Chapter Forty-Four
CHAPTER
FORTY-FOUR
Jae
Whoa whoa whoa. BreatheDeepBreatheDeepBreatheDeep.
What just happened?
I’m in the water. Gone. Submerged. I’ve fallen for Derek Patel in every way and my insides are knotted up and taut and—if I could just breathe right! If I could just—BreatheDeepBreatheDeep.
I can’t look at him. I have to read next, and I’m a mess inside.
Derek starts walking back to the bench, and I look away toward the big trail of sea grape trees leading to the pavilion. I pray for my heart to quiet, but my heart isn’t stopping for anything. It’s beating its own Morse code. Tack-tack-tack-tack-tack-tack-tack. Done in. Done for.
I want him more than I’ve wanted anything.
Uncle Rowan breaks the spell. “Who does he think he is, Casanova?” he mutters, shaking his head. He crosses his legs and crosses his arms and grunts. Mrs. Aldana’s talking and he’s still muttering to himself. Then he pokes me in the leg. “You’re next. Pay attention.”
I jump to my feet before Derek even sits down, which is a mistake because now he’s in front of me.
My eyes are level with his chest but wander up to his neck, to that smooth Adam’s apple that bobs.
I am all tingles. Exposed nerves everywhere.
I can’t touch him. I can’t look at him. But I sure as hell can smell him, and he is delicious.
What is he wearing? I want that scent all over my pillow.
I step right, he steps the same way. I step left, he does too. Right. Again.
He lets out an embarrassed laugh. “Go ahead,” he says, waiting for me to step around him. Don’t look at him, I warn myself. His voice alone. God. His voice alone.
I want to be improper. I want to do things I’ve never done. I want to break every single promise I made to Uncle Rowan.
I’m thankful when I get to the front and look out over the audience. Anything to get my mind off this incessant heat inside me.
Mrs. Aldana is giving me a small, lopsided smile. Like she’s Auntie Aldana and she knows my business. I blush, stare down at my notebook.
Glancing over the words, I try not to think about anyone else except her, sitting on one of these benches, tiny feet swinging in sandals, skinned knees, ashy legs, and wispy arms aching for a hug.
Her eyes full of questions. Questions I still ask Mom and Dad.
Why did you leave me? I take a deep breath and read. To Sarah.
Mothers are not masterpieces
Notes written in perfect key
Poised Mona Lisas with hands perfectly
Perched
Mothers are miracles
Notes not right but beautiful
Melted clocks that keep on ticking
She gives smiles when she has no joy
Consoles when she has no hope
That’s what you should know:
Mothers are vessels
That can be empty too
They stand with mouths open
Begging for rain
So they can pour
Themselves out for their children
My mother was full
Until she broke
And lost all she could hold
She had nothing to give me
And I had nothing to give you
I set you out on the river between the reeds
Like baby Moses
Waiting for Pharaoh’s daughter to pluck you out
And give you the world
She gave you a name
This is my joy:
That you were chosen and cherished
That you will be filled
Because someone
Has so much to give
Mothers are not masterpieces
Far from perfection
But my greatest work was to give you a home
A place with everything you need
To paint your own picture
With your own colors
With your own strokes
So I could watch you grow
From a small. dark. plum.
I’m not paying attention to the applause. I’m in my feelings. Submerged in them. Pain and longing and happiness and hope.
Derek’s eyes are on me. I can feel them as I head back to my seat, and I wonder what he’s thinking. Am I still his destiny? The glory of a galaxy times nine? Or did I just bring him back to Earth?
Mrs. Aldana announces the floor is open to everyone, and she starts with the first name on the sign-up sheet, a Bellwood sophomore I’ve seen around but don’t know.
I sense Derek’s hesitation as he leans toward me. “You did good,” he whispers, minty-breathed. My skin tingles, remembering. Transformed beneath your skin into something ravenous.
Ravenous.
“Thanks. You too.”
“Shhh!” Uncle Rowan hisses. “Don’t be rude.”
So we straighten up and pay attention.
But when Mrs. Aldana calls the next name, Mr. Rowan Oakland, I nearly keel over onto the floor.
He stands up, back tall, snaps his jacket straight at the waist, and walks smooth and slow to the front, bald head gleaming.
“No,” I whisper. I grab the nearest thing to me, Derek’s arm. Death grip. “Stop him. Somebody stop him. Swan! CJ!”
I’m hoping they tackle him, but nobody moves. William leans over, cheeky grin. CJ gives a thumbs-up. Swan, a sympathetic uh-oh smile.
“He’s gonna do fine,” Derek whispers, patting my hand like I’m some old lady he’s charged with taking care of.
Uncle Rowan clears his throat. “We had a little Romeo up here earlier.” The crowd laughs and Derek chuckles. Everyone claps for Derek again.
“I gotta say,” he continues, “I wasn’t expecting that. He surprised me. You all surprised me. But let me show you what a grown man can do.”
“Oh, no,” I groan, as he rubs his hands together, licks his lips, and becomes this character I could only call the Prowler. He’s doing too much. How did it get to this? Was it my fault for not making him leave? Is there still time?
I sink down into the bench as he begins.
Love ain’t it.
He pauses. Looks around at the crowd.
I said, Love ain’t IT!
I do believe it
to some extent
If I’m being ho … nest.
But if I’m being ho … nest
Then I should probably add this:
I’m mortified. He’s bending the vowels to make them rhyme with it. He’s been watching slam poetry on YouTube, it’s obvious.
I could never forget That Girl.
You see
We lived in Apartment Number 13
Brought up by Aunt Marlene
’Cause Papa died in the war and
Mama was always
Gone.
Rehab. Jail. Rehab. Jail. Rehab. Hab. Hab. Hab.
I’m pulled out of the poem again, thrown onto my bench. I sink deeper. Is embarrassing me some rite of passage? Does this make him my uncle forreal forreal?
Aunt Marlene worked most nights
Sis and I alone most nights
And then one night
The girl from Number 23 came down the stairs and said
Papa wants you over for dinner
And the next night, and the next night, and the next
That house was like heaven with
Two parents and
Two grandparents
Cramped up together in a space that felt like
Looove.
They were called the Kings
But they made us feel like royalty
Even though we had nothing to speak of.
Meaning, possessions.
She was always destined to be something
At least something more than me
She left at sixteen to New York to chase a dream life
But she was my dream, and I chased her
Through books, and pages, and degrees
Got all those letters after my name (Did you see that shit?)
Built a house
Got a car (Did you see that shit?)
And found her one day
On a billboard
Gone and married to some big TV exec (Ain’t that a …)
And I had everything in the world and I didn’t have
Love
So don’t wait on love
’Cause love won’t wait on you
My mouth is just open. I can’t close it.
Shocked, like being thrown out of an airplane into Arctic water.
Uncle Rowan just read a poem. In public.
About love. Or maybe, anti-love? He walks off to applause and gives Derek and me this look and this nod, like he’s saying without saying, And that’s how it’s done.