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Yasmine nodded again. She could see how the resemblance could make things hard for him.
“Some people try to suck up to me,” he said with a disgusted look on his face. “Some act like I’m going to try to read their minds.”
Stereotypes again. Yasmine had thought it was bad to be Terran, but she wasn’t alone, even though Thyphians had more money and power.
“The worst is when they feel sorry for me, though,” he grumbled.
“They feel sorry for you?” Yasmine asked, a little surprised.
“Don’t tell my dad, but I don’t actually like zingball,” he admitted. “The other guys are mainly smaller than me. It’s too easy to hurt someone. My dad loved it. He was some big star at it like a million cycles ago, when he was in school. So, everyone expected me to be good at it too, that’s why I had to join.”
“Is there something else you are interested in?” Yasmine asked, figuring she already knew the answer.
“Art,” he said, confirming her hope.
“Is there an Art Club at school?” she asked.
“That’s kind of the problem,” he muttered.
“But if zingball is getting you in trouble, your dad should be glad you want to switch activities,” she said.
He stuffed the chocolate in his mouth at last and didn’t answer.
Had she missed some key part of this conversation?
“Are you getting in trouble at zingball?” she asked slowly.
He shook his head.
“So, what’s going on?” she asked, feeling completely out of her depth.
“There’s this Art Club kid,” he mumbled. “He’s always being super nice to me. He said he knows I can’t be in Art Club because of zingball, and he knows my dad wants me to play and all. He’s always offering to get together after school and draw. It’s really annoying.”
“So, you shoved him?” Yasmine asked, trying to hide her shock.
“The first time, yes,” he mumbled.
“What happened the second time?” she asked.
“I… I told him I would mess him up if he talked to me again,” Jax said, looking ashamed.
“But you didn’t say mess him up, you said something else, right?” she asked.
He nodded miserably.
“How do you feel when he talks to you?” she asked carefully.
“I don’t know,” he shrugged.
She bit her tongue and waited.
“Like he feels sorry for me,” he bit out. “Like he’s being condescending.”
“Do you think that’s what he’s trying to do?” she asked.
“I guess not,” he said. “Like, why would he ask me a second time, after I shoved him the first time?”
“So, it’s like you feel like he’s being condescending, even though he’s not,” she said. “Why do you think you feel like that?”
