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[/b][/h3][/sup][/color][/row][row][cell][sup][h2][color=black]JACK WILKERSON[/color][/h2][/sup]
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[sup][color=black][b]█  [sup]   [/sup]act one: way down we go[/b][/color][/sup][indent][sup][color=a9a9a9]delton station bistro [color=black]▸[/color] p. johnson's[/color][/sup][/indent][center][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/824488408562794527/970459343667494932/unknown.png[/img][/center][sub][color=#2e2c2c]▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔[/color][/sub][/cell][cell][center][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/824488408562794527/967592442486460476/unknown.png[/img][/center]
[indent][color=dcdcdc][sub]Blue light burned into Jack's retinas as she tapped and swiped her way through Facebook to reach the 'Ritman High Class of 2015' group, hidden in a storage closet with a broom in her free hand. She scrolled through her last few posts. Two months ago—[i]Who wants to come down and watch ur childhood get hit with a wrecking ball? Booze will be involved[/i], with a hyperlink to an article reading 'Capital Construction to demolish former Delton high school building'. One month ago—[i]Hope you fuckers remember to show cause I dont have anything in here[/i] captioning a picture of a vaguely time capsule-shaped object caked in dirt. Three weeks ago—[i]PJs June 16 @ 5pm. RSVP below. last one's buying the first round[/i]. Her eyes scanned down the list of names and faces in the replies, brain trying to identify who seemed serious about this shit and who was gonna no-show. Some of them were still stuck in Delton like her but she didn't doubt the chances of drinking alone anyway.

Securing her phone in her pocket and grabbing a dustpan, Jack emerged from the dark cupboard into the fluorescent light and rushing bodies of the Delton Station Bistro kitchen. The commercial swinging doors that separated the back of house from the midday rush were in a constant state of [i]open[/i] as staff ran through orders on the left and returned with dirty dishes on the right.

A sweating busboy took notice of the dustpan and broom in her hands, which she collected every time she went in the storage closet to check her phone or eat some stolen fries, and immediately led her to a pile of broken glass swimming in cola by one of the far right tables. He hovered awkwardly as she cleaned the mess and Jack took the time to examine him. By the looks of things he was only fifteen or sixteen and way out of his element. For most kids summer break meant playing videogames and smoking weed; for sorry fucks like this guy it meant two months of pure stress.

Jack decided that the final few hours of her shift would be spent bussing tables. Her dad had wanted her in the kitchen, but she made an executive decision that customers would prefer to wait a little if it meant their food was delivered intact. Things didn't seem to slow down dramatically and there weren't any complaints by the time she was taking her apron off and getting ready to leave, so he could thank her later. The bistro was open for another five hours, so she didn't have her usual cleanup duty, but she did spot a rogue broom in the corner of the kitchen. As she went to open the supply closet, she heard a fifteen or sixteen-year-old's slight cry of surprise and immediately closed the door again. Then, slowly, she opened the door enough to slide the broom through, which disappeared entirely into the dark depths. [color=black][b]"Uh, take it easy,"[/b][/color] she muttered to the door before leaving.

It was 4.40pm by the time that, clad in her freshest vague-shade-of-navy polo shirt and brown leather jacket, Jack shrugged her way into P. Johnson's, an old nylon drawstring bag slung over her shoulder. A faded Great Oak Elementary logo was being further chipped away at as it swung back and forth against the leather.

[color=black][b]"I thought this was the [i]high school[/i] reunion?"[/b][/color] snarked Calvin, the bartender, as he reached down for an unbranded liquor bottle with a screw-on base. Inside was something that would pass more as river water than something alcoholic; homemade kiwi-infused dark rum, bits n' all.

[color=black][b]"You know how alcoholic it makes me look when you know my order right away?"[/b][/color] Jack ignored him, half-cradling the nylon-wrapped time capsule. She'd washed a majority of the dirt off but still didn't want to touch it bare any more than she had to.

[color=black][b]"You know how much it pains me when I have to ruin it with lime and cola?"[/b][/color] He fixed his gaze at her, eyebrows just high enough to convey a light-hearted tone as he started punching numbers into the cash register. Jack tapped her card on the little white contactless box and Cal glanced at the time capsule with concern. [color=black][b]"That thing better not leave a mark."[/b][/color]

[color=black][b]"What, should I put it on a stool instead?"[/b][/color] She smirked at him, alluding to the 'Portland Pride incident'—some tourists attending Portland Pride decided to drive up to Delton for pre-drinks, which very quickly turned into a full day of drinking, which turned into the straightest gay girl god had put on Earth shitting herself. The smell wouldn't leave despite days of scrubbing and P.J's eventually replaced the stool (then the surrounding ones, just to be sure). Cal's complexion drained, visibly remembering the events.

[color=black][b]"Jesus, you have to stop bringing that up. I still [i]feel[/i] it in my pores sometimes."[/b][/color] Arms raised, he stared at his open palms in horror. Jack released a breathy chuckle, surprisingly warmed, and stretched in her seat.

[color=black][b]"Well, stop being a [i]rum hipster[/i] or I'm telling the first person to walk in here all about it too."[/b][/color] She offered half a smirk as Calvin rolled his eyes, walking over to serve someone further down the bar. Jack unceremoniously slid the time capsule down to the stool instead, hand on her drink as she kept an eye out for whoever showed up. She craned her neck slightly to look around the room, wondering if someone beat her to her own party. It wasn't a party exactly, but things still felt weird in a sense; being the one to organise [i]any[/i] sort of gathering instead of being the forever attendee.

Rolling her shoulders, she took out her phone and snapped a picture of her drink against the backdrop of the open bar. Back to the Class of 2015 group she went, captioning the image [i]Be here or be square[/i] and hitting post. She paused, deliberating for a moment as she stared. Did it matter? Course it did, stupid, nobody lives on Facebook anymore. She tapped into the replies, tagging those who hadn't yet cancelled—there was Hanna Williamson, Lucas Watson, Benjamin Moore, Freya Brigham, William Bishop, Connor Sangster, Sara Zhou, Meir Maggid...

Jack immediately downed her drink.[/sub][/color][/indent]
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