Jack is different. He knows this, though for a long time he can't figure out exactly why. It has to do with the words on his wrist, he thinks—that's what people always stare at when they see him, and are probably the reason his mother has him pull down his sleeves whenever they go out in public.
When he's four he has her read them to him—little more than scribbles in his mind, but she makes them out fine. They're names, he learns, the ivory swirls bright against his dark skin, and he memorizes the sound of them, and then the shape, and learns to read and write them on his own:
Thomas Gray
Lacey Aberwie
Amanda Catskill
He's six before he finally realizes what the names mean.
"Everyone has a name written on their arm when they're born," his mother explains, rolling up the cuff of her shirtsleeve so he can see the blue lettering on her wrist, the name Henry Jackson standing out against her flesh, only half a shade lighter than his own. He traces it with a finger and looks questioningly up at her.
"Only one?" She purses her lips and nods.
"Only one."
And Jack understands why he's different.
***
He insists on going to "real school," promising not to tell anyone about the three names—promises he'll cover them all up, keep them a secret, and finally, after much back and forth, his mother agrees.
School isn't bad, since he doesn't tell a soul. He isn't well-liked and he doesn't have many friends (not many good ones at least), but he's a decent student, and he manages to have fun, even if no one else is having fun with him.
It's uncommon for high schoolers to find their soulmates, but it does happen—it happened for his mother and father, and by the time he's a Junior he already knows a few people whose wrists have changed colors. It doesn't bother him too much that he hasn't found any of his, he's got time, but he does spend a lot of afternoons running his fingers over his marks, wondering where they are, and why there are so many.
Will they have each other's names? Will they understand when they see that he has more than one? Will they get jealous, or mad? Will they even like him?
It's irrational, he knows—they have to like him, don't they?—but it's a common fear, and he's seen enough movies where soulmates hate each other to worry, it's not like being made for someone erases the effect of one's environment or one's capacity for free will. Hell, he even knew a couple in middle school who had each other's names on their wrists and still broke up! They were a messy, chaotic duo that despised one another by the time one of them moved away, which had ultimately been for the best. It's natural to worry about it, he always reminds himself. Everyone's a little nervous about meeting their special someone.
It's on one of those worry days that Jack settles into class, only half paying attention as the teacher takes role. He's starting to worry about his habit of chewing on the insides of his cheeks--it's gotten to the point where sometimes he'll do it until he bleeds--when he's startled from his reverie by the sound of a familiar name.
"Thomas Gray?"
"Yoooo," comes a voice from the back of the room, and Jack turns with forced slowness, his heart beating like an automated drum, breath a myth as his lungs constrict.
His muscles contract all at once as he spots him.
He's a chunky boy, but lean-faced and large-nosed, with long, well-maintained hair—it shines blond under the lights, almost fake with its luster; when he notices Jack staring the boy gives an irritated half-sneer and tips his head down, drawing what Jack can only think of as "elderly librarian glasses" down the bridge of his nose to stare him in the eye.
When Mrs. Konnelly calls Jack's name, Thomas's face goes instantly pale. Jack pauses a moment before he answers, watching Thomas's eyes dart about the room, forgetting about him entirely.
"Here."
The kid snaps his neck to the side, staring at Jack now with what Jack can only describe as shock and understanding and, what Jack interprets as, growing terror.
Jack rolls his sleeve up to the first name on his list ('Jack's Grocery List,' his mother calls it), and holds it up for the other to see—it's blue now, and the kid slaps at his wrist and scrabbles at his sleeve as he forces it upward, and Jack thinks it's safe to assume that Thomas hasn't noticed how badly either of them is shaking.
Jack grins and turns in his seat, then does his best to stay patient and pay attention to the lesson, failing miserably on one and a half of those counts.
He takes his time cleaning up his things at the end of class, lingering over his books the same way Thomas does.
Thomas waits by the door, jerking his head toward the opposite side of the hall, where an alcove provides them protection from students' movements and teachers' ears.
"Thomas Gray," he says, sticking out his hand. "But you know that, right."
"Jack Jackson," Jack returns, taking Thomas's hand and biting his own lip. He's tempted to pull him into a hug, but he decides against it. Best to take it slow, right?
"That's funny." Thomas's glasses are just a little too big, or maybe a little too bent, and he adjusts the frames frequently as he speaks. "My wrist says Jack J. Jackson." Jack frowns and rubs at his wrist.
"Yeah," he says slowly. "I sign my English papers that way. My middle name's Jaquerel." He's never told anyone that before—he offers it now as a sign of trust, a hope for a future. Wow that sounds cheesy, he berates himself, but he really wants to start things off right.
Predictably, Thomas loses his shit, snorting with laughter, then goes stockade-still, terror lighting up green eyes. "Oh my God," he says. "I'm so sorry."
"No, it's stupid as fuck," Jack agrees, and smiles nervously. "My Mom really liked the name Jack."
"I should hope so." There's an awkward silence before Thomas offers Jack his arm. "What's say we blow this joint?"
"You mean... skip school?" Thomas gives him a pointed glance, one eyebrow raised, and Jack shrugs, scratching behind his ear. "I guess none of my classes today are really that important."
"That's the spirit, nerd boy," Thomas says, and Jack nearly topples as he's yanked down the hall by his arm. They get their bags from their lockers and sneak out a side door to the student parking lot, where Thomas spreads his legs in what Jack has labeled "The Will Smith Pose" and presents to Jack a busted up Harley with gouged-up red paint that's streaked with a color Jack recognizes from his Mom's nail polish bottles--Pretty Princess Pink.
