High School: Malibu

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" I don't know if he wants to talk to me I saw him talking to Ash and I think she told him something that not true," she told her.
 
Mik's house was not what Jackson expected. It was a ranch styled house on 6 acres of land. She had only one horse and a modest looking barn. The house was homely and even hippie like. He knocked on the door. A woman in her mid fifties answered the door. She looked like Stevie Nicks. She looked like something strait from the 60s.

"Hello there, you must be Pretty Boy," she smiled warmly, "I'm Crazy Girl's mom, Willow."

As he looked at her more he saw that she was stong and fit for someone her age. Go figure, she's Mik's mom. She led him to the living room where Mik and four men, in their 20s, sat on the couches.

"These are my sons Christian," she pointed to the biggest and the oldest, "Dean," she pointed to the youngest and the tallest, "Eric," she pointed to the third oldest and the smartest looking, "And Mason," she pointed to the second oldest and the most threatning.

"Hi," Jackson said. Mason was the only one that didn't meet his eyes and greet him.

"Come on," Mik said, grabbing her electric guitar, "we'll practice on the porch."

The porch was something like one would see on the southern-style movies. It was oak and had a bench swing with a wooden rail that protected them from the 6 foot drop.

Mik had Jackson sit on the swing bench as she sat on the rail. Later she made tea for both of them.

After learning a few basic chords and slide techniques, Jackson noticed that the sun was nearly on the horizen. "I should probably go," he said, "You can come over my house tomorrow or I'll come back here for my drawing lesson."

"My house will probobly be better, parents usually dont like me."
"Mine aren't so bad," he said, "my dad is a musician and my mom sells people's art work in her wineary store. Thet're kinda like your mom."

"Step mom."

"Oh sorry."

"Its ok. Mine left me to my father, and he left me to Willow."

"So is it true your dad is a mob boss?"

"On record he owns his own pub, off record yeah he is. Irish mafia. Pretty small compared to the Italian."

"And your brothers?"

"Yep."

"Geese..."

"Nice enough guys...Mason is my real brother though, the others are just half."

After a long conversation about both their families, Jackson left Mik's house feeling a little bit less wary around her. Sure, he should be on edge about the mafia thing, but for some reason he wasn't. People had to make money, otherwise the only other option is to starve. Crime was a sucky way of doing it, but it kep the world in balence.

As he drove away his thoughts went to Kit. It was pretty uncool to blow her off like that, even if her ploy to make jealous was true. But what if it wasn't? And Ashley had been doing that so that she could get with him? WOMEN! I really need to stat making guy friends, the closest I have so far is Mik. Mik? Is she a friend? Whatever... He turned on the radio and started to blast Smashing Pumkins, making sure that no more thoughts entered his head.
 
When Jackson got home it was dark. He lived in a three story house (his dad was actually pretty famous musician) that he found to be steryl compared to Mik's cozy home.

He went into his room and started playing his acustic guitar. He wrote only a few lines down for a song, but nothing else came to him that night. Inspiration was scarce these days. In New York all he did was write. Oh well.
 
Jackson's house phone rang. He didn't answer, afraid it was for his mom's business. When she yelled at him to pick up the phone, he scrambled through the room looking for his Elvis phone.

"Hello?"
 
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