Chapter 28 Jessa
JESSA
She leads the way past a common area where a bunch of people are standing around talking and laughing.
“Now I’m completely clueless,” I say, starting to get slightly nervous. “Are we doing a college tour?”
“No, I promise your surprise is not a college tour!” She laughs. “Do you still think I’m that boring?” she teases, reaching for my hand to pull me up alongside her in the hallway.
I open my mouth to answer her, but just then some guy shouts, “Hey, Nardino!”
Bird stops short.
“Elizabeth Iris Nardino…” the voice calls out from the crowd of collegiates. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he says, now right in front of us, taking up the whole doorway.
I look at Bird, and as she spins around, she’s smiling like I’ve never seen her smile before.
She crosses in front of me, drops her bag on the floor, and throws her arms around his neck.
And he hugs her back, squeezing her so that her feet lift off the ground, as he swings her side to side.
Who the fuck is this attractive, sort of muscly older guy who’s hugging—no, embracing—my girlfriend?
“Wait, wait,” she says, pulling out of the hug, that glowing smile still lighting her up as she turns to face me again. “Jessa, this is my brother.”
Oh thank fucking god, brother. Brother. Thank you, sweet universe, for brothers.
“Charlie, this is Jessa,” she says, “Jessa, Charlie.”
I want to throw my arms around him too, just for the fact that he’s not one of my girlfriend’s ex-boyfriends. But I just take his outstretched hand.
“Hey, Jessa. It’s great to meet you; I’ve heard all about you.”
“Yes, yes,” I repeat, wondering what all he’s heard. “Me too. I mean, I’ve heard a lot about you, too. It’s nice to meet you.”
He’s radiating big-brother energy as he introduces us to the group in the common area, standing between us with a hand on each of our shoulders.
People are watching TV and eating from takeout containers and playing Ping-Pong, but look up as soon as he announces, “Yo, everyone. This is my sister Birdie and her friend Jessa. They’re staying overnight.
Don’t tell anyone and nobody fuck with them.
” He pauses. They listen. He has a very chill yet commanding presence—sort of the way I wish I could be but never feel like I manage to pull off.
“Okay,” he finishes. “Carry on.”
Some say “Hey” or “What’s up?” or just nod in our direction.
But they listen to him. Must be nice.
He takes us up to his room, stopping at the floor below his to tell us that this is the girls’ floor and we should use the bathrooms down here. “Just trust me, the ones on my floor are not safe for humans,” he says.
“Okay, we’ll take your word for it, Charlie.” Bird is so relaxed with her brother. I like seeing her this way, confident and proud. It’s cute seeing her in the little-sister role, one I haven’t gotten to play in a while.
“I’m bunking a few doors down. My roommate’s away, so the place is yours.”
“Thanks, Charlie.” She gives him a quick hug and flashes me a mischievous smile and an adorable wink, which makes heat rush to my face.
After we drop our stuff off in his room, he takes us to the dining hall and treats us to a veritable buffet of all the world’s cuisines in one place.
We sit down with our trays and samplings of different food, and Charlie asks, “So, what time do you need to leave tonight?”
“I thought we were staying over?” I say, looking back and forth between them, noting their similar features and mannerisms as they stare at each other in some kind of weird, inaccessible-to-me sibling moment.
“We are,” Bird says.
Then she gives Charlie a stern, wide-eyed, tight-lipped look. I feel her body jerk next to me under the table, and then Charlie lets out a sharp “Ow!
“Right, that’s what I meant,” he says. “Tomorrow.”
“I don’t know,” Bird answers. “But Charlie, can I ask you something?”
“Shoot,” he mumbles, chewing on a mouthful of food.
“Um, what’s going on with your hair?”
“What’s wrong with my hair?”
“It’s just very…”
“Gavin Rossdale,” I finish for her. “Circa 1996. Rolling Stone cover. Terrible article, by the way. But his hair looked great.”
“All right,” he says, nodding with a little stifled laugh that reminds me so much of Bird. “I can work with that.”
Which makes Bird burst out laughing in a decidedly non-stifled way.
“No, it actually looks good,” she admits. “It’s just very different, that’s all. You must not have cut it since the last time I saw you.”
“Nope.” He shakes his head, perfecting the messy crisp waves look that only pretty guys like him can pull off.
“How long has it been?” I ask.
“Since what, the summer?” he says.
“No, we didn’t get to see each other at all last summer. I was at the—”
“Oh, yeah. The writing thing. So, when was it?”
“Spring break,” she answers immediately, like she’s been keeping track.
“As in last spring? Jesus.”
“Too long,” she says more seriously, and he nods.
“You’re right. It’s been too long.”
There’s an awkward break in the conversation, so I fill it. “Well, this was a really nice surprise,” I tell Bird. “I’m glad you brought me with you.”
She laughs and almost chokes on her food. Has to take a drink of water. “What? Him?” she shouts. “Charlie is not your surprise, honey.”
Oof. Honey. She just said “honey” out loud. She called me “honey” for the first time, in front of someone else. I’m internally panicking, looking back and forth between them. And she’s frozen too.
“Ah jeez, thanks, Birdie,” he says, playfully rolling his eyes. If he noticed the glitch, he doesn’t let on. “On that note, I’m gonna go get some more food.”
He stands and brings his tray with him.
“Fuck,” I breathe. “That was… well, nice, actually. But also a little too…”
“Close,” she finishes. “Yeah. Sorry, it just sorta slipped out. Honey,” she adds with a small smile. “I don’t think he even caught it.”
When we leave the dining hall, Charlie breaks off and tells us he’ll see us later. “Be careful. Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Don’t do most of the things I would do. I’m gonna go call Mom and let her know you made it.”
We wander around campus for a while, and then we end up taking a walk around town—the campus is nestled in the middle of the city, and restaurants and shops populate the main drag.
I like that Bird is leading the way. Lets me people watch.
Most of the people we see are college students, and some of them are pretty funky, with cool hair and tattoos, either goth or disheveled and grungy or just plain dressed down.
“Do you think it’s okay…?” Bird says, nudging her hand into mine. I know what she’s asking—do I think it’s okay to hold hands here?
I let my fingers connect with hers and keep my eyes open. “I think so,” I finally answer, though it’s impossible to ever know for sure. But I take her hand for real, letting our fingers interlock.
We pass several people who don’t pay us much attention, and then there’s a girl who looks to be a few years older than us who smiles. It feels nice. I realize I’m smiling back, and when I look over at Bird, she’s smiling too.
We’ve been walking a few blocks when I see one of those old silent-movie-palace-type theaters from the 1920s, all grand and gilded with a big marquee and a giant vertical sign in lights that spans the height of the entire building. The building is sort of the star of the street. Can’t miss it.
“Can you believe people used to go see movies in those kinds of places?” Bird muses as we get closer. “Imagine getting ready to go to the movies and dressing up in your best and being treated like royalty.”
“I know, pretty cool,” I agree. I swing our joined hands and say, “Not cooler than this, though. Being able to hold hands. Out. In public.”
She comes to a stop on the sidewalk in front of the massive building. “Wanna see what it’s like to hold hands in there, like princesses or something?”
I laugh but she doesn’t. She just stands there smiling, and I get the feeling I’m missing something. “What?” I ask.
She looks up. So I look up.
“What?” I repeat.
She backs up a step and points at the marquee.
TONIGHT! TORI AMOS
I gasp, “Oh my god!” And my mind is barreling ahead with half-baked ideas about how we could try to get a Tori sighting: wait outside the stage door or try to find wherever the tour buses are parked.
“Come on,” Bird is saying, pulling me forward, toward the revolving glass doors.
I’m in shock. Actual shock. Disbelief. She has tickets.
Two tickets. To see my favorite artist ever, in the most beautiful theater I’ve ever laid eyes on, with the most amazing person in the world, who has not let go of my hand for even one moment.
I keep opening my mouth, but I have no words to describe how this feels.
“Are you surprised?” she finally asks me once we’re in our seats.
“Yes! I can’t believe this is happening.”
Our seats are way in the back, but I don’t think there is such a thing as a bad seat in this entire magical place.
When the stage lights come on, I can see Tori onstage so clear, her fiery red hair and her piano.
Her voice fills every tiny space in this cavernous theater, sending chills all through my body.
The first song is “God,” and this is already the best concert of the many, many concerts I have attended in my life.
Is it because she’s my favorite artist or because the person sitting next to me, holding my hand, is my favorite person?
I don’t know or care. Whatever the combination of reasons, it just is.
The last song she plays is “The Waitress,” and everything in between has been so perfect and better than I ever dreamed that when she returns for the encore, I’m just standing there next to Bird through the whole song, not even singing along, because I don’t want to miss any part of this moment.
I want to etch every single detail and sensation in my memory forever.