If I Tell

CHAPTER sixteen



I was running, heading toward a side street, when a car pulled up and idled behind me.

“Jaz. Hey, Jaz,” Jackson called.

I didn’t answer him but ran faster.

“Your legs are pretty long, but I don’t think you can outrun my car.”

“I don’t see why not. It’s a piece of shit,” I yelled.

“Ouch. I’m an a*shole, and now my car is a piece of shit?”

My legs ached from running too fast and my lungs burned.

“Can you stop? I really need to talk to you.”

I kept going.

“Jaz, come on,” Jackson pleaded.

I puffed harder.

“I’m sorry,” he called and cleared his throat. “That I didn’t warn you about Carrie.”

“I don’t want to talk to you about your stupid girlfriend. I want to get some exercise.” I yelled. My breath came in short puffs. “Go away.”

“You’re running in your work uniform, in case you forgot.”

“So?”

“Well. You may have excellent running form, but you look kind of dorky,” he called.

I stopped dead in my tracks, forcing Jackson to slam on his brakes to keep from hitting me.

“Don’t you dare tell me I look dorky,” I yelled, panting and grabbing my side. Stupid stitch.

He shifted his car into park.

“Well, you kind of do,” he pointed out.

His stereo played faintly inside the car. I heard a muffled Green Day song. Figured. White-guy music.

“Well, at least I look like one. I am a dork. Look at you in your white-guy car, listening to white-guy music. Dating a blond with boobs. You’re a total faker.” My hand dug into my side, trying to stifle the cramp. My eyes got teary, and that made me even madder.

Jackson opened his car door and stepped outside. “A faker?”

“No,” I yelled at his face. “I don’t want to hear crap about accepting myself for who I am. You have the option of blending in. I don’t.”

“No one’s asking you to,” he said.

“Don’t patronize me,” I snarled. He took a step toward me, but I backed away.

“What do you want from me, Jackson? A close-up view of what it’s like to look black and live in the white world? Well, too bad. I’m not going to give it to you. You’re on your own.”

He leaned against his car door, his arms crossed. “I want to be your friend. I like you. You’re not making it easy to get to know you, but…”

“But what?” I interrupted before he embarrassed me further. “I screwed it up and thought it was more and threw myself at you? So you had to haul out your girlfriend to show me how stupid I was? Well, guess what? You’re right. I am stupid. But everyone makes mistakes, and that was the biggest mistake I ever made. Kissing you.”

I shook my head, my humiliation and his pity making me furious. Pain and anger I’d been holding in forever rose to the surface. I was humiliated and tired of it. Tired of people pushing me down. Letting me slide under while they just watched. I was tired of holding it all in. Pretending nothing bothered me.

And at that moment, I wanted to make him hurt as much as I did. So I went for blood. “You know what’s sad, Jackson? I once promised my grandpa I’d stay away from people like you. Druggies.” I spit the word out like it was dirt muddying my tongue. Like he was beneath me in any real or imagined social ranking.

“I’ve heard you on your phone. Setting up pickup times, arranging things, trying to hide it from me. I know you’re still dealing drugs.”

He opened his mouth, but I raised my hand to silence him.

“My grandpa would have hated you. He wouldn’t have wanted us to be friends. And you know what? He would have been right. I’m sorry I’m a dork and that I kissed you. Let’s just forget it ever happened. The funny thing is not only should I never have done that, but I shouldn’t even be friends with someone like you. You’re probably the only person I’ve ever met who isn’t even good enough for me.” Jackson took a step back.

In the back of my mind, the ugliness of my words horrified me, but suppressed anger spewed out of me, propelling the poison onward. “Go back to your white-ass girlfriend and deal your drugs and leave me alone. I don’t need you hanging around me to try to see what it’s like to actually look black. You don’t deserve to claim that part of your heritage. At least I’m not trying to pass myself off as something I’m not. You’re not white, but you’re not black either. You’re not anything.”

Jackson’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t say a word. He pushed off the door of his car. He hopped inside without looking at me. He threw the car into drive and peeled off, leaving the smell of burning rubber in the air.

I watched him go and burst into tears, feeling as hateful as everyone who’d ever judged me for the color of my skin.

***

I went home and typed up a resignation letter, then marched back to the coffee shop and into Amber’s office. Some of my bravado faltered when Amber smiled at me, but I held out the piece of paper. “Sorry for ditching my shift.”

“What’s this?” Amber asked as she scanned the page.

I waited while she read my resignation notice.

“I won’t pretend I’m not disappointed,” Amber said when she’d finished reading. “But I won’t pretend I’m surprised either.” She leaned back in the chair, her head at an angle, watching me. “You want to talk about it?”

I bit my lip and shook my head.

“You sure, honey? I heard you’re having trouble with Lacey, and I’m not sure what’s going on with you and Jackson.”

“I’m sorry. I just have to quit,” I told Amber and struggled not to cry.

Amber muttered under her breath. “Tell you what,” she said finally. “You’re a great employee.” She narrowed her eyes. “Well, outside of your last couple of shifts. I’ll keep this resignation letter on file, and I’ll take you off the schedule. But if you ever want to come back to work, I’ll consider this a leave of absence.”

I nodded, working hard to keep back tears. “Thanks, Amber. I’m really sorry about my leaving you like this.” I swiveled and raced from the office.

***

I avoided Jackson. The avoiding part was simple. I didn’t work at Grinds anymore, and I talked to my principal and teachers, explaining about my mom having a preemie baby and needing me. I got all my English homework emailed to me. Years of being a good student paid off, because they excused me from classes without batting an eye.

I stayed away from Ashley too. Whatever questions she might have, I didn’t have answers.

Instead, excuses rolled off my lips when she called. My mom needed my help, I told her. I didn’t even flinch as I spit out the lies. I skipped classes, and no one said a word about it. Everyone at school believed I was a responsible young lady, helping out my mom.

I went to see Mom a couple of times after she brought the baby home, but she was jittery and nervous, and being around her made me feel worse. She worried that she wasn’t sleeping. She complained about being stressed about breast-feeding. I felt sorry for her but I didn’t know how to help. I didn’t know what to say.

She wasn’t herself, and neither was I, and I didn’t know how to reach her. Grandma told me Mom’s behavior was normal and that she’d get over it. Baby blues, she called it. I couldn’t imagine how Mom had coped with being my age and going through that with me. Of course, back then she’d handed me over to Grandpa and Grandma. And as much as I liked the little baby Mom still hadn’t named, he was stirring up feelings in me. I was having a hard enough time dealing with my own life, so I avoided theirs too.

What flattened me the most was Jackson. Finding out he had a girlfriend had crushed me. I’d had it bad for him, way worse than I’d even thought. The girlfriend thing crushed me. Hollowed out my heart.

But there was no excuse for the things I’d said to him. I didn’t even know who I was anymore. To punish myself, I wouldn’t allow myself music. I stared at the walls and dwelled on Jackson and Carrie. I imagined Jackson kissing her, not running away. Playing her songs on Marty. Badly, but still. I deserved to hurt after the ugly things that had spewed from my lips. I’d been aiming to wound him, but I’d hit at an amazingly low level.

It embarrassed me, but at the same time I missed him so much that I felt numb. I missed his stupid singing at work. I missed his dumb jokes.

I wasn’t hungry, and nothing interested me. I pretended to be sick, but after a few days of me missing school, Grandma stopped buying my story about a flu bug and insisted I go back.

When I got to school, I headed down the hallway toward the library to study for a missed English test. Someone tapped my shoulder, and I turned.

Ashley glared at me. I pulled earbuds from my ears. Even though I didn’t have music playing, the earbuds gave me an excuse to ignore everyone around me. Like a celebrity using a cell phone to hide from paparazzi.

“Hey, you scared me.” I smiled at her hair. The ends were black. I realized how much I’d missed her in my self-induced exile. “Nice tips.”

She didn’t smile back. “Where have you been? I haven’t talked to you or seen you in days. I’ve been texting you, and you haven’t answered.”

Students rushed past us, bumping into us as they headed for classes and lockers. Ashley pushed my shoulder and moved us off to the side of the herd.

I glanced longingly at the center of the chaos, wishing I could dart back inside the moving stream of bodies and away from a heart-to-heart chat.

“My mom brought her baby home,” I told Ashley instead of admitting I’d ignored her messages. “He got out of the hospital early.”

“I know that. I heard, and that’s great.” She scowled. “But where have you been?”

I shrugged. “I’ve been helping her out.” Another lie. “She’s kind of a mess.” She was a mess, but I wasn’t doing much to help her. I watched a group of freshman girls pass by us without even looking at us. We were too uninteresting, I guess. They had no clue.

“You’ve missed an entire week of English.”

I stared longingly at the dwindling backs of the kids in the hall. There was no one else around us. “I know. I’ll catch up on what I missed. I was actually just heading to the library to study. I should go.”

Ashley scowled. “This is so not like you.”

I lifted a shoulder. “Well, there are extraordinary circumstances. The principal cleared me from the classes I missed, and I met with my teachers to work it all out. They’re letting me make up what I missed. My mom needs me.”

Ashley licked her lips. “Well, I’m still really pissed off at you.”

I frowned. “I told you I’ve been busy. I’m sorry I didn’t return your texts.”

“You’re full of shit.”

Great. There went my last friend. I looked away from her and glanced longingly down the hall toward the library, wishing I’d made a dash for freedom when the hall had been full of kids to hide behind.

“Jackson told me what you said. That he didn’t deserve his black heritage. And that you called him a fake white person. What do you want him to do? Wear a sign to tell the world that his grandma is black?” Ashley didn’t have to vocalize her unhappiness with my stupid words. It was etched in her features and in the air between us.

My cheeks warmed, thinking of the low blows I’d delivered.

“Why were you even talking to Jackson about it?” I demanded instead of admitting what an idiot I’d been.

“We’ve been having lunch together. He told me about what happened.”

I stared at her. “You have lunch with Jackson?”

“Well, you haven’t been around. And he’s a nice guy. He’s funny.”

“Great. I’ll be spending the rest of my senior year alone,” I mumbled.

“Jaz. Will you stop thinking only about yourself for once?”

Her words slapped against my face, as hurtful as if she’d hit me with her bare hand. I dropped my gaze to the floor. Humiliated. I wanted to tell her about what I’d been carrying around. How I’d been thinking about nothing but Simon and my mom for the last few months.

“You did this to yourself, Jaz. No one did it to you. And I’m really surprised.” I bit my lip trying not to cry. “I gotta say I’m more than a little disappointed in you.”

“Well you’re not the only one, okay? I was mad. I got carried away.” I brushed back a curl from my face and stared at a crack in the floor.

“So how exactly does someone fake being white?” Ashley asked in a proper tone.

“It was stupid. I didn’t mean it.”

“Do you think it really matters that he looks white?” I bit my lip, trying not to cry.

“Well, do you?” she asked.

I frowned and looked up at her, not used to this side of Ashley. “It does to some people.”

“But are those the people you care about, Jaz? The question is, does it matter to you?”

I sighed and looked up at her. At the unfamiliar glint in her eyes. Disappointment. Disappointment with me.

“It feels like he has it easier or something.”

“You mean easier than you?”

“Fine. Okay. You’re right. I’m jealous. He fits in. He looks like everyone else.” I looked around the hallway, wishing a teacher would come and chase us away, but where were they when you needed them?

“You think I’m not okay because I’m not like everyone else.”

“No. No. That’s not what I meant.” I ran my fingers through my hair and scratched at my head.

“So tell me what you meant.”

“I don’t know. I feel bad. Okay? I shouldn’t have said that to him. He has a black heritage as much as I do. I know that.” I jutted my chin out. “But the drug part is true,” I said, wanting to be right about something. “I’ve heard him making deals on his phone. Anyhow, he has a girlfriend, so why does he even care what I think?” I stepped away from Ashley, ready to move on, to hide in the library and block out this conversation. I wanted to be alone. I’d been without friends before. I could certainly do it again.

Ashley jumped in front of me, blocking my way. When I tried to wiggle by, she grabbed me. “You know what? It’s not the color thing. Or even the drug thing. It’s the girlfriend thing that’s made you crazy. You’re totally jealous.”

The bell rang as I opened my mouth to tell her she was wrong. In other words, to lie some more.

She cursed under her breath. “I can’t miss geography. I have an exam. I have to go.” She let me go but frowned and shook her finger in my face. “We need to talk. Can you meet me later?”

I shrugged.

“Text me. I’ll miss my swim practice if I have to.” She turned and started to run. “Hey,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried off in the opposite direction. “What did your mom name your brother?”

“She didn’t yet,” I called back. “He’s still generic.”

“Still?”

She frowned but disappeared around a corner as she dashed toward her classroom. I lifted my earbuds to tune out the world again, but before I slipped them in my ears, my cell vibrated. I checked call display. It was my mom. Again.

I picked up the phone.

“Jaz. Help me,” she cried into the phone. “Come quick. I think I’m dying.”