Chapter Twenty-Two
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Jae
The Sundy House is a six-minute drive from home, but more than a forty-minute walk. Instead of ordering a rideshare for me, Uncle Rowan insists on driving me himself.
Sitting beside him in his pristine Cadillac, I remember how nervous I was riding with him to Delray. Right now, he’s tapping a long heel, peering straight ahead at
the road. He’s deep in thought, because his brow furrows and releases, over and over again. He clears his throat.
“This friend from the poetry club,” he starts, and he pauses for so long I wonder if he’ll ever complete his thought.
This friend from the poetry club. Derek. The boy I wish I could stop thinking about but can’t. The boy with the softest smile, the darkest eyes, a heart that gets sweeter the more I see of it.
“This friend,” Uncle Rowan continues, “is a boy?”
“Yup,” I say lightly. I pick up my bag from the floor and dig around inside to find something invisible.
“Is that why you’re dressed like that?” He scans my dress, knee-length with blue and white stripes. “This doesn’t seem like a school thing to me.”
I don’t want to lie. Not completely. “He said it’s a possible poetry venue.”
“Okay. This … boy who took you to the pavilion—in search of a proper venue, of course—is this the same boy who you met last week?”
The words stick like glue in my mouth. I want to tell Uncle Rowan to let me live, to let me be a teenager and meet a cute boy for brunch, but I can’t give him lip if I want to stay in Delray.
“Yes,” I say.
“And now he’s meeting you again. On a weekend. This sounds like a date to me, Janelle.”
“He told me to dress nice because it’s a nice place.
We didn’t decide to work on this project together, Uncle Rowan.
Swan and William chose us because we’re new to the club.
And who knows, maybe if we put on a great event, I’ll get to be an officer in the club next year.
” I look at him out of the corners of my eyes.
“To be honest, it’s just really nice to have friends here. It wasn’t too easy at my last school.”
“And you know why.” His voice is rough and suddenly makes me want to crawl inside myself.
He speaks again, this time softer. “I know how hard it is to be a teenager. I also know how easy it is to mess up your life.” He gives me a knowing look.
“I push you. But I don’t do it to make you feel small.
I want you to be hungry for better. That’s all I want. ”
I nod.
“There’s greatness in you, and you can’t even see it.”
My face warms and I look down at my feet.
I don’t remember the last kind thing Uncle Rowan said about me.
And now he’s saying there’s greatness in me.
In me. It’s not that I don’t believe in myself.
It’s just, when the people who are supposed to love you only point out your flaws, you start to forget there’s anything else.
“The poetry club,” he says. “I pressed you about that club and you folded.” He pulls up to a red light and looks at me. I avoid his eyes. “I used to tell your mama all the time, if you want to become a diamond, you have to get pressed.”
I look at him, surprised that the words Mom always said to me first came from him.
“You know what I wanted to hear from you, Janelle? I’m going to be the best damn poet this world has ever seen and that club is going to be my training ground.
” He punctuates his words with his palm hitting the steering wheel.
“The more confidence you have in your own decisions, the more confidence I’ll have in you.
Easy as that. I’ll keep pushing you until you figure out who you are.
But until then,” he says, pointing a finger at me, “I will tell you what you won’t be. ”
I shift in my seat as the light turns green and he revs up the engine.
“You will not be a teen mom for a second time. You will not be a high school dropout. I refuse to let you accept less than the best because you don’t know what better looks like.
So you be careful with this boy,” he says, tapping my knee.
“If you can’t make the right decisions, I’ll make them for you. ”
I sink lower in my seat and turn away to look out my window. Uncle Rowan’s words linger like must in fine clothes. There’s greatness in me, he says. But only if I do what he wants.
He pulls into the driveway of a quaint yellow house and stops the car. I peer out the window.
“That’s it.” He leans over the steering wheel to look up at the house. “It’s the oldest house in Delray. Been here since the early 1900s. Built by Delray’s first mayor, Jim or John or Jack Sundy.” He waves his hand. “Name starts with a J. Doesn’t look like much on the outside, huh?”
No, it doesn’t. It looks cozy, and I imagine inside there’s a floral sofa somewhere and a table with a doily on it. But I can’t see anything so special about it that Derek would want to come here.
I open the car door to step outside.
“What’s his name?” Uncle Rowan’s voice stops me.
“Huh?”
“His name.”
I lick my lips, buying time. “Derek Patel.”
He blinks quickly and frowns. “I’m going to be on an important call for the next couple of hours. Can you order a ride back to the house? I’ll add you to the family account.”
I nod and close the door and watch him pull away from the curb. I take my phone out of my purse. It’s ten minutes to eleven. I check my text messages to see if Derek’s already here, but there are no messages and no missed calls.
A high-pitched birdsong makes me turn, to see a red finch peeking out from the lower branches of a flowering tree. Its head whips left and right, and then it freezes when it sees me. It sings, its black beak brilliant in the sun, For the second time. For the second time. For the second time.