I want the kitchen clean, too.”

I can sense Maria’s smug look. I decide not to look her way since I might get tempted to slap it off her face.

I march behind the counter, my mood already plummeting for the night.

In instances like these, I wish for the morning to come fast so I can go to school and not have to deal with her anymore.

Are all younger sisters absolute evil, or is it just mine? Maria is always in competition with me, for what I have no idea, and sometimes it’s hard to ignore her since she is an attention-seeking expert.

By the time I get back to my room, sleep is already catching up with me. I change, grab my phone, and jump in between my covers. I look through the texts I’ve received.

Jen, 8.15 pm: Guess what, Jo.

Jen, 8.17 pm: Hey, u there?

Jen, 8.20 pm: Ava!

I look at the time on top of the screen. It’s only twenty-seven minutes since her last text.

Me, 8.47 pm: What?

Seconds later, my phone pings.

Jen, 8.48 pm: Jax is taking me out on Friday!!!!

I read that text the first time, reread it, confirm that it is really Jax she is talking about, then reply.

Me, 8.51 pm: Lol, funny... Not so funny, Jen.

She replies instantly.

Jen, 8.51 pm: I’m not kidding! He said it’s a surprise. I have no idea where he is taking me.

I can hardly believe what I’m reading.

Me, 8.52 pm: You’re fucking kidding me, Jen. Y would Jax take u out? Y would u even… U r fucking crazy!

Jen, 8.53 pm: What’s the big deal about it?

Me, 8.53pm: I can’t believe u right now.

Jen, 8.54 pm: He is no longer Angela’s bf.

I can’t believe she said that!

Me, 8.55 pm: That’s the deal, he was her bf!

Jen, 8.56 pm: U r so ridiculous. We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Night.

Me, 8.57 pm: Night.

I go over the conversation before throwing my phone onto my bedside cabin. I knew Jennifer could be selfish, but this is taking it too far.

The wound of having Angeline ripped from our lives is still fresh, yet here she is, already cosying up to the only guy Angeline had ever loved.

Angeline, Jennifer, and I had been a team since the first year of high school. I had known Angeline longer than that, though, having attended the same primary school. Jennifer was my first assigned desk mate the first school term, and we quickly became friends.

Jax transferred to our school in the middle of the second year, and Angeline instantly crushed on him. They both played ball games, which is how they met. That was the beginning of their love story. A love that the other kids at school envied and desired. They cleared the second year, the third year, and were definitely going to clear the fourth year together, but tragedy struck.

It was just a fall. At first.

It had been a hot Saturday, and a group of us from school decided to go diving at a river that passed nearby. Jennifer, Angeline, Jax, and I were there.

It was all fun until Angeline went to dive from a big rock at the side of the river. It had gotten muddy throughout the afternoon and was, therefore, slippery.

When Angeline climbed on top, she slipped.

She went into an unexpected dive, head over the body, sinking below the surface of the water.

I remember watching with bated breath, waiting for her to surface.

She did, but with a sour look on her face, her hand clutching her head. Jax swam in and brought her to the bank.

She had hit her head and decided to sit the rest of the session out, watching the rest of us.

Days after her bruised skull had long healed, she started complaining of headaches. It got so severe that searing pain made her eyes hurt and kept her away from school. Her mother took her for a CT scan.

It was revealed that she had hit her head so hard that she developed internal bleeding behind the skull. The brain was swelling, and the pressure was getting too much.

Before they could get her to a condition that was stable enough for brain surgery, she passed away. Because of a stupid diving trip in the woods, I lost my oldest and closest friend.

All that happened a mere two months ago, and I still had dreams and nightmares about it. When I was with Jennifer, I noticed Angeline’s absence, imagining what she would say at what point. She was never far from my thoughts. Maybe I was thinking about her far too much than would be considered healthy.

Then Jennifer comes out of the blue, the flowers on Angeline’s grave not even bloomed for the first time, saying she is now dating Jax.

Sometimes I don’t know how that girl thinks, and this is one of those times.

I cannot wait to interrogate her tomorrow.