Chapter 5
Lots of weird looks and too many introductions later, day one is over. By the time I make my way to the entrance, I don’t feel that new anymore. I didn’t even get lost.
When I step outside, dozens of cars sit idling in the lot.
At my old high school, buses and taxis lined the street after the last bell.
There was a parking lot, but it wasn’t for students; none of my friends had cars.
Desiree was the only one of us who had a permit and that was only because she spent a summer in North Carolina, where her uncle forced her to practice for it.
It was supposed to be the first thing I did when I turned sixteen.
I look at the rows of cars and realize I have no idea which one Kayla would even be driving. I finally recognize her long braids through the window of a silver Mercedes—just like my mom’s black one. I take a deep breath before opening the door.
“Hey,” she says dryly as I slide into the passenger seat.
“Thanks for the ride,” I tell her as she pushes the start button.
She turns her music up. I sink into my seat and use the lack of conversation to marvel at how nice her car is. For a quick moment, I let myself imagine having one just like it.
Kayla snaps me out of the daydream when she reaches over to change something on the screen. I look at her and she glances at me but says nothing.
I don’t get it. I’ve spent most of the day trying to forget how she made me feel this morning. I sat in the library at lunch, which was empty except for a few of us who I assume didn’t have enough friends to make the cafeteria feel welcoming. By the time the bell rang, my stomach was rumbling.
When we get to the house, Kayla barely waits for me to close the car door before she drives off. I trudge up the front steps and reach into my bag. That’s when I realize I don’t have keys.
Damn. Kayla was probably supposed to let me in.
“Please let someone be home,” I whisper as I press the bell.
I’m getting ready to press it again when my mom yells, “Coming!” She opens the door with a smile but looks right past me. “Where’s Kayla?” She motions impatiently for me to come in.
“Hello to you too?”
“Oh gosh, hi, Jasmine. I’m asking about Kayla because she has keys.” She closes the door and mumbles something about “that girl and her communication.”
“Do I get keys?” I ask.
Mom stops on her way to the kitchen. “Try the knob next time. The door is usually open.”
I don’t push the key thing. I figure it’s probably too early to be fighting her about them. I just got here. “You leave the doors open, Mom? A Lifetime movie waiting to happen.”
She shrugs and pushes a plate with half a sandwich and some chips across the counter. “It’s boring, but delicious.”
I pull the bread back and see turkey and cheese. I don’t give it a second thought before taking a huge bite.
“Whoa, you didn’t eat lunch?”
I don’t want her to worry about me, so I lie. “Yeah, I didn’t like it though. Kayla said it gets better.”
“I’m so happy you have her to guide you through this. She knows her stuff.”
“Yeah,” I say again. I know better than to tell my mom that Kayla went full ice queen as soon as we got to school. I picture Mom and Travis lecturing her about being nice to me, and I cringe. That would no doubt make it worse.
“She’s been … helpful,” I say vaguely. After all, she did give me a ride. I take another big bite of the sandwich and hope I sounded convincing.
“Her friends are such great girls. They’ll be a good influence. This is wonderful to hear, Jasmine.”
I nod and force a smile. Deanna seemed nice, but if she’s friends with Kayla and that Alice girl, I don’t know if I can trust first impressions.
“And classes? The other kids?” Mom asks.
“All good,” I say, even though I didn’t talk to a single person today. I think of Deanna’s warm smile again and add, “There’s a girl in my English class who seems nice.”
At this, my mom beams. I don’t have the heart to tell her I can’t really be her friend. Kayla definitely wouldn’t like that.
I nod with my mouth full of my last bite, scarf down the chips, and excuse myself to start some reading for tomorrow.
My mom reminds me to shower before dinner and says there’s something waiting for me upstairs.
I can’t tell from her expression if this is something good or not, but I head to my room in anticipation of either.
I climb the stairs slowly, aware of my exhaustion from the day.
I’m really looking forward to being alone for a little while.
The door is wide open, and my pajamas are folded neatly on the edge of the bed.
I run my hand across the pile, comforted by the habit.
My mom always did this. I look across at my desk.
The lamp, stapler, and tape dispenser are still sitting where they were staged for my arrival.
The broken typewriter is now on the floor waiting to be fixed.
I look around to see if anything else is different from this morning.
Then my eyes land on the corner of my desk and I almost jump out of my skin. A laptop?! I run to the staircase.
“Thanks, Mom!” I scream.
“You’re welcome!” she yells.
I plop myself in front of the laptop and push it open slowly.
The rose gold color catches the sunlight, and I smile at my reflection on the dark screen.
A note in my mom’s handwriting is lying on the keyboard.
One strike and it’s gone. I crumple the paper and toss it in the trash.
I imagine a warning is going to come with everything until she gets tired of hearing herself give them.
When it starts up, I notice the laptop is already set up with a username and password. The hint says, “your middle name,” and I type in Renee. I make a mental note to change it, but first, I need to get my thoughts out about the day.
I open the Notes app and start typing whatever comes to my mind. It ends up being a short poem, not about school, but about the center. It’s weird—part of me misses it. At least there, I had friends. I knew how things worked. I knew where to be and when. Everything here is so different.
After a few minutes, I realize that my mom most likely has some sort of parental controls on and can probably see this. I drag the note to the trash and clear it.
Next, I log in to Instagram on my browser for the first time in over a year.
With my fresh start, I’ve been trying to avoid social media even though my mom finally said I could use it, but after today, I’m feeling really disconnected.
I’m briefly distracted by an ad for some really cute sneakers, then go to my messages, hoping for something from Desiree.
She responded to one letter when I was in the center.
After what happened, she was grounded, in addition to the six months of community service that the judge gave her.
The guys got a full year each. In her letter, she sounded weirdly calm about having to pick up trash around town after school.
I hoped she would ask about me, but she never did, and that really sucked. I haven’t heard from her since.
I don’t have any unread DMs, so I search up Desiree’s profile.
A collage of pictures fills my screen. I see some familiar faces from my old school, including Darius.
But I’m mostly looking at Desiree. She’s so happy—at parties, on the bleachers by the football field, and even during community service.
Does she think about me at all?
I swallow the lump in my throat and close the window, opening my email instead. When my inbox appears on the screen, I see that there is a new message. I freeze. It’s not from Desiree. At the top is an email from Amari.
Subject: I guess I miss you.
My breath catches in my throat. Leave it to Amari to figure out a way to send an email from the center; she probably charmed one of the substitute teachers into letting her use their phone.
I crane my neck to look into the hallway, making sure Mom hasn’t been watching over me. This would for sure be the strike she’s been waiting for. I’m afraid to even open the message in case she really can see everything. But I have to know what the email says.
Hi, since you left me and I still hate everyone here I’m typing this news so it goes somewhere. Maybe you’ll see it, I hope you do. One month and I’m free. They’re sick of me and I guess that’s good because I’ve been sick of them lol. Not you, though. I can’t wait to see you.
Ps. don’t tell me if you actually can wait to see me lol
Amari
I move the email to the spam folder for safekeeping and close the laptop.
Amari, out of the center in just a month.
I can’t wait to see her either, but I’m struggling to picture it. How does Amari fit into my new life here? Can she? And why does the thought of her showing up in Tinsley make me so uncomfortable?
I pull an empty notebook out of the desk drawer, grab my new favorite pen, and slide my headphones on. With the music just loud enough to drown out my racing thoughts, I let the words flow.