Jack and Jackie

Jackie and Jack: best friends, peas in a pod, birds on a wire—whatever you called them, they were always together.

Jackie's hair was always changing. Red, blue, pink, even rainbow. She was brash and adventurous, always prodding Jack to explore abandoned areas and cross past "Do Not Enter" signs. Despite his protests, he always ended up going along with her plans.

Jack's hair was plain brown: his parents wouldn't let him dye it, on account of him being "too young." Jackie always encouraged him to try anyway, behind their backs, but neither of them actually knew how to dye hair. The closest they got was during a food fight when Jackie dumped an entire cooler of juice on Jack's hair and stained it a sort of muddy hue until he got home and was forced to shower it all off.

"You're lucky," Jack had complained, watching as his white towel slowly turned pink as he rubbed it against his scalp. It smelled vaguely sweet, like a memory already fading. "You don't have to worry about getting yelled at."

Jackie sat on the counter by the sink, wholly unbothered by the scenario. "Duh! I'm awesome. That's why I'm allowed to do whatever I want and never get in trouble." She put a finger to her cheek cutely and grinned.

"Yeah, yeah," Jack muttered. "You always get away with stuff."

"And you don't?" Jackie contested.

Jack fidgeted with his towel before deciding his hair was dry enough, balling it into a messy wad, and tossing it in the hamper by the door. "Well, I get yelled at sometimes."

"But it's always worth it in the end, right?" Jackie smiled and batted her eyes.

Jack sighed, a smirk passing across his lips.

"Yeah… yeah, it is."

The years passed as quick as the local ice-cream truck man that must have been paid per street, and as slow as the molasses that Jack dripped onto his morning toast.

One morning, Jackie asked:

"Do you think I should change my name?"

Jack looked up from drizzling his snack, tilting his head at Jackie, who was sitting atop the table in a very unladylike position. "What? Why?!"

"Our names sound too similar." She puffed out her cheeks, pouting.

"I mean, yeah! That's cool, isn't it?" Jack furrowed his brow. "I like how much we sound alike. It makes you sound like my sister, or my sidekick."

"Exactly!" Jackie retorted. "It's always 'Jack and Jackie,' never 'Jackie and Jack.' My name is, like… just a longer version of yours."

"Couldn't my name just be a shorter version of yours?" Jack asked.

Jackie hesitated slightly, turning away so that her dark bangs fell over her eyes. She'd been sporting black hair with a red streak, lately—no doubt inspired by the main character in the duo's favorite show. "No, 'cause your name came first."

"I guess so…" Jack sighed, drumming his fingers on the table. He slid his plate of toast away from him, as if it would break his concentration. "What would you want to change it to?"

"Hmm. Caroline? Justine? Amanda?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Those are all NORMAL names. You're not normal."

"Yeah, you're right." Jackie nodded in stoic affirmation. "What about something COOL? Like Tiger or Wolf?"

"You can't be named Wolf!" Jack retaliated.

"Why not?"

"That's not a real name!"

"So?"

It was Jack's turn to puff out his cheeks. "That's not FAIR! You can't have a cooler name than me."

"Then why don't you change your name, too?" Jackie asked.

"Mom and Dad wouldn't let me change my name, especially to something cool like WOLF," Jack scoffed. "Can you imagine?"

"Hmm… yeah… I guess they wouldn't." Jackie's shoulders drooped slightly. "Okay. How about… Roxie? That's pretty cool. But not as cool as Wolf."

Jack pondered, then nodded. "Yeah, alright. That seems fair."

And from that day forward, Jackie was Roxie, and not a soul questioned it.

Jack never knew the day might come when he'd stop talking to his best friend.

Somehow, Roxie always did.

It was the last sunset of summer. Jack always watched the sunset from the backyard; sometimes, Roxie joined him. She'd been coming over less and less, but neither of them seemed to want to bring it up.

He was surprised when she was the one to address the issue.

"You're starting high school tomorrow."

"…Yeah."

"You don't want to talk to me anymore."

Jack curled up slightly, wrapping his arms tighter around his knees. "I do, but—"

"No. It's okay." Roxie held up a hand to stop him. "I get it. You can't make friends with me around."

"…But you are my friend."

"Real friends, Jack."

Jack swallowed a lump at the back of his throat.

Roxie continued talking. "Teenagers don't want to hang out with a crazy guy who talks to himself. And you won't step out of your shell if you stay safe with me. You have to learn to talk to real people."

"…You were real to me."

Roxie took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

"…Thank you. I'm still glad we got to grow up together—I'm glad I got to be the one to push you to try new things and get in trouble—I'm glad I got to be the one you talked to about your favorite shows and foods and games."

Jack tried not to cry.

Roxie looked up towards the sky, its brilliant orange hues slowly fading. "If it helps… I always knew this was going to be a temporary solution."

A hand reached up to wipe Jack's eyes, and it was his own. "How can you have ever known something I didn't?"

Roxie smiled sadly. Her rainbow hair that always changed on a whim shimmered back into a dull brown. "Because somewhere inside, you did know."

Jack choked back the tightness in his throat. The night was starting to settle, and the cool breeze was already starting to sting his eyes.

"Thank you, Roxie."

But Roxie did not respond.