If I Tell Part 9

"You think?" I blinked away tears.

"That's horrible, Jaz."

"I've never told anyone before."

"You haven't? You never told your mom? Or your grandma?"

I shook my head. "It was hardest not to tell my grandpa. But it would have killed him. I was so ashamed. I felt like it was my fault."

"Well, what about later on? You never talked to a friend?" She didn't mention Lacey by name, but I knew who she meant.

"Lacey and I don't talk about stuff like that. I mean, we didn't. We're not really friends anymore."

"Yeah. I noticed that. What happened with you two?"

I lifted my thumb to my mouth and gnawed the calloused pad. "That I don't want to talk about."

Ashley didn't say anything. "I'm sorry about what happened to you. With those kids." She took her attention off the road for a second and glanced at me. "But do you want an honest observation?"

I shrugged. Ashley was all about telling the truth. Understandable after hiding it for so long, I guess.

"What they did was awful. But it was five or six years ago, right? Not that time makes it okay. But it seems to me that you play your part at keeping people away. I don't want to be a jerk, but not everyone at Westwind could have been a part of what happened, right? But you don't let anyone get close to you. Not even me. Not really. It's like you've built a wall around yourself. You're beautiful and smart and talented with your guitar and singing, but I think you use it to intimidate people. They think you're looking down your nose at them."

Her words stung, and I jumped in to defend myself. "You don't know what it's like. I'd always felt a little different, but I'd managed to fit in and have a few kids to play with. Until that day at the pool. They turned on me. Maybe they'd sensed my self-consciousness. My dark skin might have been more noticeable. Maybe they saw for the first time how different my hair was when it was wet. Maybe picking on me made them feel better about themselves. Whatever it was, it was awful."

"Um. I had to switch schools when I came out, remember?" she said. "Try being a lesbian with a high-pitched voice," she said and slowed down the car, flicked on her turn signal, and turned right onto a street with a kids' park on the corner. My face warmed. "Sorry." I sighed. "Pity party for one." I stared out the window as we drove past a row of brown and gray houses. They all looked the same. If I were a house on the street, I'd be painted an ugly color and wouldn't fit in. Then again Ashley would be yellow or maybe orange. I turned to her. "I have no idea what it would be like to be a lesbian with a high-pitched voice."

"Yeah, well. That's okay. I have that one covered. But I don't have any idea what it would be like to be half black and half white in a town like Tadita."

"True," I said and then laughed. "But what the h.e.l.l does being a lesbian have to do with your high-pitched voice?"

Her face lit up with a grin. "I don't know. I think people expect me to sound like a man. It freaks them out that I don't." Her grin faded. "But tell me what's it like," she said. "Being biracial and not knowing your dad."

"My mom moved out after she graduated from college. I stayed with my grandparents. I had my grandpa though. He made me feel like I was his gift. He told me he and my grandma wanted another child, but couldn't have one until they got me." I smiled at the memory of Grandpa's serious face as he'd try to give me enough love to fill me up. "He said my mom loved me so much she let him and Grandma raise me, and it was the best thing that ever happened to him."

"He sounds awesome."

"He was. He tried so hard to fill the shoes of the man who didn't want anything to do with me."

"Bizarre," Ashley said. "Not the typical family, I guess."

"I guess." It's all I knew.

"The weirdest thing is having a whole line of people I'm related to by blood, but I don't even know them. The black side of me."

"That sucks." Ashley sneaked a side glance at me, and I saw pity in her expression.

"I spent a lot of time in therapy as a kid, talking about it." I grinned, but I wasn't kidding. "Grandpa insisted."

Ashley nodded, but she reached over and squeezed my hand. I squeezed back, and then she took back her hand, shoulder-checked, and turned down a back alley.

"I spent time in therapy too. My dad thought they might be able to talk me out of being gay." She laughed. "Actually we spent most of the time talking about him."

I laughed.

"I had one person who got me," Ashley said. Her voice cracked, and her eyes filled with tears. "My uncle." She blew out a breath and blinked a few times. "Remember that watch I misplaced at Marnie's?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"It was his. He gave it to me when I was thirteen." She kept one hand on the wheel and slowed down the car as she reached around to her back pocket and pulled the watch out, stroking the face of the watch with her thumb. "He was gay. I mean, he never came out and announced it to me, but he had a live-in boyfriend, and he didn't hide that or how much they loved each other. His name was Grady, Uncle Grady. He was my mom's brother."

She sniffed, tucked the watch back in her pocket, and tapped the wheel with her fingers. "Dad didn't care for him much, but I loved him. When Mom was alive, we'd visit him, and later we kept in touch online when he moved to California. He worked as an animator on some big movies."

Tap. Tap. Tap. Her fingers went up and down on the steering wheel, tapping to a beat in her head.

"He died a few years ago. AIDS. We never had the chance to talk about me being gay, but I think he always knew. He said I was his favorite niece. My mom had three other brothers, and they all had kids too." We came to the end of the alley, and she put on her signal and turned onto a street leading to the older part of town.

"You see them?" I asked. I tried to imagine what it would be like to have a big, extended family. Nine cousins. It sounded pretty awesome.

"No. None of them. They're very conservative. Dad doesn't have much in common with them either. Besides, they live in Georgia, and without Mom, well, we don't visit. Probably just as well, given my so-called lifestyle choice." She smiled, but bitterness turned down the corners of my mouth.

Worlds away. In miles and beliefs.

"I'm sorry," I said. "The kids at your other high school sucked too."

"Yeah. But my swim team is awesome. They don't give a c.r.a.p. They like me 'cause I swim fast." She grinned. "And I have you."

I nodded. "Yeah, you have me." I stared out the window at the tall, thick trees lining the streets. They looked so bare. No leaves this time of year. "I wish I had something like swimming."

"Well, you have your music," Ashley said.

"Yeah. But that's pretty solitary."

"Maybe you should join a band."

"I'm more the solo type, and I don't want to make music a job. I do it because I love it. Anyhow, the music I like is not conducive to bands."

"You don't want to become a rich and famous rock star?"

"That's the last thing I want. I play for me. It's my escape. I'm not much into sharing it with people. Especially not for money."

"Not yet. That might change."

"I doubt it. I never want it to be something I have to do, you know?"

"Not really. I have to swim all the time to stay compet.i.tive. Sometimes I'd just like to sit on the couch and watch TV."

"You would not."

"Probably not. I do like me some physical punishment."

Ashley kept driving, and both of us took turns talking and then listening. I didn't bring up my fight with Simon or my mom again. I didn't mention what had happened with Nathan or my ride home with Jackson. There were still a lot of things I didn't want to talk about with Ashley. But we had crossed a line into a deeper friendship. And it warmed my heart. I loved the feeling of having someone on my side. Someone off center and on the outside. Like me.

"You need to come swimming with me," Ashley said when she finally dropped me off at home. "Show yourself that you can."

"I can't." I looked out the window at the front-porch light Grandma had left on for me. "I'm afraid."

"I know. But I'll help you. You need to do it. So you don't have to be afraid anymore."

I shook my head.

"Well, when you're ready, you know where I am."

chapter eight.

My mind wandered, refusing to concentrate on the test lying on the desk in front of me. I flicked my pencil up and down and glanced up, catching Jackson watching me. He flashed a smile. I swallowed a desire to stick my tongue out at him and then flushed, realizing I also had an urge to stick my tongue right inside his mouth. To kiss him.

Oh. My. G.o.d. What was wrong with me? I ducked my head quickly. How could I be fantasizing about that with Jackson after what had happened with Nathan?

I tried to focus on the exam and not squirm with embarra.s.sment every time I remembered something I'd said to Jackson in his car, but even as I finished the last essay question, I knew I wouldn't be proud when the grades came back. I should have cared more, but I didn't.

The bell rang, and as Mr. Dustan got up to collect the papers from our desks, I scrambled to grab my backpack from under my chair. Feet walked up next to mine. Bigger feet, wearing Converse shoes. Upside down, I stared at them.

"So. You survived?" Jackson's deep voice asked.

I swallowed and sat up. I nodded and stood, pretending to be a lot calmer than I felt.

"Did you have a bad hangover?" Jackson asked.

It took a lot of muscles to force out a fake smile. "It wasn't too bad." I wondered if heads could explode from embarra.s.sment. I considered running out of the room screaming. That might be less humiliating.

"Good."

Go away, I thought in my head. Go. Away.

He stayed. "They say the best way to avoid a hangover is to stay drunk. But I wouldn't suggest it for a lightweight like you."

"Probably not the best idea." I was a little too freaked for a witty comeback.

"Probably not."

"So?" he said as if he expected me to say more.

My heart thumped in my chest. I read tiny white words on his black shirt. His tight black shirt. His chest was awesome. I squinted to read: "Sometimes when I'm alone I google myself." I smiled and tried to make myself say something. Nothing.

"You working tonight?" he asked.

"Um. Yeah."

He nodded but didn't bolt to escape my lame conversational skills, probably sticking because he felt sorry for my dorky a.s.s. At least when I was drunk I hadn't been afraid to talk. I heard giggling behind us and turned my head.

"Oh. What's this? Have we got ourselves a little interracial love match?" said Tina Fawcett, a nasty girl with huge b.o.o.bs and a tiny IQ.

In first grade I'd invited her over for a play date when she first moved down the street from me. She'd come, but when I went to her house, she told me her father didn't want her playing with "someone like me." I'd gone home in tears. That was the first time I'd ever heard Grandpa swear. He told me to stay away from Tina, and I took his advice.

I remembered her voice screaming at the pool though. She had been one of the first to start the taunts, but I was lucky that she'd chosen to ignore me all these years since.

"Screw off," Jackson told Tina nonchalantly without even looking at her.

Tina opened her eyes wide, glancing at her friends, and then she stared at Jackson as if offering him a challenge. Boys weren't supposed to talk back to her. Her b.o.o.bs were supposed to prevent that.

Jackson smiled at me, ignoring her. "Tell me you're not a freak too."

"You didn't hear?" I fought to match his calm as I zipped up my backpack, ignoring the girls eyeballing us. I stepped away from my desk, and Jackson stepped aside to give me room. "Apparently my skin makes me dirty." My heart pumped with my audacity. But talking to Ashley about almost drowning had made the memory fresher, and I wasn't a scared eleven-year-old anymore.

Tina didn't even flinch. "Now here's a match made in crack heaven," she spit out. "The druggie and the not-quite-black girl."

My heart tripped over itself, but Jackson didn't even glance her way. He leaned down and whispered in my ear. "Remember what I said about gossip and judging?" He spoke so close that I felt moisture on my ear and smelled peppermint gum on his breath. Goose b.u.mps covered my arms. "She's not worth getting into it with."

I forced myself to take another step to put s.p.a.ce between Jackson and myself so he wouldn't see my reaction to him. He winked and turned for the door. "I'm going this way. You coming?" He gestured right with his thumb.

"Just a minute." I pretended to search for something in the front of my backpack. Being left alone with Tina and her friends was better than walking with Jackson. "Go ahead. I'm going the other way."

He ignored Tina and her friends as if they were insignificant dust particles. "Sure you're okay?"

"Fine."

"Okay. I'll see you at work tonight." He hesitated and then shrugged and walked out of the cla.s.sroom.

"You gettin' it on with the bad boy?" Tina demanded as soon as he was gone.

I ignored her and watched him disappear into the hallway, sort of wishing I was, and then tried to rid my brain of those thoughts.

"Are you?" she asked.

I jutted out my jaw and glared at Tina's smirking face. Her eyes flickered with disappointment when I didn't show outward signs of being intimidated. Inside, my nerves were jittering like crazy, but Grandpa and experience taught me well over the years.

"Never let 'em see you sweat, Jazzie. Stand tall. Never let 'em know what you're thinking."

I kept my expression neutral, knowing Tina thrived on weakness. She'd ignored me for years, but I knew she marched around the school treating people like c.r.a.p and drumming up hours of business for local therapists. The school psychologist should pay her a commission. And she had the nerve to call Jackson the bad boy. Worst thing he'd probably done to her was refuse to kiss her a.s.s.