Jessa’s shoulder. “But, Jade, I mean, come on. Your audience.” He made a motion toward Jessa, another one toward the pink couch.
All the blood escaped Jessa’s body. She was floating, bloodless, her hand still caught up in the carpet fringe. No one moved in the warm air of the hotel. Outside, the night sky seemed to grow darker. In the patch of night at the top of a window, Jessa could just make out the blur of a star.
Jade’s sweet orb of a face crumbled. “Oh, Jess. I…I…I’m sorry.” Her gaze slipped from Jessa to Sean. “I didn’t even think about…”
“OK, OK,” Mr. Campbell said, keeping an eye on Ms. Jackson, who still seemed frozen to her blue ottoman. “OK, we should just move on.”
“It’s fine, Mr. Campbell.” Jessa’s voice echoed in her own ears, like she was talking underwater. “We all know what happened. I mean, I threw a drink in his face.” Devon and Tim cracked up, and their laughter was a buoy under her in a rough sea. She turned her eyes to Jade. “It’s really pretty, Jade. You know I love your voice. And I’m totally fine. Totally. Fine. I am.” And then, without any explanation, she just blurted out Carissa’s limerick into the room. Her instruction. Quick, staccato words, like bullets:
There was a stupid boy from our town
Who decided to start messing around
He found that he cared
Not about what was upstairs
But the eggs in the front of her gown.
A tiny bubble of quiet, then—pop!—everyone started talking at once.
Jessa listened as her friends argued her life in front of her. Had she really just spat out that limerick into the air? Had she really just done that?
The weirdest thing, though, was watching Sean and Natalie listen, watching their faces transform as thirteen of their classmates aired their interpretations of their stupid little love triangle, realize how much they all knew about them—or thought they knew. Even Kevin Jones, a junior who was always reading Shakespeare or a spy novel the size of a small car and who was in Sean’s band, even Kevin thought Sean was an “insensitive prick.” But they weren’t all defending her. Like depositing rocks in her belly one after the other, she heard Hillary wonder aloud whether Jessa hadn’t “been too busy to be a girlfriend,” had perhaps “brought it on herself,” only to have Rachel agree with her, referring to Natalie as some sort of by-product. Brought it on herself? By-product! Biohazard was more like it.
A whistle cut through the air. Ms. Jackson, having unglued herself from the ottoman, had her fingers in her mouth, had climbed on top of a chair. “Hey, hey, hey!” she shouted. “That’s enough. This show is over.”
Natalie burst into loud, hiccupping sobs.
Quietly, eyes downcast, the students filed out of the room, leaving Jessa still sitting pressed against the couch. L. E. Wood, the pretty, soft-spoken sophomore, hovered for a minute next to her. “You know, Jessa. I’m going running in the morning. You can come if you want. A good run always helps me sort things out.”
Jessa thanked her, watching her petite, lithe form leave the room.
Mr. Campbell was in a corner talking to Sean and Natalie, who had turned the volume down on her sob but the speed up on her tears. Sean was trying to mop her face off with his T-shirt.
Jessa felt a warm hand on her back. “So, that’s not exactly what I had in mind when I asked you to reel in your behavior.” Ms. Jackson squatted down next to her, her eyes searching Jessa’s face. “Do you want to talk?”
Jessa shook her head.
Ms. Jackson sighed. “I know you’re hurting right now, Jess. But I’m done with you making it a public part of this trip. What you just did right there—that’s not OK.”
“I know.” Jessa wouldn’t look at her teacher, her eyes dry, something icy-dark settling in the pit of her. “I can’t even believe I did that.”
Ms. Jackson watched Sean walk a now-under-control Natalie from the room, then
All the blood escaped Jessa’s body. She was floating, bloodless, her hand still caught up in the carpet fringe. No one moved in the warm air of the hotel. Outside, the night sky seemed to grow darker. In the patch of night at the top of a window, Jessa could just make out the blur of a star.
Jade’s sweet orb of a face crumbled. “Oh, Jess. I…I…I’m sorry.” Her gaze slipped from Jessa to Sean. “I didn’t even think about…”
“OK, OK,” Mr. Campbell said, keeping an eye on Ms. Jackson, who still seemed frozen to her blue ottoman. “OK, we should just move on.”
“It’s fine, Mr. Campbell.” Jessa’s voice echoed in her own ears, like she was talking underwater. “We all know what happened. I mean, I threw a drink in his face.” Devon and Tim cracked up, and their laughter was a buoy under her in a rough sea. She turned her eyes to Jade. “It’s really pretty, Jade. You know I love your voice. And I’m totally fine. Totally. Fine. I am.” And then, without any explanation, she just blurted out Carissa’s limerick into the room. Her instruction. Quick, staccato words, like bullets:
There was a stupid boy from our town
Who decided to start messing around
He found that he cared
Not about what was upstairs
But the eggs in the front of her gown.
A tiny bubble of quiet, then—pop!—everyone started talking at once.
Jessa listened as her friends argued her life in front of her. Had she really just spat out that limerick into the air? Had she really just done that?
The weirdest thing, though, was watching Sean and Natalie listen, watching their faces transform as thirteen of their classmates aired their interpretations of their stupid little love triangle, realize how much they all knew about them—or thought they knew. Even Kevin Jones, a junior who was always reading Shakespeare or a spy novel the size of a small car and who was in Sean’s band, even Kevin thought Sean was an “insensitive prick.” But they weren’t all defending her. Like depositing rocks in her belly one after the other, she heard Hillary wonder aloud whether Jessa hadn’t “been too busy to be a girlfriend,” had perhaps “brought it on herself,” only to have Rachel agree with her, referring to Natalie as some sort of by-product. Brought it on herself? By-product! Biohazard was more like it.
A whistle cut through the air. Ms. Jackson, having unglued herself from the ottoman, had her fingers in her mouth, had climbed on top of a chair. “Hey, hey, hey!” she shouted. “That’s enough. This show is over.”
Natalie burst into loud, hiccupping sobs.
Quietly, eyes downcast, the students filed out of the room, leaving Jessa still sitting pressed against the couch. L. E. Wood, the pretty, soft-spoken sophomore, hovered for a minute next to her. “You know, Jessa. I’m going running in the morning. You can come if you want. A good run always helps me sort things out.”
Jessa thanked her, watching her petite, lithe form leave the room.
Mr. Campbell was in a corner talking to Sean and Natalie, who had turned the volume down on her sob but the speed up on her tears. Sean was trying to mop her face off with his T-shirt.
Jessa felt a warm hand on her back. “So, that’s not exactly what I had in mind when I asked you to reel in your behavior.” Ms. Jackson squatted down next to her, her eyes searching Jessa’s face. “Do you want to talk?”
Jessa shook her head.
Ms. Jackson sighed. “I know you’re hurting right now, Jess. But I’m done with you making it a public part of this trip. What you just did right there—that’s not OK.”
“I know.” Jessa wouldn’t look at her teacher, her eyes dry, something icy-dark settling in the pit of her. “I can’t even believe I did that.”
Ms. Jackson watched Sean walk a now-under-control Natalie from the room, then
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