Chapter 13
Deanna repeats her order as the steam from the espresso machine hisses so loudly it drowns her voice out.
“A chocolate croissant to go, please.” She turns to the table to confirm I don’t want one, too.
I shake my head and she hands over a crisp five-dollar bill.
The barista wraps up a croissant from the display and passes it to her.
I look at my phone again and I’m immediately annoyed at myself for how obsessive I’ve become about it.
I promised my mom I wouldn’t miss a call or text.
It’s a miracle she let me come meet Deanna here after school.
I guess helping her with the book club really was a step in the right direction.
But she made it clear that she’s prepared to cut all exceptions if I try my luck today.
I swore that I would be focused on my project and thanked her for being flexible.
Deanna and I did get some work done on our profile revisions.
We were heads down for the first hour, though for the last half hour or so, we’ve just been talking.
“You can’t have any of this one,” Deanna says as she sits down, scooting her chair close enough that her knee hits mine. “And I’m not even sorry.”
I’m flustered by her smile, and her forwardness. She’s been flirting like this all day.
“You’re not sorry about which part?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. “Being stingy or being a bully?”
“WOW, all that, huh?”
“I mean, if the shoe fits,” I reply. I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest, but I can’t hide the goofy smile on my face.
“Whatever! So, what are you going to do when I leave? Besides miss me?” she asks, throwing the pastry in her bag.
I shrug. I keep thinking that one day I should ask her why she’s flirting with me, but I haven’t gotten the guts yet.
I like her and I don’t want to make her uncomfortable, especially since she still hasn’t told me she’s interested in me or anything.
We’re friends, and honestly, if that is as good as it gets, I’ll take it.
“You know I can see you smiling, right?” she says, poking my cheek. “Is that because you’re happy I’m leaving or…?”
“I might miss you,” I say, fiddling with my notebook.
“But I’m gonna get this together.” I gesture to the mess of notes and arrows that should turn into a cohesive “zine” for Ms. Taylor’s class.
While being grounded sucks, I’m surprised to find that I’m enjoying the time it gives me to experiment.
I’m even excited about locking myself away to think up something new for a ten-page assignment. The ideas haven’t stopped coming.
“Mmhmm,” she says, “sounds like a lot of fun.” Deanna puts her bag on the bench next to me and looks around the coffee shop. Behind us, a group of older women laughs in a corner booth.
“Everything okay?” I ask when she turns back to me, dropping her head a little.
“Yeah,” she says. She’s playing with the wrapper, tearing pieces off the edge of it. “I’m glad you could come hang today.”
“Me too,” I say.
“I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”
“Go for it,” I reply, but I feel my shoulders tighten with anxiety.
“Why were you grounded after the party but Kayla wasn’t?”
I look down at my notebook, unsure how to respond.
“You don’t have to tell me if—” Deanna starts.
“No, it’s fine,” I say. I don’t want to lie to her, so I tell her as much of the truth as I can. “At my old school, I used to get in trouble a bit. Just stupid stuff, like skipping class or whatever. Ever since I’ve been back, my mom has had a zero-tolerance policy.”
Deanna nods. “I’m glad you told me.”
“You’re easy to tell things to,” I say honestly.
“So are you,” Deanna replies, her voice low.
I look up and before I know what’s happening, Deanna leans in and kisses me. It throws me off at first. I touch my lips and she laughs.
“You don’t have to save it. I can just do it again,” she says with a smile.
Desiree, Amari, and now Deanna. Desiree felt wrong and Amari is over, but Deanna … Deanna feels different.
“Oh, you can?” I ask, trying to sound more confident than I feel.
She presses her soft lips to mine, for a little longer this time. When she pulls away, she’s just staring at me.
“I have to go. Call me later?” she says, throwing her bag over her shoulder.
“I will,” I say.
Just as Deanna starts to get up, my phone buzzes—an Instagram DM. I flip it over quickly, hiding the screen.
Deanna looks at me, confused. “All right, later.”
“Later!” I say a little too brightly. I let out a sigh when she walks out the door, knowing that was far from smooth. Bracing myself for the possibility that Deanna somehow found out I’ve been watching her page, I check my phone.
Amari.
I’m freeeeee. I’d love to see you. P.S., you should change your name on here if you’re trying to be incognito.
I drop my phone like it’s poisonous and sink into the bench, upset with Amari—and myself. I know her personality, and I should’ve guessed that she wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“You done with those?” The barista interrupts my thoughts, pointing to the plates on the table.
“Oh, yeah, sorry,” I say, stacking them for her.
“You guys are cute by the way, you and your girlfriend,” she says.
I don’t correct her about us just being friends. Maybe we aren’t anymore.
At the end of English class the next day, I’m following Alice and Deanna out into the hallway when Ms. Taylor stops me.
“Jasmine, can I talk to you for a moment?” She pulls my zine to the center of her desk.
I try to catch Deanna’s attention so she knows to leave me, but she doesn’t look my way.
Ms. Taylor holds up my zine proudly. “This is such good work, Jasmine. I’m sure you’re already considering schools for creative writing, but I wanted to give this to you in case you want more options.” She pulls out a pamphlet and hands it to me. Top 10 English Programs for Undergraduates.
“Thank you. I don’t really write that much though,” I say.
That’s not exactly the truth, but I’m afraid she’s going to ask to see what I write, if I tell her I do. I practically wrote a novel about hating Darius after we broke up, but I don’t think I can get into college with stories of my broken heart.
Ms. Taylor looks at me curiously, flipping through my zine. “I think you should start—you’re a natural. If you need someone to read your work, that’s what I’m here for,” she says reassuringly.
I glance out of the doorway and notice that Deanna and Alice are gone.
“You really think my writing is good enough for college? Like, as a major?” I ask.
Ms. Taylor nods her head with so much enthusiasm it makes me chuckle.
No one’s talked to me about college yet.
I assumed it’s because no one at the center thought I would stay out of trouble long enough, and my mom’s just trying to get me through my discharge plan.
I thank Ms. Taylor for her vote of confidence and promise to go to her with any questions that come up as I start researching.
She writes me a late pass, and I thank her again before running to my next class.
I check my phone and see a text from Deanna. I hope that wasn’t a bad talk! See you at lunch I send a kiss back and notice the nerves aren’t there anymore. Because this is what matters, I tell myself, holding the pamphlet close. I can’t wait to tell Deanna it wasn’t a bad talk at all.
Ms. Taylor thinks I could be a writer one day.