Chapter 6
After a few weeks at Tinsley Day School, the bell for lunch is a daily reminder that I don’t fit in. I’m still spending my lunch period by myself, in the library or in any open classroom where no one can witness my loneliness.
It feels too early for that kind of reputation.
I can usually avoid the cafeteria by bringing a sandwich, but Kayla had to be in early today.
So not only did I have to skip breakfast, but I also didn’t get to make a sandwich.
She put on her usual kind, caring sister act in front of our parents, as if she makes sure I eat at school, though she couldn’t care less.
I wish they would ask more questions so she’d have to admit she literally has no clue if I ever do.
Maybe even admit that she doesn’t know where I go from the minute she parks and ends our silent ride.
This morning, as usual, she went to find her friends, and I went to the courtyard to wait for homeroom.
My stomach is being embarrassingly vocal about my hunger right now, so I really do have to eat something soon if I’m going to make it through the rest of the day.
I give myself a mini pep talk as I walk into the cafeteria.
I’ll just go in, grab something, and leave with no one noticing me. I can manage that, right?
The cafeteria is like a mall food court, with a lot of noise and options.
I glance at the large digital menu flashing Today’s Specials, then look for the shortest line.
I walk straight there and try to focus on the head of the girl in front of me so my eyes don’t wander. That doesn’t last very long.
Soon I’m curiously scanning the room. I spot Kayla’s table.
Deanna is there. Her hair is in a bun that reminds me of the way Ms. Bree always wore hers, slicked back and shiny.
Kayla’s back is to me, but I see her slide something to Deanna that another girl intercepts.
I recognize her from a picture on the fridge of Kayla and her friends at a carnival.
But the girl also looks just like the lady from the grocery store, Melanie, down to the pearl hairpin and the long blond hair. So that must be Kendall.
Alice’s back is also to me, but her red hair is hard to miss, especially when it’s up in a ponytail and looks like flames running down her back.
I hate to say it, but her hairdo is fitting for her personality.
The last girl from the picture drops a tray on the table and Deanna grabs a bottle of water.
They have similar features, deep brown skin and round faces, though the resemblance stops there.
She’s pretty—they all are. The prototypical beautiful, popular group. Of course my stepsister is part of it.
I move my gaze back to Deanna, who suddenly looks up and catches my eye. My stomach flips. She waves her fingers. I start to wave back just as Kayla turns her head and glares at me. I lower my hand and run out of the cafeteria, stomach growling in protest.
I find a seat in the library far from the door. The girl beside me appears to be memorizing the dictionary. When I ask her what she’s doing, she lets me have it for interrupting her with my “fatuous” question. A quick Google search tells me this means “silly and pointless,” so good on her, I guess.
I pull out my laptop and open Amari’s email.
I stare at the words I can’t wait to see you and feel a pang in my heart.
At least someone is thinking about me. I reread the email until it makes me want to cry, wondering if I should reply.
It would be nice to have someone to talk to.
Every chance I get, I’m on IG scrolling through Desiree’s posts trying to convince myself not to reach out.
It doesn’t take long to feel like crap and log out since it looks like she’s having a great time without me.
I have never felt so utterly and completely alone, not even in the center.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, itching to respond to Amari. But after a minute, I take a deep breath and close my laptop, my mom’s words ringing in my ears: fresh start, fresh start, fresh start. Maybe the past is better left where it is.
With a nod at Dictionary Girl, which she ignores, I’m off to my next class.
“Let’s get some freewriting done,” Ms. Taylor says while fumbling through her bag the next day. Most of the class groans. “Well, we’re going to be journaling a lot this year, so you might as well get a head start.”
Alice, who seems to crave any kind of attention, makes faces at Ms. Taylor’s back, and I realize that she reminds me of girls at the center. I roll my eyes at the doodles I’ve been making in my notebook and look up to see if I can catch another glimpse of Deanna.
I’ve gotten to know the side of her face pretty well. Even Ms. Taylor seems to really like her. Whenever she gets tired of fielding uninspired answers, she’ll say, “Let’s see what Deanna thinks,” and the class will get oddly quiet as they listen to her intently, even Alice.
Sometimes I wonder how they are even really friends; they’re so different. They barely talk in class, but I guess no one’s really supposed to.
We switched our seats around today to “keep the discussions to a minimum.” I’ve been moved to the left, to the last row by the door.
Alice has been moved closer to the front of the room, I’m sure in the hopes she’ll stop acting up.
Deanna is still to my right. Last week I realized that she’s left-handed, so when she’s doing her work, she puts her head down slightly and can’t see me looking.
I don’t even know why I’m looking, but I catch myself peeking in her direction constantly.
The truth is, what I feel is complicated, and I don’t understand enough about myself yet to declare anything.
Desiree was the only person I ever talked to about these things.
I asked her once if she thought it was weird that I could fall in love with someone’s personality and have their gender be irrelevant.
I hated the idea of being restricted. Apparently, so did she.
We kissed that day, for good measure, and promised each other we’d get a place together when we turned eighteen, and that we’d be with whoever we wanted.
Shortly after that, she chose Ty, and Darius chose me.
We shelved our promise and obsessively started planning our lives with the boys instead.
That was back before I learned you shouldn’t plan your life around anyone but yourself.
“Yes, found it!” Ms. Taylor holds up a tightly folded piece of paper.
Instead of keeping my head straight, I look at Deanna again. This time, she’s looking back. She waves. I smile and bury my head in my notebook.
Ms. Taylor is now walking through the aisles, gesturing as she talks.
“As most of you know, being a writer starts with … writing.” She chuckles at her own joke.
“So I tallied up your picks for our first project and the winner is profiles!” The class doesn’t match her enthusiasm.
“Come on, guys, you chose this.” She points all around the room, and then her finger lands on me.
“You weren’t here when we voted, Jasmine, but something tells me you’re going to do just fine. ”
I don’t know how she can tell, but she’s right.
Ms. Taylor picks up a beautiful leather journal from her desk. She says it’s one of her most prized possessions and where she keeps her story ideas and outlines.
“I’ve got one for each of you to grab as you leave today.
This should help you feel more official as you work on your assignment.
” She points to a box, brimming with equally beautiful journals, next to the door.
Hell yes. She goes on to tell us that we’ll be able to choose a partner in the class, and that over the next couple of weeks, we’ll be interviewing them.
“So, we’re stalking them?” Alice snickers and a few of the kids laugh.
“Not exactly,” Ms. Taylor says. “The goal is to know as much as you can about your partner from the questions you ask so you can thoroughly introduce them to us in your own words.”
Oh, no. My excitement turns to dread. What can I even say? It’s been weeks and no one has asked me questions about “boarding school.” I thought I’d dodged a bullet.
The bell rings.
“Come to the next class with a partner and your first completed interview,” Ms. Taylor calls out over the sound of chairs scraping the floor and students packing up.
“And study for the Lord of the Flies quiz!” she adds.
I take my time putting my things into my bag and watch kids leave the class, most already in pairs.
What would someone even ask me?
Alice stops by my desk. “We haven’t scared you away yet, Kayla’s sister?”
I’m too preoccupied with my spiraling thoughts to muster any kind of response, but I hope my face tells her I’m not amused. She laughs and walks away. I finally slide my bag onto my shoulder when Ms. Taylor calls me over.
“Jasmine, can you see me before you head out?”
Deanna is at Ms. Taylor’s desk. I look straight at Ms. Taylor.
“I know the partner thing is stressful when you’re new,” she says, “so Deanna has volunteered to pair with you for the project.” She smiles back and forth between me and Deanna.
“Oh, okay, thanks,” I say nervously. Still looking straight at Ms. Taylor, I clear my throat. “I really appreciate it.” I don’t want to seem ungrateful.
Ms. Taylor nods her head, pleased, and hands us both journals. “I look forward to learning more about each of you. Remember, honesty makes a story good!” She waves us off with another smile.
I’m not sure how Deanna responds because I refuse to look at her.
As we walk out of the classroom, I think about telling Deanna she doesn’t have to do this. I don’t want Kayla to think I’m stepping on her toes.
Deanna nudges me with her hip. “Don’t look so excited about being my partner,” she teases. I feel my lips quirk up. “Ahh, she smiles.”
I shake my head. “On occasion,” I mutter. “Just a little nervous about the project.”