They were pretty. A blond, a redhead, and a brunette. Carly looked back at me and kind of grimaced.
God. Would I have been forced to hang out with them and pretend to believe what Tina believed if I’d had a white father? That a group of guys were all the same because of their color? Would I be shallow and judgmental and part of a stupid school clique?
People pretended my color wasn’t what made me different. It was me, they said. I shut people out. Even Grandma and Grandpa said my skin didn’t define me; it didn’t matter. But obviously, it did.
I slowly made my way to the hallway. Carly was standing outside the door, waiting for me. Alone.
“Tina asked Jackson out,” she said in a quiet voice. “He turned her down.” She hugged her textbooks to her chest. “He likes you, and she knows it. She’ll try and take it out on you. I’d be careful. She can be really mean.”
I didn’t say anything.
She started walking away and then stopped and turned back. “I think it’s cool that you play guitar and write your own music,” she said. “I’ve heard you sing. You have a lot of talent. Tina hates it. She’s jealous. She thinks she’s a great singer, but she couldn’t even get a part in the senior musical. You should have gone out for it.”
“I’m not the school-play type,” I told her.
She bent her head. “I know.”
She turned then but didn’t move. Slowly she circled back. Her cheeks were red, and she took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I know no one ever talks about what we did. But I’ve never forgotten it. I don’t think anyone has.”
My body froze in place. I dropped my gaze to the ground, wishing she would go away. Stop talking.
“I wanted to tell someone what happened to you. Back in elementary school. For a long time. But I was too afraid. I saw the way you were shunned. I’m sorry I was such a chicken. I’ve never forgotten.” She spun back around and hurried away.
I didn’t know if her confession made me feel better or worse.
***
I walked into Grinds early for my shift, repositioning my guitar case on my shoulder. I’d popped home after school and picked it up and stopped at the park to play some songs. Cold as it was in the park, playing cleared my head. My brain was swirling with old emotions better buried or picked away on my guitar strings.
I almost didn’t pick up the guitar, remembering what Tina said, that I was trying to look cool. But I wasn’t doing it to impress Tina or anyone else. Music kept me sane. Maybe the fact that it bugged her should cheer me up a little.
“So,” Lacey called out in a singsong voice from a table in the café. “What’s up with you and Nathan?”
“Nothing,” I snapped to cover my embarrassment. “Nothing is up with me and Nathan,” I repeated for emphasis.
“Is that right?” a deep voice asked. “I definitely thought something was up.”
Nathan was slouched over a chair behind Lacey’s. She opened her eyes wider and lifted her hands in a defenseless pose. “He made me,” she mouthed.
I didn’t see any restraints on her.
Nathan glared at me. “Why’d you take off on me? You ignored my calls all weekend too.”
My stomach turned. I fought an urge to rush away. I didn’t want to deal with Nathan, but I also didn’t want him thinking we had something going on.
“My cell was out of juice. You didn’t call my house,” I stammered.
“Like I’d call your house. Your grandma would freak if she knew we were hooking up.”
“We’re not hooking up.” My insides recoiled as if he’d asked me to perform live with him at a rap concert.
“Why not? I thought we were cool,” he said as if we’d been more than drinks and hormones.
Was he serious? He thought we were an item? I sighed and plunked down in the seat beside Lacey and slid my guitar under the table.
“Sorry, Nathan.” I breathed deep and searched my brain for words. “I drank too much. It was stupid. We’re friends. Let’s not get weird, okay?
God. Would I have been forced to hang out with them and pretend to believe what Tina believed if I’d had a white father? That a group of guys were all the same because of their color? Would I be shallow and judgmental and part of a stupid school clique?
People pretended my color wasn’t what made me different. It was me, they said. I shut people out. Even Grandma and Grandpa said my skin didn’t define me; it didn’t matter. But obviously, it did.
I slowly made my way to the hallway. Carly was standing outside the door, waiting for me. Alone.
“Tina asked Jackson out,” she said in a quiet voice. “He turned her down.” She hugged her textbooks to her chest. “He likes you, and she knows it. She’ll try and take it out on you. I’d be careful. She can be really mean.”
I didn’t say anything.
She started walking away and then stopped and turned back. “I think it’s cool that you play guitar and write your own music,” she said. “I’ve heard you sing. You have a lot of talent. Tina hates it. She’s jealous. She thinks she’s a great singer, but she couldn’t even get a part in the senior musical. You should have gone out for it.”
“I’m not the school-play type,” I told her.
She bent her head. “I know.”
She turned then but didn’t move. Slowly she circled back. Her cheeks were red, and she took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I know no one ever talks about what we did. But I’ve never forgotten it. I don’t think anyone has.”
My body froze in place. I dropped my gaze to the ground, wishing she would go away. Stop talking.
“I wanted to tell someone what happened to you. Back in elementary school. For a long time. But I was too afraid. I saw the way you were shunned. I’m sorry I was such a chicken. I’ve never forgotten.” She spun back around and hurried away.
I didn’t know if her confession made me feel better or worse.
***
I walked into Grinds early for my shift, repositioning my guitar case on my shoulder. I’d popped home after school and picked it up and stopped at the park to play some songs. Cold as it was in the park, playing cleared my head. My brain was swirling with old emotions better buried or picked away on my guitar strings.
I almost didn’t pick up the guitar, remembering what Tina said, that I was trying to look cool. But I wasn’t doing it to impress Tina or anyone else. Music kept me sane. Maybe the fact that it bugged her should cheer me up a little.
“So,” Lacey called out in a singsong voice from a table in the café. “What’s up with you and Nathan?”
“Nothing,” I snapped to cover my embarrassment. “Nothing is up with me and Nathan,” I repeated for emphasis.
“Is that right?” a deep voice asked. “I definitely thought something was up.”
Nathan was slouched over a chair behind Lacey’s. She opened her eyes wider and lifted her hands in a defenseless pose. “He made me,” she mouthed.
I didn’t see any restraints on her.
Nathan glared at me. “Why’d you take off on me? You ignored my calls all weekend too.”
My stomach turned. I fought an urge to rush away. I didn’t want to deal with Nathan, but I also didn’t want him thinking we had something going on.
“My cell was out of juice. You didn’t call my house,” I stammered.
“Like I’d call your house. Your grandma would freak if she knew we were hooking up.”
“We’re not hooking up.” My insides recoiled as if he’d asked me to perform live with him at a rap concert.
“Why not? I thought we were cool,” he said as if we’d been more than drinks and hormones.
Was he serious? He thought we were an item? I sighed and plunked down in the seat beside Lacey and slid my guitar under the table.
“Sorry, Nathan.” I breathed deep and searched my brain for words. “I drank too much. It was stupid. We’re friends. Let’s not get weird, okay?
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