Chapter 8
The class erupts in cheers and whispers as Ms. Taylor drops our graded interview drafts on our desks.
“What did you get?” Deanna turns from the seat in front of me.
I show her my A.
“Nice! I got an A, too.” I put my hand up for a high five, and she slaps it. “You want to read mine?”
I shake my head. “Not until the end.” I laugh.
It’s been a couple of weeks since our interviews, and I worked pretty hard on the first draft.
I considered inviting Deanna over to work on it together, but Kayla is still icing me out and I don’t want to push my luck.
I’ve just been keeping my head down like I said I would.
Pantry for breakfast, library for lunch—rinse and repeat.
Every so often, when I’m feeling lonely, I open up Amari’s email and stare at the words until my vision starts to swim.
I can’t wait to see you.
Of course, I want to see her too. But her release date still feels like a distant thing, impossibly far off.
And I have no idea how I’ll manage to see her once she’s out.
I promise myself that when I’m more settled here, I’ll figure out how to respond in a way that conveys my feelings but doesn’t overpromise what I’m able to do or be for her.
“Settle down, class,” Ms. Taylor says. “I know you’re excited.”
I glance at Alice to see if she’s happy about her grade, but she’s on her phone.
“I’m so inspired by how well you all did on the first part of this assignment. For this next part, I want you to take a look at the notes I’ve made and try revising your work.”
Everyone is flipping through their pages to see what notes they’ve received. My first one reads: How do you want us to feel about your subject?
I look back at Ms. Taylor, who is smiling at our reactions.
“You’ll do this part solo and it’ll be due … let’s say, next Friday.” The bell rings. “Of course, if you have questions, you know where to find me,” she adds loudly over the bell. “Have a great weekend!
“Can I speak with you for a moment, Jasmine?” Ms. Taylor calls out from the front of the room.
Deanna, who is waiting for me at the door, waves goodbye with a curious look on her face. I’ll text you, she mouths while holding up her phone.
I nod and give her a thumbs-up, hoping she will.
When I get to Ms. Taylor’s desk, the room has emptied out. “Am I in trouble?” I ask. I wonder if she’s seen me eating granola bars in class.
She laughs and takes a sip from her thermos. “Of course you’re not in trouble,” she says. I relax my shoulders and take a deep breath. “I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your writing. You’re very talented.”
I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face.
This feels different from the English teacher’s encouragement at the center, maybe because Ms. Taylor doesn’t have to take any circumstances into consideration.
She’s comparing me to her other students here, not to girls whose relative worth society has already decided is low.
“Wow, thank you, Ms. Taylor,” I say. “I was nervous for this project. I’m not used to sharing so much personal stuff with strangers.” It’s the truth, or part of it, at least.
“You might be the first teenager who didn’t feel like everything they did needed to be shared with strangers,” she says, chuckling. I laugh too. “I’m excited to help you find your voice. I have a hunch you have something to say.”
She hands me a late pass as a loud group of students walks in.
“Thanks a lot, Ms. Taylor,” I say, my ears still buzzing.
I have a hunch you have something to say.
In the hallway, I look again at the A on my paper before sliding it into my bag. I know I have more work to do, but it’s been a long time since I felt this strange feeling—pride—and I want to hold on to it for as long as I can.
I check my phone before running to my next class. I see a text from Deanna and feel my mood lift even higher.
We have to celebrate our A’s. Come over on Saturday?
I’ll be there.
“A little more to the left,” my mom commands from the kitchen door as we try to get the final decorations up in the sunroom.
Earlier, she’d sent a text reminding me it was Travis’s birthday and that Kayla and I needed to come straight home. Luckily, Kayla didn’t need reminding. She was in a good mood already, singing in the car—a break from her usual silence.
Kayla drops her hand in frustration and the HAPPY slips out of her grip.
“Careful, Kayla! That thing will rip,” Mom says.
“You sure you don’t want to do it?” Kayla asks.
“She might need to at this rate,” I chime in. I’ve been on a high since I got my grade back and Deanna asked me to hang out.
My mom laughs. She’s been shouting orders at us since we got home and started preparing for Travis’s arrival. We’re transforming dinnertime into a mini surprise party.
“It has to be perfect for my honey,” my mom trills.
Kayla and I groan in unison.
“Ewww, Ma, seriously,” Kayla says, laughing.
I look over at her, laughing too. This might be the first thing we’re aligned on.
“Too much?” my mom says.
“Yes,” I say.
She motions for us to get back to it. “You just wait, your time is coming, ladies.”
Kayla shakes her head furiously, and I smile.
My mom steps back and continues to direct us as we hang the banner.
Once it’s finally perfectly straight, Kayla and I tape our ends to the wall.
The long wooden table gets covered in a white tablecloth with silver trim and set with matching plates and napkins, the center decorated with white tulips and candles.
It feels really fancy and also very unlike Travis.
He likes to refer to himself as “simple,” which translates to “boring” if you ask Kayla.
Not if you ask me. I’ve noticed little things about him, like how he doesn’t complain much about anything except “his ladies’ spending habits,” though it seems like he’s just teasing about that—he’s the first person to encourage us to treat ourselves.
He never seems to get visibly upset, either.
If something’s bothering him, he thinks about it a lot before speaking up.
The other day, he saw that Kayla’s car was super messy.
Instead of making a big deal out of it, he offered to help her clean it out.
He only ever yells when he’s watching soccer.
And I’d never say it out loud—especially not in front of Kayla—but he’s kind of funny.
I can tell why my mom likes him. They seem like a good match.
We all look at the table and the decorations, assessing our work.
My mom beams. “Everything looks beautiful, girls! He’s going to love it. Thank you,” she says, grabbing our shoulders for a big hug.
“Of course he is, you did it,” Kayla says warmly.
“We did it,” my mom says, squeezing tighter.
I’m enjoying this group hug, though I’m sure Kayla’s hating every second of it. She’s just better at pretending than I am.
My mom’s phone rings as we break apart. She puts her finger to her mouth and walks inside.
“Is this weird for you?” Kayla asks dryly.
“Why?” I ask, confused.
Kayla shrugs.
“Did I do something?”
“The dad thing, since yours…” She trails off but I suddenly understand what she’s saying. Because your dad abandoned you. It’s the first time Kayla’s shown any real concern for me.
It takes me a second to gather my thoughts. “Oohhhh, yeah. No, I’m good. It’s been a long time.”
Kayla nods. “Listen,” she says, fiddling with one of her small gold hoop earrings. “Deanna talked to me. She basically called me out for excluding you—”
My heart sinks. “Kayla, I swear, I didn’t ask her to—”
“No, it’s fine. She’s right, and she doesn’t know the half of it.
I’m sorry for being so harsh. I guess this whole thing has just been an adjustment.
It was already a big change to have your mom in the picture, and then when they told me you were coming home, and I had to show you around and keep your secret, I guess I took my frustration with all the changes out on you. It wasn’t cool, and I really am sorry.”
“I get it,” I say, still wrapping my mind around Kayla’s apology.
I could tell from the moment I arrived that she was dealing with her own stuff, and I try to picture how I’d feel in her shoes.
I remember how much I hated the center when I first got there—it was jail, sure, but it was also change.
It isn’t easy when your life looks completely different overnight.
I feel my shoulders relax, the pressure releasing, letting go a little bit. Maybe things will be different now. Maybe.
Kayla’s about to say something else, but we’re interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and my mom scrambling back into the sunroom. She jumps when Travis pops around the corner.
“Surprise!!!” we all shout.
Travis laughs.
“You were supposed to tell me when you pulled up,” my mom says, slapping his arm.
“I knew you guys were up to something.” He looks around at the decorations. “This is sweet. Thank you.” He plants a kiss on my mom, the kind that would gross me out if they didn’t look so in love.
I think of Kayla’s question and wonder if my mom thought about my dad today. I hope that if she did, she knows that things ended up how they were meant to be.
“Can I get a hug from my girls or is that cringe?” Travis asks.
“You get a one-day special,” Kayla says, walking into his open arms.
I don’t move. Did he say girl or girls?
“Damnnn, Jasmine, dissing me on my birthday?” Travis keeps his arms open.
“I, umm, wasn’t sure you meant me too,” I reply awkwardly.
“My girls,” he says, pointing at each of us. “Now get over here and give this old man a hug. My arms are starting to ache.”
My mom nods her approval in my direction, and I walk into his arms as well. I feel tears and blink them away quickly while my face is buried in his sweater.
“Also, please refrain from using cringe again,” I say when we let go.