Jock and Goth

The Jock nearly falls from his chair as two heavy textbooks are thrown onto his table effectively startling him!

His own papers and books are thrown into disarray because of the sudden disturbance. He looks up in shock to find the Goth standing there looking to him with dull lowered lashes her eye shadow done up heavily. Without even thinking about it the word slips from his mouth, "Fuck."

Her brows rise only slightly at this before she simply replies,

"No thanks. You're not my type." It takes a moment for this to register before he glowers, "You wish! What the hell are you doing? You were supposed to have been here an hour ago! What'd you throw the damn books at me for!?" The corner of the Goths lips twitch just lightly before she takes a seat at his table. "My bad. I meant to just set them down. Don't know my own strength."

Her voice, the Jock noted, had a smooth and warm tone to it. "Where's your essay?"

She sits uncaring slouched over the table her chin resting in her palm, "I haven't started it yet."

"Are you kidding me!? You show up an hour late without your half of the essay?" With a breezy air about her she replies, "It's not due till the end of the week."

"I need to read what you come up with before we turn it in."

She looks to him then, her lips dark red from her lipstick, pull up to an amused smirk, "I got an idea. Why don't you just write it for me?" The Jock glowers. He does not like this girl who slacks off in class and is always ditching and wears to much black to be normal.

She ignores his glare responding, "I've been busy."

"We've had three days."

"I've been very busy."

"Doing what!?" He snaps that ruby smirk grating on his nerves.

"I have a lot on my plate; let's just leave it at that."

"A lot on your plate, huh?"


The Jock rolls his eyes,

"Oh right! I forget all the sleeping through class and ditching at the first chance available! What was I thinking!?" Her smirk only pulls higher as he continues with, "Don't feed me that bullshit okay. Stop being so damn complicated and just write the paper."

The Goth leans back in her chair and stretches intriguingly; she looks like she wants to laugh. The Jock lowers his gaze back down to his books and he becomes even more irritated because her ridiculous black dress with too many frills and lace clings noticeably to her body when she stretches like that.

"Contrary to popular belief, there is nothing complicated about me!" She proclaims.

The Jock gives an irritated sigh as he looks to the Goth with a glare. He is quite sure she on a mission to piss him off now. Why, oh why did he have to get saddled up with her for this science project!?

"I'm actually a very simple girl." She finishes with a smile.

He allows his gaze to roam over her. With those piercings, that dark makeup, the bright red streaks in her hair, all that gothic jewelry? He speaks without thinking, "You think you're simple?"

"You think I'm not?" She teases. He returns his attention back to his only half written essay,

"Get started on your essay. We gotta get to work on the physical project after this."

"Mr. MVP," she continues acid in her tone, "Mr. I-can-get-whatever-girl-I-want, Mr. Always-gets-straight-A's, Mr. Party, Mr. Popularity, Mr. Spoiled-off-his-ass-"

"You got something to say to me!?" He snaps a little louder than he meant to which earns him an angry glare from the front of the library. The Goth flips nonchalantly through one of the thick text books she picked out, "Nothing." Her voice is again calm and warm, "Just, that I'd hate to be you. You're the complicated one."

For some reason this grates on his nerves, "My life is not complicated! I get good grades so I can stay in the game, that's it!" He bites back a smirk of his own but there is triumph in his voice when he then says, "All that other shit is just you being jealous."

She looks to him then, "Excuse you?"

"Mr. Party? Mr. Popularity? Mr. I-can-get-whatever-girl-"

"I hear things that's all. You're somewhat a legend."

For some reason the Jock grins, "Keeping tabs on me then?"

Finally it is her turn to be irritated, "Like I give a damn."

Perhaps it could've ended here if the Jock still weren't feeling so victorious over the Goth at the moment. He adds in, "You know I've heard things about you too."

The Goth looks to him with much surprise which only charges his drive to continue, "The girl fresh from juvey, the girl who tackled the quarterback, the girl who started that fire in the art hall-"

"That was never proven." She interrupts dubiously. She then raises a brow, "You've been keeping tabs on me." The Jock is not fazed by that statement however; he almost anticipated it. He gives a half shrug before giving his head a light nod in her direction,

"What's up with the way you dress? It looks like Hot Topic threw up on you."

"Well it looks like Abercrombie and Fitch took a shit on you!" She snaps that acid back in her tone.

"What I'm saying is that even the way you dress seems complicated."

"Yeah? Well what about your stuck up, nose-up their-own ass friends? Friendships with people who wouldn't even notice you unless you were the golden boy MVP of the week has got to be complicated!"

"It's better than having no friends at all!"

"I have friends!" She cries almost indignant.

"What are they imaginary?"

The Goth sneers, "What's with the hair slick? The fifties are over!"

The Jock glowers, "And, what, did someone knock you over the head with a bottle of red dye?"

She snorts with a roll of her eyes, "I bet you have a shrine to 'Green Day' in your room!"

He almost slips to say 'Only one poster!' but instead catches himself to retaliate, "And I bet your walls are painted black because," He makes air quotes here; "It matches your soul!"

They've successfully gained an audience by now and the librarian has had just about all she can stand.

The two contradictions battle on because for some reason it seems valid to prove that they are not as complicated as the other believes.

For some reason it seems valid that they get the other to understand.

"You just don't know me that's your problem!" Snaps the Jock.

"Well where the hell do you get off? You don't know me either!"

There is suddenly a logic between the two that neither can argue with.

The Jock leans back in his chair watching the Goth with a deep stare. The Goth looks away from the Jock tucking wisps of black and red hair behind her ear.

They are not complicated people. Despite popular opinion.

These images. These characters. These appearances. These reputations. These masks. These pretenses.

In the end it is a 'simple image' that defines them. In the end it's all they've got.

It takes a while before the Jock grudgingly says, "Anyway my name is Jacob."

The Goth accepts the somewhat halfhearted truce, "I'm Brianna."