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Jackson's hand shot up and caught the gum with the minimal effort he showed in practically everything he did... but the speed was still somewhat alarming. He unwrapped one of the sticks of cinnamon gum, chewing it slowly as he rolled up the paper and slide it into his pocket. Shortly thereafter, the frame of the principle filled the doorway... and of course Gregory Mudge was behind him. The lawyer was practically fuming, and Jackson wished he was the kid that was being carted away in the ambulance. Would have saved him a long lecture about responsibility.

Jackson stood up and was the first one out the door, walking past the Principle and his foster father. Gregory followed, and the two went out front and got into the car silently. The black Hyundai Sonata hybrid drove away as the two men sat in silence during the two minute drive home. When the car stopped in the driveway, Jackson immediately went for the doorhandle. A strong grip met his arm, however. Greg never touched Jackson, so the change in behavior sent shivers down the teen's spine. He turned his head towards Greg, and the father had a sad look in his eye. "[color=gray]If you were sick you should have said something. I would have called you and Tyler in sick.[/color]"

The teen sighed. Greg was trying to show affection and blamed himself for Jackson's ailment, just like he always did. Apparently the sight of the other sick kids was enough to convince Greg that the troubled youth wasn't faking a sickness, but instead that something was going around the school. "[color=ed1c24]It's fine, Greg. Didn't know I was sick, a bunch of us showed symptoms in class. I should get some rest.[/color]" The teen pulled away and opened the door, making his way into the house as Greg sat in the driveway and watched for a minute before peeling out onto the street and driving back to work.

Once inside, Jackson made his way to the fridge and grabbed a few waters, downing two before he even reached the bottom of the stairs and entering his room in the basement. He still felt groggy... yet he somehow felt [i]better[/i] than usual. Jackson sat down at the edge of his bed and reached towards his guitar. He quietly strummed away for a few minutes, his fingers nimbly reaching the strings at just the right time. He sped up the song, and the tune became more chaotic and violent. A quick downward strum ended the song... and proved too much for the simple guitar strings. All six strings snapped and shot into the air, a few hitting Jackson's hand and arm and drawing blood. He swore and licked his thumb where one of the strings had struck him. It stung like a bitch... but he was more concerned with the strings. Jackson, despite his better judgement, quickly packed his guitar up in his case and made his way upstairs, determined to get his guitar fixed as soon as possible.

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Within the hour, Jackson was at Steve's Guitar Emporium, a generous title for a run down music shop. The bell rang as the door collided into it, and the faint smell of marijuana and alcohol swarmed the teen's senses. The place was far from clean or respectable, but they performed cheap service and sold a few "goodies" on the side. Jackson gave a nod to Steve Barkin, the owner of the establishment who stood behind the counter. "[color=ed1c24]I need the strings replaced, quick as you can.[/color]"

Steve gave a toothy smile as the teen placed the broken guitar on the wood counter. "[color=gray]thirty bucks... ten if you make a pit stop.[/color]" This was how Steve made business with regulars. The guitar store was a front for Steve's true passion, and teenagers with empty wallets and a love for music could get cheap or free service if they ran errands for the 30-year-old. Jackson gave a nod, and Steve placed a nearly full paper bag on the counter. "[color=gray]You can pick it up tomorrow.[/color]"

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Jackson was far from surprised when things went sideways in the back alley off of Seaview Avenue. What he was surprised by was his instincts. Somehow, when the tough bastard with the "HATE" tattoo on his neck threw a punch towards the scrawny teen's face, Jackson was already dodging out of the way and countering. What was even more surprising was that the thugs could be taken down with a single punch each. If Jackson hadn't fought these fuckers before when they tried to mug him a year back, he would have guessed the three just had glass jaws. But something was different this time. But he didn't want to dwell on it for too long. Jackson grabbed each of their wallets, pulling out about $180 in cash amongst the three of them, and left the unconscious drug dealers in the alley with the product they so desperately wanted for free.

He called the cops from the Walgreens across the street, tipping them off to a bad drug deal he saw. An anonymous tip from a payphone, the one way Jackson always dealt with assholes who got on his bad side. Once that situation was taken care of, Jackson grabbed the next bus he could and made his way back home, trying to get back before anyone had realized he had stepped out. But as the teen pressed his head against the cool glass on his ride on public transportation, he tried to piece together what was going on. He had never been that nimble and coordinated ever before in his life, at least not in a fight. For the first time in his entire life, Jackson actually felt powerful and a small sense of urgency. If he was so strong and nimble... maybe he should test out his new limits. After all, he needed to pay back a certain store owner for walking him into an ambush.