One Night

"An A-minus?! Are you kidding me?!"

Jon clenched his fists on his knees, his eyes glued to the faded grey carpet under his socks. His molars ached from the friction of him grinding them, the muscles in his jaw tenser than overstretched bungee cords. Even though he knew there was no point trying to plead his case, the words tumbled from his mouth before he could catch them.

"I-I tried my best," he murmured, digging his nails into his palms and gripping the carpet with his toes. "It's still the highest grade in the whole class... E-Even Mr. Burns said-"

"I don't want to hear it! Future valedictorians do not get A-minuses!" His mother threw the scantron on his bed, her sharp features screwed up in a disapproving scowl. "You can do better than this, Jonathan; you're just not applying yourself! Did you even bother to study this time?!"

Jon swallowed a biting response; he was in enough hot water already, and mouthing off wouldn't help anything. "Y-Yes, ma'am," he murmured, "I did. Some of those questions were just-"

"Well, obviously you didn't study hard enough!" his mother snapped. She paused long enough to take a deep breath, running her hand through her greying brown hair, then folded her arms across her narrow chest. "Where's your homework for tonight? I want to check it."

"But Mom-"

"No buts! Homework: now!"

Taking a deep breath to center himself, Jon crossed the room to his desk and retrieved his backpack from underneath it. There was no arguing with Dr. Christine DeWitt on a good day, so there was no point trying now. Within a minute, she had his Calculus notebook in her hands. Her piercing green eyes flicked down the pages he'd just filled out in silence for a few moments, scanning them like a living computer. Eventually, she shook her head and let out a heavy sigh.

"No wonder you got an A-minus," she tusked, "I've never seen such sloppy, careless proofs. You didn't even show your work here!" Right before his eyes, she tore the papers out - shredding them into confetti - then thrust the notebook back into his chest. "Do it over. Now."

"That took me over three hours to finish!" Jon blurted, dropping to his knees and gathering the bits of paper futilely, "I can't start from scratch now; I'll be up half the night!"

"Well, if you had done it right the first time, this wouldn't be an issue," his mother said, her tone frustratingly cool and matter-of-fact. "Until you shape up, Mister, I'm going to be checking your homework every night from now on... and if everything isn't absolutely flawless, you're going to keep re-doing your assignments until you get it right!"

Jon was so angry and upset, words couldn't even describe it. The shreds of paper crinkled in his fists as he found the courage to look his mother in the eye for the first time that evening. Even so, her face was blurry and distorted through his brimming tears.

"This isn't fair!" he snapped.

A mistake he recognized far too late.

"Don't you dare give me that tone, young man," his mother shot back, her entire, slender frame vibrating from barely-concealed rage. "You want to act like a baby, then I'll treat you like one: you're grounded... indefinitely!"

Without skipping a beat, Dr. DeWitt marched to her son's TV - something he rarely had time to use anymore - snatching all the cords out of the back of it. The cables plugged into his dust-covered X-Box were next to go, along with the internet cable from his computer. Last - and most painful of all - was his phone, which she confiscated right out of his pocket.

"You'll get these back if and when your grades improve," she growled, "now finish your homework and go straight to bed! I don't want to see any lights on in here after ten p.m.!"

There were so many things Jon wanted to say, but he knew none of it would do him any good. He just stood there - quaking in silence and staring at the floor - as she stormed out of the room. He waited until her footsteps faded into silence at the base of the stairs, then kicked the foot of his bed as hard as he possibly could.

It didn't seem to matter what he did. How many hours he spent in the library or at his desk studying. Nothing was good enough for that woman. He wasn't good enough. Never mind that he was a shoe-in for valedictorian already, and had nearly a dozen colleges foaming at the mouth to give him a full-ride scholarship. None of those schools were good enough for Dr. DeWitt either, though. For her precious baby boy, it was Ivy League or bust. Harvard, Yale, Princeton... that was all she ever talked about. All she ever cared about. Even though he was a straight-A student, Jon knew very well he needed more than good grades to get into those schools. Qualities he just didn't have.

Jon sighed and flopped onto his bed, blinking rapidly at the ceiling to stop his eyes from stinging. Maybe he was looking at this all wrong. Maybe the problem was him after all. If he hadn't caught that damn cold, he would've aced his last Calculus test no problem. He was so careless. So stupid. He didn't even deserve to be in A.P. Calc anyway. Nor did he deserve to be valedictorian. All he ever did was screw up, reminding his mother what an utter disappointment he was time and again.

He was a worthless, pathetic waste of oxygen.

Purely by instinct, his gaze shifted across the room to his desk, falling on the pencil cup sitting to the right of his computer monitor. He rolled off the bed and shuffled to his desk like a zombie, plopping into his chair with a shaky exhale. He let his fingertips brush over the assorted pens, highlighters, and mechanical pencils inside the cup, until it stopped on its own. Jon intended to pick up a pencil, but instead his hand chose a different implement: a hobby knife, left over from his short-lived model-making days. The textured metal handle was the same width as a pencil but had quite a bit more heft in his hand. Although he hadn't used it in quite a while, the blade was still plenty sharp when he raked his thumb over it.

Tantalizingly sharp.

Jon's gloomy thoughts were interrupted suddenly by a soft clack-clickety-click on his window pane. Scrubbing his eyes and nose, Jon dropped his hobby knife and rolled his chair over to the window, drawn to the noise like a cat to a laser pointer. It didn't take long at all to figure out what had caused the noise once he looked through it: his best friend, Paulette, was in the yard below, holding a handful of small rocks.

Knowing he'd catch hell if his mom saw Paulette sneaking around, Jon threw up his window sash with a smooth woosh and stuck his head out.

"There he is!" Paulette called up, showing off the gap in her front teeth with a wide, impish grin. "I've been texting you like crazy; thought you were dead or something!" Her smile disappeared in two seconds flat as she moved closer to the house, tilting her head like a cocker spaniel. "Hey... Jon, are you okay?"

"Keep it down," Jon warned in a stage whisper, ignoring her question on purpose. "My mom took my phone. I'm grounded, like, forever, so you should probably bounce before she sees you."

Paulette jutted her hip out to the side and crossed her arms, glaring up at him in disbelief. "Are you for real?!" she balked, tossing her long red braid over her shoulder. "She grounded you, over a stupid A-minus?! Man, that bitch is wacko!"

"Quiet!" Jon hissed, looking over his shoulder anxiously. He pulled his head back in and ran to shut his door, just in case his mom happened to walk by. When he popped his head out the window again, he had to cover his mouth to hide a startled yelp.

Paulette was climbing up the drainpipe.

"What're you doing?!" he squeaked. "Get down from there, before you break your neck!"

"Criminy, you sound like my old man," Paulette grumped. She stopped climbing halfway up, keeping her long legs clamped securely around the pipe, and let go without warning, leaning back with a fiendish giggle. "Look, Ma: no hands!"

"Stop that, please," Jon begged, dragging a hand down his exasperated face, "You're gonna give me a heart attack!"

Rolling her eyes, Paulette slid down the drainpipe like a fire pole, executing a graceful dismount onto the grass below. "Fine," she huffed, wiping her hands on her oil-stained shorts. "If you won't let me up, you'd better get your butt down here. I won't take 'no' for an answer!"

Jon knew he should say no - he still had homework to re-do after all - but instead he hesitated. Wetting his lips nervously, he glanced over his shoulder at his closed bedroom door. He might have been a teenager, but he was about as rebellious as a goldfish. Sneaking out of the house at all hours just wasn't his style. Especially not on a school night. Instinctively, his eye traveled back to his desk, where his hobby knife was still wobbling, beckoning him like a siren song. Jon shook his head with a sniff, wiping his face on his t-shirt, but he could still hear that little blade calling to him.

"Gimme a sec," he sighed.

It took less than a minute to pop on his shoes and a hoodie, plus a few seconds to check his reflection to make sure his face wasn't as red and puffy as it felt. On his way back to the window, Jon cast one final look at the hobby knife. He didn't know what compelled him to do it, but he scooped it up again automatically, slipping the protective cover over the blade before stuffing it in his hoodie pocket. Before he had time to regret his actions, Jon was sliding down the drain pipe to Paulette's side.

"Hell yeah!" Paulette whooped, apparently not caring if Dr. DeWitt heard her. "Screw the system, Dude! Tonight is gonna be the best night of your life: I guarantee it!"

Jon couldn't help but return her infectious grin. He might not have believed her, but it was a nice thought anyway. It felt like forever since he'd hung out with her last. Not much time for hanging out with friends when one was studying 24/7. His mom might ream him over it later, but Jon knew he needed this: just one night, to blow off a little steam. One night to feel like a normal kid again while he still could.

Life with Paulette was anything but predictable, so Jon had no idea what she had in store for him. He kept begging her for hints as she drove him around in her beat-up old Bug, but she was as tight-lipped as a clam with arthritis. Half an hour later, they reached their destination: an old bowling alley on the edge of town.

The Bowl-O-Rama had been shut down for years, ever since the new family entertainment center opened downtown. Jon halfway wondered why they hadn't gone there, as the FEC had a bowling alley, arcade, and a multiplex in it. Then again, he'd given up on trying to figure out what Paulette was thinking a long time ago.

Paulette wasted no time jumping the front counter when they got inside. In a heartbeat, the spooky old building came to life with the flip of a breaker: the neon lights flickered and buzzed; the automated pinsetters at the end of each lane whirred, their gears groaning like old men as they got to work; even the cobweb-covered jukebox in the corner lit up, filling the musty air with the scratchy strains of a classic rock'n'roll song.

When Paulette hopped over the counter again, she had two pairs of dusty bowling shoes in her hands and that mischievous grin on her face. "Ta-da!" she crowed, "our own little slice of heaven! The popcorn machine over there works too, but it'll take a minute to warm up. So, whaddaya think?"

For a while, all Jon could do was smile, because he was too overwhelmed to speak. Leave it to Paulette to cook up something so extra. Eventually, he nodded his approval.

"Pretty awesome," he said, chuckling softly in disbelief. "Did you do all this by yourself?"

"Hm, yes and no," Paulette mused, pursing her lips. "My uncle used to be the maintenance chief of this place before it closed. If he hadn't taken such good care of everything, it would've been impossible to get it all running again. Besides, what's the point of being president of the engineering club if you can't do shit like this?"

The next few hours were absolute bliss for Jon. All he had to worry about was his abysmal bowling average, and the goofy dance Paulette did every time he got a gutter ball. Every. Time. Despite his below average bowling skills and her good-natured ribbing, Jon wouldn't have traded it for anything in the world. Not even a Harvard scholarship.

When they got tired of bowling, Paulette dragged Jon to the Bowl-O-Rama's roof. There, another surprise was waiting for him: a ratty old couch and a movie projector, both aimed at the back of the bowling alley's old wooden sign. Once they were snuggled on the couch with their popcorn, Paulette connected her phone to the projector and started the movie. One of those old, cheesy slasher flicks from the 80s, that Jon would never be allowed to watch at home. It was equally gory and funny, leaving them both in stitches by the time the credits rolled.

Jon was having such a great time, he had no idea how late it had gotten. While Paulette was busy pulling up the next film in the franchise, he stole a glimpse at the clock on her phone... and immediately, his heart skipped a beat.

"Holy shit: it's almost four a.m.!" he cried, racing for the roof's door. "I need to get home right now! My mom will kill me if my homework isn't done in time for school!"

"Jon, wait!" Paulette chirped, grabbing his arm when he reached for the door's latch. "Just chill out, okay? It's just homework. With your GPA, you can afford to miss one assignment. Come back and sit down with me. It'll be fine."

"It's not fine!" Jon screamed, tearing at his close-cropped brown hair, his chest fit to burst from the emotions he could barely contain. "Y-You don't understand! M-My grades have to be perfect! They just have to! If they're not-!!"

He couldn't find the words to express his anger - his fear - so he just started pacing. Pounding that flat, gravel roof like a caged panther about to be euthanized. His chest was so tight he could hardly breathe. Every part of him shook, like he was made out of Jell-O. Jon was so busy trying to calm himself down, he didn't even notice when the hobby knife tumbled out of his pocket.

But Paulette did.

For a second, he didn't know why she'd crouched down, staring at the roof with her brown eyes wide and her jaw hanging open in shock. When she picked up the tool, however, it was too late for Jon to hide it.

"Jon... why do you have this?" she asked, her voice calm but filled with worry.

Jon's jaw flapped open and shut repeatedly, trying to come up with an explanation. Nothing came out though, no matter how hard he tried. It was like he had a golf ball caught in his throat, preventing even the smallest sound from getting past it.

"Dammit, Jonathan," Paulette snapped, "say something!"

Just like with his mother, Jon flinched hardcore at Paulette's angry shout. Overwhelmed with deep shame, anger, and sadness, he just turned his back and let his forehead rest against the roof's door. Not willing to let her see him break down like a baby. He stood like that for what felt like an hour - trembling from the sobs he was holding in - when Paulette's arms suddenly wrapped around him from behind.

"I'm sorry, Jon," she said, her own voice breaking with emotion. "The way you're feeling right now... I can't imagine it. No matter how bad you feel, though, hurting yourself isn't the answer. Just... talk to me. Please. I'm here for you. I love you, and I want to help you."

"You can't," Jon whispered, "N-Nobody can. I'm such a screw-up... Such a disappointment. I... I don't deserve to live!"

"The hell you don't!" Paulette snapped. She spun Jon around so fast, he didn't know what happened. A breathless second later, Paulette's lips were crushed against his own.

It wasn't at all how he'd planned his first kiss to go, but Jon took a page from Paulette's book and seized the moment. Her lips were so soft against his. So warm. So filled with life. Through her kiss, he felt the dimming spark within his own soul reignite. As worthless and stupid as he was, that girl still loved him. Knowing that, maybe... just maybe...

When their lips finally parted, the first light of dawn was glimmering on the horizon. Paulette flashed him that gap-toothed grin again, raking a knuckle under each of her eyes.

"It's getting pretty late," she sniffed, giggling breathlessly through her tears. "Maybe we should both head home now. Our parents will worry."

Jon pulled her close again, smiling. "Let 'em," he winked.