case Ms. Jackson got the crazy idea to start calling on people to read at the salon.
When she looked to the street again, Natalie was gone.
***
Jade was playing one of her original songs, “She’s Not Me.” Jessa had heard it before, but suddenly it had a very different effect on her. Funny how music did that—changed on you. She would’ve actually thought Jade’s song was a play-by-play of Jessa’s love life, except she knew Jade wrote it last year—before costume barns and overzealous bra sizes.
Baby, she’s not me. With her hair cut short,
Standing by your car last night in the moonlight.
Baby, she’s not me, she’s just your last resort.
Why’d you tell everyone that we were through?
Why’d you drive her home, why weren’t you true?
Jessa pressed herself back against the base of the couch, where she sat against Tyler’s legs. Ms. Jackson sat across the room cross-legged on a blue ottoman, her head bobbing along with Jade’s rich alto. The creativity salon had been Ms. Jackson’s idea, to get them all together to share some of their creative work. It sounded kind of fun when she’d told Jessa on the plane. But now it was really more of a train wreck.
Ms. Jackson had ushered them into a little room off the lobby of the hotel, where they sat mostly on the floor, propped up against couches and chairs. It had started off OK. Lizzie and Maya had each read a poem, Lizzie’s a funny pigeon’s-eye view of Italy, Maya’s filled with symbol and color. Devon and Tim had done one of their comedy sketches they’d been practicing in the hallway earlier. Something about a soccer player with no feet, which wasn’t actually very funny, but they thought they were hilarious, so everyone else thought they were hilarious. Those two could really commit to a scene. Jessa tried to laugh, but she couldn’t help feeling more like she wanted to run for the nearest exit.
Mr. Campbell seemed to be trying to look everywhere but at her. She’d been trying to talk to him all day, but he was like some sort of magician, always stepping from her presence into some unseen hidden paneling.
And now Jade had come up with that guitar of hers and picked that song:
When you kissed her in the rain,
Could you feel the pain drip down my face?
Disgrace…ooohhhhh…
Jessa leaned against Tyler’s legs, lacing her finger through the fringe of one of the woven rugs. He squeezed her shoulder. Across the room, Sean and Natalie were practically plastic-wrapped together on a totally cliché pink love seat. He rubbed her back in slow, steady circles. Her face seemed pinched, but she kept rubbing Sean’s leg, kept leaning back to give him tiny kisses, each one a dart on Jessa’s target body. Jessa’s chest strained, and she shifted beneath Tyler’s hand, her head starting to pound.
It’s like you didn’t blink.
You didn’t pause to think.
And now I’m crying…
“Whoa, Jade. Enough already. You’re killing us over here.”
Jessa’s eyes shot up to Tyler, who seemed just as surprised as the rest of the room at the words that had just tumbled out of his mouth. Seventeen sets of eyes swiveled his way.
Jade’s guitar stopped, her hand dropping away from the strings in the same slow fall as her jaw. “Tyler?” She ran a hand through her curls, fumbled with the woven headband pushing them back away from her wide face.
“Look…” Tyler’s hand went up like a flag. “Sorry.”
Across the room, Ms. Jackson went suddenly still, upright, like one of those prairie dogs that pop up out of a hole on the Discovery Channel, a prairie dog with Tina Fey glasses.
“Oh, this should be good…” Devon started.
“Shut it,” Mr. Campbell told him, and he did.
Sean and Natalie moved as far away from each other as possible on the couch. Jessa could practically hear the plastic wrap unsticking. Nobody looked at Jessa.
“I’m sorry.” Tyler made a move to get off the couch, then sat back down, his hand coming to rest again on
When she looked to the street again, Natalie was gone.
***
Jade was playing one of her original songs, “She’s Not Me.” Jessa had heard it before, but suddenly it had a very different effect on her. Funny how music did that—changed on you. She would’ve actually thought Jade’s song was a play-by-play of Jessa’s love life, except she knew Jade wrote it last year—before costume barns and overzealous bra sizes.
Baby, she’s not me. With her hair cut short,
Standing by your car last night in the moonlight.
Baby, she’s not me, she’s just your last resort.
Why’d you tell everyone that we were through?
Why’d you drive her home, why weren’t you true?
Jessa pressed herself back against the base of the couch, where she sat against Tyler’s legs. Ms. Jackson sat across the room cross-legged on a blue ottoman, her head bobbing along with Jade’s rich alto. The creativity salon had been Ms. Jackson’s idea, to get them all together to share some of their creative work. It sounded kind of fun when she’d told Jessa on the plane. But now it was really more of a train wreck.
Ms. Jackson had ushered them into a little room off the lobby of the hotel, where they sat mostly on the floor, propped up against couches and chairs. It had started off OK. Lizzie and Maya had each read a poem, Lizzie’s a funny pigeon’s-eye view of Italy, Maya’s filled with symbol and color. Devon and Tim had done one of their comedy sketches they’d been practicing in the hallway earlier. Something about a soccer player with no feet, which wasn’t actually very funny, but they thought they were hilarious, so everyone else thought they were hilarious. Those two could really commit to a scene. Jessa tried to laugh, but she couldn’t help feeling more like she wanted to run for the nearest exit.
Mr. Campbell seemed to be trying to look everywhere but at her. She’d been trying to talk to him all day, but he was like some sort of magician, always stepping from her presence into some unseen hidden paneling.
And now Jade had come up with that guitar of hers and picked that song:
When you kissed her in the rain,
Could you feel the pain drip down my face?
Disgrace…ooohhhhh…
Jessa leaned against Tyler’s legs, lacing her finger through the fringe of one of the woven rugs. He squeezed her shoulder. Across the room, Sean and Natalie were practically plastic-wrapped together on a totally cliché pink love seat. He rubbed her back in slow, steady circles. Her face seemed pinched, but she kept rubbing Sean’s leg, kept leaning back to give him tiny kisses, each one a dart on Jessa’s target body. Jessa’s chest strained, and she shifted beneath Tyler’s hand, her head starting to pound.
It’s like you didn’t blink.
You didn’t pause to think.
And now I’m crying…
“Whoa, Jade. Enough already. You’re killing us over here.”
Jessa’s eyes shot up to Tyler, who seemed just as surprised as the rest of the room at the words that had just tumbled out of his mouth. Seventeen sets of eyes swiveled his way.
Jade’s guitar stopped, her hand dropping away from the strings in the same slow fall as her jaw. “Tyler?” She ran a hand through her curls, fumbled with the woven headband pushing them back away from her wide face.
“Look…” Tyler’s hand went up like a flag. “Sorry.”
Across the room, Ms. Jackson went suddenly still, upright, like one of those prairie dogs that pop up out of a hole on the Discovery Channel, a prairie dog with Tina Fey glasses.
“Oh, this should be good…” Devon started.
“Shut it,” Mr. Campbell told him, and he did.
Sean and Natalie moved as far away from each other as possible on the couch. Jessa could practically hear the plastic wrap unsticking. Nobody looked at Jessa.
“I’m sorry.” Tyler made a move to get off the couch, then sat back down, his hand coming to rest again on
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