Chapter 22
After barely leaving my room all weekend, I woke up this morning physically unable to push myself to go to school.
Kayla poked her head in, but I pretended I was asleep in case she didn’t want me to know she was checking on me.
My mom said I should prepare to show up for dinner tonight, so I’ve spent most of the day dreading the moment I have to face them all at once.
I assume she’s on her way up here to make sure I haven’t run away.
I put my notebook down and move to the door to listen for footsteps.
My emotions are confusing. I don’t think I want to have dinner with them, but I do think I want them to ask.
I stand there listening, imagining Kayla bouncing down the hall like she usually does, announcing that we have “duties to attend to,” as if showing up for dinner is a chore.
Travis and my mom hated when she said that, but I thought it was hilarious.
And though tonight it absolutely would be a chore, maybe I wouldn’t mind it.
I don’t hear anything from the hallway. I wonder if my mom even cares.
I walk back to the bed and slide the notebook under my pillow. I spent half the day obsessing over my new realization that Amari’s whole goal in spending time with me was to have someone fail as badly as she had. Or worse.
At first, I was so overwhelmed by shock and rage that I couldn’t do much more than stare at the words until my vision blurred.
But then I got the idea to change the names and write it like a story.
Somewhere along the way, it started to feel like this had all happened to someone else.
I kept going because I felt better getting my thoughts out.
Now, I feel scooped clean, but not totally in a bad way—just empty and spent from my swirling thoughts and emotions.
I’m picking out pajamas when there’s a knock on my door.
“Jasmine?” It’s Travis.
“Yeah, come in.”
He opens the door with a suspicious smile. “Oh, are you getting ready to come down?”
I step out with a set of cotton pajamas in my hand.
“Dinner’s here and we’d like you to eat with us.”
“We?” I want to clarify exactly who wanted me downstairs.
“Yes, Jasmine. All of us would like that,” he says, his brown eyes earnest.
I put the pajamas on the bed and sit next to them. I’m not used to saying no to Travis since he doesn’t do much of the demanding around here. I wonder if that’s why he’s the one who came up, because they know it will be harder for me to turn him down.
“Can I sit?” He points to my desk chair.
I nod.
The chair is many sizes too small for him.
He lets his legs stretch as far as they can go.
“I want to tell you something that might help you figure out how to navigate this … whole situation.” He gestures wildly with his hands, which feels like a good representation of my feelings right now.
“You and I are more alike than you know,” he begins.
I want to roll my eyes because adults always say that, but I know Travis chooses his words carefully. I turn to face him fully and give him my undivided attention.
“I grew up with a single mother who worked so much that it felt like we didn’t even live in the same house most of the time.
I thought she hated me, like I had taken something from her life that she couldn’t get back.
So I just started to do whatever would get her attention—even if it was negative,” he says, shifting so his elbows rest on his knees.
I lean in, waiting for him to continue. I’ve never heard him talk so much at once, and my brain is racing to process what he’s saying.
“Most of what I did was really negative. One day, she got tired of it and I was sent to”—he looks directly at me—“a detention center.”
I sit up straight and stare at him. “You were in a detention center?” I’m in disbelief.
He laughs at my surprise. “Yes, for two years.”
“No way.” I wonder if this is what Kayla meant by him being badass. It’s just so hard to picture teenage Travis, acting up and getting locked away.
“Yes way. And it changed my entire life.”
I realize where this is going. So many adults have tried to make a lesson out of my time at the center, but they just don’t get it. I put my head down as I start to detach from the conversation.
“No, no, hear me out,” he says. “I know people tell you that you have to make lemons out of lemonade or whatever, but this isn’t that.
You and I both know it’s more complicated.
Those centers aren’t meant to help kids—they just set us aside.
It was hard, and I missed home, and I was really, really angry and ashamed for a long time. But I’m not ashamed anymore.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me before? If you aren’t ashamed?” I’m genuinely curious.
“I thought I was doing the right thing by letting you have your own experience. I didn’t know how telling you about mine would affect you—but it looks like you might have needed to hear this sooner, huh?” Some lightness enters his voice.
“Probably,” I say, though I can’t really fault him for waiting to share. He’s brave to want to talk about his time at all, and he’s right that I might not have been ready to hear this when I first got out.
“Jasmine, I did things I thought were right at the time, though now I know they weren’t. I couldn’t dwell on that forever, and neither should you. People make mistakes.”
“You had all that figured out when you got home?”
“No way, I had to get over being humiliated first,” he tells me honestly. “But then I realized that I was the only person who had the power to talk about my experience, and it’s a part of who I am. You’re a good kid, Jasmine. This doesn’t have to define the rest of your life.”
Tears start to roll down my face. “But everyone is mad at me because I lied,” I say. “On top of everything else. It’s already so bad.”
“I know it feels that way, but trust me, it gets better. And you’re not alone in the blame for all this,” he adds.
“I don’t know,” I choke out through tears. “What do I even say to everyone?”
“Whatever you want,” Travis insists. “People around here aren’t the kindest about things they’re unfamiliar with, but they’ll come around. And your mom loves you too much not to.”
I hiccup. “I love her too, and I really wanted to do the right thing this time.”
“You sound just like her,” he says, smiling.
I shrug. “I want this to go away. I want things to go back to normal.”
“They will, and all the pieces of yourself that you’ve been hiding will fit right back where they belong.”
“Did you just make that up?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, some poetry for you,” he says with a wink.
“Thank you, Travis.”
He stands up and makes his way to the door. “You’re welcome, Jasmine. In case you needed to know that you’re not the only person in this town with a past, I’m right here with you.”
I nod.
“But you’re still expected to be at dinner,” he adds, smirking.
I wipe my tears with my sleeve. “I’ll be there,” I promise.
He closes the door quietly behind him.
I don’t move from the bed immediately. I think about Travis as a teenager, in a place like Guiding Hearts.
It’s still hard to imagine. And yet, something about that very idea brings me relief.
Maybe one day it will be hard to imagine that I was in a detention center, too. This won’t always be who I am.
I get up to wash my face and stare at my reflection. For the first time in days, I’m not disappointed in what I see.