If I Tell

CHAPTER three



I rushed through the parking lot of Grinds, wiping my clammy hands on my pants. I only had two minutes to spare before my shift started. I’d gone for a long drive to try to clear my messed-up thoughts. Hurrying inside, I slipped through the employee entrance and clocked in.

A long line of impatient customers swirled around the café. Lacey looked up from the cash register, her eyes staring right into mine, before turning back to a woman in line. I blew out a breath of relief that she was too busy to talk, pulled my blue apron off a hook, and joined Amber in the Pit. I didn’t deal with customers most shifts. Amber knew that wasn’t my forte.

“Thank goodness you’re here. It’s crazy.” Amber squirted caramel in a decorative flower pattern on top of a mug of foam. “Some convention across the street. They all want their coffee yesterday.”

Lacey called out coffee orders while Amber and I slipped into a busy but comfortable groove. The rush lasted for almost an hour. As soon as it ended, Amber said she was heading into the office to do paperwork.

“How come you hired Jackson Morgan?” I asked as Amber pulled off her apron and smoothed out her whiskey-colored hair. I kind of hoped she’d tell me more about him. How he ended up working at Grinds. What his favorite color was. If he was into girls like me.

“You have a problem with him?” She folded her apron into a square.

My cheeks burned. “No, of course not. He just doesn’t seem, I don’t know, like the coffee-shop type.” I rubbed at my guitar charm and glanced out into the café.

“There is no type, honey. Do you know how hard it is to get part-time workers these days? Unless he’s not doing his job or he’s stealing from me, he’s more than welcome to work here. He’s a good kid.”

“That’s probably not what his parole officer says,” I mumbled, and my cheeks flamed again. By trying to hide my interest, I sounded like a jerk.

“Hey.” Amber smacked my arm lightly. “You of all people don’t strike me as the judgmental type.” She gave me a dirty look before slipping out of the work area and heading for her office at the back of the shop.

I made a face at her back but avoided looking toward the cash register, where I felt Lacey’s presence in the pit of my stomach. I kept busy fetching milk from the cooler, filling steel carafes, topping up mixes, and cleaning up spills.

Inevitably Lacey sauntered over to the Pit and stood still, just staring at me. I ignored her.

“So, how’s it going?” she finally asked.

“Fine.” I wished there was a mute button I could press to keep her from saying more.

“You going to stay mad at me forever?” she asked.

I scrubbed the counter like I was sanding Grandma’s old furniture. From the corner of my eye, I saw Lacey jut her hip out. She blew a bubble with her gum and breathed out until it popped.

“I’m sorry. I mean…about what happened,” she said. “We were both really drunk.”

I scrubbed harder, concentrating on the counter and not making eye contact with her. “You weren’t too drunk to know it was Simon.”

She shifted from one foot to another. “I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know how it happened.”

I willed her not to say anything more. The less I knew, the better.

“This is really awkward,” she said.

“You could say that.” A surge of anger hit me, and I glanced straight at her. “How could you do that? Simon, Lacey. It was Simon.”

“I was drunk, Jaz. It was stupid.”

“Drunk is always your excuse.”

Lacey didn’t speak for a moment. “Ouch,” she finally said and lifted a hand and studied her nails. “I didn’t mean to get that drunk. I feel terrible.”

I sighed. Didn’t she get it? Simon was almost family. Last year when some kid at the mall called me an Oreo, it was Simon I went to. He was the only person I could talk to about things like that.

“You’re a strong, beautiful girl with talent and smarts,” Simon had said when I told him. “Not a cookie.” He’d rubbed the top of my head. “No one can take away who you are inside or out. Don’t let other people make you feel bad about who you are.”

I’d dropped my head. “I look black on the outside. But I’m not.”

“You are black,” Simon said, standing straighter. “And that’s something to be proud of.”

I couldn’t look at Simon. I didn’t feel like I shared or deserved that heritage. That pride in being black. I wasn’t the real thing, one way or the other.

Simon had moved closer and put a finger under my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Our people fought for equality and respect for hundreds of years. You’re up for this. You don’t have to earn it, Jaz.”

But I wasn’t sure. Not then or now.

“Jazzy?” Lacey said.

I glared at her. After standing up for me, after being part of my family for so long, Simon had ruined it. Lacey had ruined it with him.

Lacey must have read my expression because her eyes filled with tears. She rubbed them, smudging her black eyeliner.

“You know how I get. It didn’t mean anything. You know that, right? Can you forgive me? Please?”

I glanced away, not able to stand the sight of her. I did know how she got. How many times had I told her she shouldn’t get trashed and make out with random dudes? How often had I stood by her while she dealt with the morning-after remorse?

“We’re talking about my mom’s boyfriend. It’s not like you got a stain on my favorite shirt or something. I can’t just make it go away.”

“I know. I really hate myself, if that makes you feel better.” She chewed a fake fingernail and then wiped under her eyes, smearing her makeup even more. “How can I make you forgive me?”

That was my cue to tell her that it was okay. That she shouldn’t drink so much. Give her a pep talk. “There’s not a lot you can do.”

She sucked in a quick breath and sniffled. “I can’t lose you over this, Jaz. You’re the only person who accepts me for who I am.”

I stood straighter; I wouldn’t let her talk her way out. Not from this.

“Does Simon know I saw you?”

Lacey’s hair flitted back and forth over her shoulder as she shook her head. “I don’t think so. I didn’t say anything about it.”

“And you swear there’s nothing going on between you two now?” I didn’t ask how far it had gone. I didn’t want to know. Even though I did.

“Of course not. I swear. I promise. Nothing.”

I turned from her and went back to scrubbing the counter.

“Don’t hate me, okay?” she begged.

But at that minute, I did. Hatred filled me. There was blackness in my heart for my messed-up best friend who, even with her crooked lipstick and smeared eyes, managed to look vulnerable and sad instead of cheap and slutty.

Lacey grabbed my hand as I continued my psycho scrubbing. “You’re not going to tell your mom, are you? She’d totally hate me, and I really love your mom.”

“You have a really messed-up way of showing people you love them.” I crossed my arms and glanced over to the cash register as two customers bustled up to the order area chatting about caffeine cravings.

Lacey patted my arm. Her mouth turned up in a lopsided smile. “Don’t write a song about it either, okay?”

I watched her walk away to take orders and wondered how she was going to react to the news that my mom was pregnant with Simon’s baby. I hoped it made her feel much, much worse about what she’d done. I wanted her to bleed a little inside.

The customers ordered plain coffee, so Lacey strolled back to my work area. She leaned against the sink, watching me pour coffee into Grinds mugs.

I put the drinks on the counter, and when I turned back, Lacey pirouetted for me. “Do you like my new work shirt?” The white shirt dipped so low that the lace of her frilly bra showed.

Was she kidding? Her expression drooped when I didn’t give her a compliment. Did she think all was forgiven that easily?

I glanced at the clock on the wall. “Look, my shift is over. I gotta go.” I turned.

“Call me soon, okay?” she said.

I didn’t answer her as I headed for the time clock. Lacey was my best friend, but my mom was my mom. Even if our relationship wasn’t exactly conventional.

I had to make sure it never happened again.

“Lacey?” I called as she made her way back to the cash area. She glanced back at me.

“My mom’s pregnant,” I said in a flat voice. “Simon’s going to be a father.”

We looked each other straight in the eyes. “Don’t ever tell anyone what happened, okay?”

Lacey’s eyes opened wider, and her face seemed to get paler. “Oh. God. I’m so sorry.” Her hand went up to cover her mouth.

I shook my head, not wanting to hear more. “Just don’t say anything, okay?”

“Not a soul.” Lacey made an X across her chest and closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “She’ll never ever know.”

***

My calloused left fingers pressed the spaces between the frets on my guitar, and I strummed the wire strings with the other hand. Strumming is the true act of playing guitar. The hardened tips of my fingers felt soothed. The itchy cravings I had when I wasn’t playing were gone. I softly sang the words to Neil Diamond’s “I Am…I Said.”

In my mind, I remembered Grandpa accompanying me with his beautiful aching voice. He’d taught me the song as a duet to be ironic, he said. His sense of humor drove Grandma crazy. A tear formed in the corner of my eye, and I let it plop down my cheek without stopping to wipe it away.

Someone cleared his throat.

Embarrassed, I dropped my fingers from the strings and looked up. I’d almost forgotten I wasn’t alone in the privacy of my room. Not wanting to go home after my shift, I’d walked to the park behind Grinds and propped myself up on top of a picnic bench. This time of the year, the park was abandoned, so I’d laid my guitar case out beside me and gotten lost in my own music.

Jackson took a step forward and, with a serious expression, reached into his back pocket and threw a bill inside my case. It was a twenty.

A tiny smile replaced the ache in my heart. “I’m not busking,” I told him. “I don’t want money.”

“I honestly felt like I should pay for that. You’re really good.”

I was trying to think of a response when his cell started ringing from his jacket pocket. He lifted his finger to tell me to hang on and then started digging around. “Just a sec.”

He pulled out his phone.

“Hello?” he said. He paused and turned away from me. “Yeah. I already told you. I’ll get you your stuff.”

I stared at his back, noticing the nice round shape of his butt in his jeans, but I shook my head. Was he doing a drug deal right in front of me? I didn’t know whether to laugh or get up and stomp away. I decided it wasn’t my business and tried not to eavesdrop on the rest of the conversation. A gust of wind had started to chill me, so I tucked my hands under my butt to warm my fingers.

“Sorry,” he said after he’d hung up. “Unpleasant business.”

I shrugged, trying to pretend I didn’t know what he was up to. I pulled my guitar strap over my head and off my shoulder, then reached inside my guitar case and took out his twenty.

“I wish I could sing like you,” he said.

I held out the money to him. “I’m not that good.”

He pulled his hands back to avoid the bill. “Uh. Yeah, you are.”

“I’m not taking your money.” I frowned. “Seriously.”

“I like to support the arts,” he said.

I tried to shove the money at him, but he backed away, laughing.

“I’m not the arts. I play for me. I don’t want money for my music.” I waved the money at him, wanting to get it out of my hand.

“Everyone wants money. It’s called dough because we all ‘knead’ it.” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down.

I frowned at the cash in my fingers, holding it like it was tainting my fingers. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Whoa. Definitely not fun making. If it fouls your mood that much, give me the money back. I just wanted you to know I admired your skills.” He held out his hand.

I thrust the twenty inside his hand. “I don’t want your money.”

“All the better for me. I like free stuff,” he said cheerfully. He folded the twenty and tucked it in his back pocket.

“Hey, what’s the difference between a guitar and a fish?” he asked.

My eyebrows pressed together with my frown.

“You can tune a guitar but you can’t tuna fish.” He grinned, and his smile was so ridiculous but infectious that the tight ball inside me relaxed a little. “Come on, Jaz. Don’t tell me I can’t even make you smile at a joke that bad. ”

I shook my head and stared at him for a minute, trying to figure him out. He stared back. “You’re not like other boys in Tadita,” I told him. The wind gusted again and whipped his hair around. I zipped my jacket all the way up under my chin, wishing I’d brought a scarf.

“And for that observation, I’m sure they would thank you,” he said.

I smiled, and he pointed at my mouth and grinned. “Look! You smiled.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“About what?”

“For being a B. I know you were just fooling around. It’s not you. It’s just that I’ve had kind of a bad day.” I turned to my guitar and lifted it, placing it gently back in its case and closing the case.

“You want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

He laughed. “Don’t hold back. Tell me how you really feel.”

I slid off the picnic table and picked up my guitar case. I wished I could tell him. Well, maybe not him. But someone.

“Hey,” he said softly. “You okay?”

I shook my head and started walking, not wanting to bawl like a big baby or something in front of him.

“Jaz,” he called and walked toward me, catching up quickly with his longer legs. “I seem to keep saying the wrong thing. I just came over to see if you’re working tonight.”

I remembered how he was new in town and probably didn’t have a lot of people to talk to. Outside of drug deals. Sighing, I slowed down a little so I wasn’t speed-walking to get away from him. “I just finished a shift.”

“Oh. Too bad,” he said.

Those simple words made a nice dent in my foul mood.

We walked toward Grinds. “You heading inside?” he asked. “Want to have a coffee before I start work? I’ll even let you buy since you don’t want to take my money.” He grinned.

I thought of Lacey still inside. “Nope. I have homework. I have to go home.”

His expression changed and then he shrugged. “Okay. Well, see ya round,” he said.

I started walking toward Grandpa’s car in the parking lot.

“You’re pretty good with that guitar. It’s an Alvarez, right?” Jackson called.

I stopped and turned back. “How’d you know that?”

“I know some things. People might surprise you if you look harder. Sometimes you have to look beneath the surface.”

I wondered if I even wanted to know what he meant and decided, no, I didn’t.