I raise an eyebrow. “Hardly famous.” I laugh as I pull out my wallet when the barista returns with my brownie and coffee. Wes nods to the register.
“Come on,” he says. “I got this.”
I hand the barista a five dollar bill. “I can pay for myself,” I tell Wes.
“I don’t see why you have to,” he says as he orders chocolate chip cookies and the biggest coffee they’ve got.
We settle at one of the outside tables. It’s ridiculously nice out. Not summer hot, but enough to stay light a little later and have that warmth about the evening that feels like being lazy and lying around in the grass.
I think about those summer nights a few years ago, when high school first started. Before Danny got sick. Sometimes I’d hang out at Frankie’s and sit outside by the fire pit with her family until way after dark, roasting marshmallows and telling silly ghost stories. Those nights felt endless and even after her family went to bed, we’d stay up chatting in her room practically all night before finally falling asleep. We’d wake up so late the next morning and I’d eventually get home. There was no worry then about Danny needing me there to make sure he was okay, or make sure he got his medicine.
If I close my eyes and think back far enough, I can even remember summers way before that, when I was a little kid, before Danny was even born. I can almost even remember the way Mom’s laugh sounded like pure music and how beautiful she was then, glowing as she and Dad danced to one of his old meringue albums. I can still see the turn of his hips and the fast movements of his feet. Mom could never follow the steps right and she’d fall against him, breathless and laughing.
I can almost still hear the meringue music.
He loved those albums so much. More than us, I guess, since he took all but a few of them and left us behind.
Despite the warm evening air, I shiver. I glance at my phone, hoping everything is okay with Mom and Danny. Maybe I should check in with her.
Wes, luckily, doesn’t seem to notice. He takes a massive bite of his cookie.
“Hungry?” I ask, nibbling on my brownie. “Wow, this is good.”
“Yeah. The double chocolates are my second favorite here.”
“So you come here a lot?”
He grins. “Ah the old come-here-often pick up line. Nice one.”
I ignore that. “So you go to Babylon? What’s it like? Private schools have always intrigued me. Do you guys wear uniforms and play pranks on people all day? Do you play preppy sports like lacrosse and drink scotch and smoke cigars after your games?”
He laughs as he licks crumbs off his fingers. “Whoa, where are you getting your private school information? Cheesy movies? There’s nothing special about private schools. I’ve always wished I could go to public, actually. First of all, no girls. Whose idea was it to put a bunch of high school guys in a building with no girls?” He grimaces in horror and I laugh.
“I’m sure you manage.” I take a sip of my coffee.
He shrugs, a slight blush spreading across his cheeks. “There may have been a girlfriend or two.”
“I figured as much. And the uniforms?”
“They’re awful. But I don’t drink scotch or smoke. And I don’t play sports.”
“Ah, kindred spirits. I’m not a sports girl either. So, what do you do for fun? Despite harass girls you meet in hospitals?”
He rolls his eyes. “Drink coffee, hang with my friends, play video games… I don’t know. Normal stuff.”
“And comics.”
“Have you been stalking me? How did you know about my comics?”
Now it’s my turn to blush. I guess I had been a little too observant. “I saw them in the hospital.”
“So you were checking me out. I knew it.” He grins. “Anyway, I’m boring. What about you? What’s up with your radio show? That’s so cool.”
A spark lights in me at the mention of the Easton Mornings show. “Been helping out with the school station since freshman year. Now they let me broadcast alone sometimes, have my own mini show, almost. Like you heard yesterday. I’m going to the Get Up and Go show for a possible internship so my teacher is letting me broadcast alone for the next week or so to hopefully record some good segments to bring with us.”
“So cool. We don’t have anything like that at my school.”
“Yeah, it’s not a super common thing, but we have a really great radio teacher who keeps the program going. Some schools around here have it though. If you ever tune into 1530, you’ll hear DJ Big Dee from Chester High.”
Wes laughs. “Who’s that? From the look on your face, not a close friend, I’m guessing?”
“Definitely not,” I say. “She’s kind of what you’d call my rival I guess. We’ve competed in DJ stuff before and I’m sort of cringing inside at the thought of her going for the same internship as me.”
“Well I haven’t heard DJ Big B, but—”
“D,” I correct him, laughing.
“DJ Big D,” he says. “Got it. D as in dork?”
“No, Dee as in Dee Ann. Dee Ann Walkins, to be exact. Senior at Chester High and, I have to admit, a pretty good DJ.”
“Forget about Big Dee. I’ve heard you and you’re pretty awesome. Not that I know anything, but you sound like a DJ on a regular radio station. Like the real deal, legit.”
“Aw, thanks.”
“I’m serious. It’s really cool. So, is that what you want to do? After high school and college, I mean?”
I sigh. “That would be a dream. I’m hoping to find a good communications program, but college is expensive, so unless I can get some good scholarships or an internship to get my foot in the door and recommend me…” I trail off, embarrassed.
Way too much personal information, Jasmine.
Wes nods. “That’s cool though. That you have something you love and are good at. I have no idea what I’m going to do. College I guess. I mean, I have to. My parents would disown me if I didn’t go.”
“Where to?”
He rolls his eyes. “They were both Ivy League, so that’s their hope, but there’s no way in hell. My grades are good, but not Ivy League material. I don’t want that anyway. The only thing I ever wanted to do was be a pilot, like in the Air Force. But that’s obviously not a possibility thanks to my messed up brain, so I have to find something else. I’ll probably do business or something. My dad’s a lawyer, and I definitely do not want that. Thing is, my mom doesn’t want me to go away. She constantly worries about me, even now. It’s pretty annoying.”
I stare at my coffee cup and nod.
“Anyway, this is supposed to be coffee and fun, not let’s talk about awful crap, so let’s go do something else.” He balls up his napkin and tosses it, basketball style, into the nearby can.
“Want to go to Banks?” he asks.
“To the bank? What kind of non-date is this?”
Wes grins at me. “What do you people do for fun over at Easton? You’ve never been to the Banks? It’s the park along the river. It’s part of Mountain View Reservation.”
I look at him blankly.
“The river banks,” he says. “Get it? Banks.”
“Yeah, I get it. Nope never been. What time is it?” I look at my phone. It’s getting late. “I have to get home soon, make sure my brother is in bed and everything,” I say. A disturbed night of sleep can bring on seizures for Danny in the worst way. And if Mom kept drinking?
I have to get home.
“Rain check?”
My brows raise. “Confident, are you?”
When his grin widens, I laugh. “We’ll see,” I answer.
He swings his keys on his finger. “Let me walk you to your car, at least?”
“Fair enough.”
On the way to Mom’s car, Wes’s beeps his key fob in front of a really fancy silver SUV. He opens the door and drops the bag of extra cookies on the leather seat.
“Nice car,” I say as he closes the door.
Wes shrugs and looks sheepish. “My parent
s got it for me.”
Oh. Wow. Must be nice. But I don’t say anything, my lips so tight they could be sewn together. I’m lucky my mom even let me borrow her piece of crap car. I can’t imagine having my own, let alone one like that.
Wes shoves his hands in his pockets as we cross the parking lot toward my car. “Yeah. She always thought I’d never get to drive because of the epilepsy. So when I got the all clear to get my license since my seizures are under control, she was so happy.”
“Hmm. That’s great, though.” I can’t imagine the relief of no more seizures. A kernel of hope starts to blossom in my chest, for Danny.
“Yeah, my mom is pretty cool but she likes to show she cares with material things. Money fixes all in the McEnroe house.”
“Oh.” Okay, so I sound like a moron, but I don’t even know how to respond to that. My mom throws money at problems too. She usually buys herself a bottle of booze when she gets good tips to make her problems go away? Yeah. I don’t think so.
I bite my lip as we cross the parking lot.
“This is me,” I say, fishing Mom’s keys from my purse. I unlock the door and plop into the driver’s seat.
Wes rests his hands on the roof of the car, leaning into the open space. His tee shirt hangs away from his body and rustles in the breeze. My pulse jumps when he leans forward, tanned arms stretched above him, and gives me that smile-smirk of his. “So, when can I see you again?”
My pulse thrums in my ears, my heart yelling danger. He’s a nice guy and everything, but my recent track record proves I’m not always the best judge of boys’ character.
“I mean, for a friendly hike, to the trail at Banks I was telling you about,” he talks quickly and I smile to myself. He’s nervous.
“We’ll see,” I say. “For all I know you’re some comic book-loving serial killer who plans to take me out in the woods and kill me.”
Wes frowns. “Crap. I’m that transparent?” He flips his hair back and runs a hand down his face. “Guess I may as well change plans now.”
I laugh and shake my head. “There are no plans,” I say. “And I really have to get home now.”
9
I POP OUT of bed half an hour before my alarm goes off. The Easton Easy Mornings show may not be the Get Up and Go show, but who knows. Maybe it’s a step in that direction. I shower and get dressed, taking the time to blow my hair out straight, which is no easy feat. My makeup is on and I’m ready to go before anyone in my house is even awake.
I work quickly in the kitchen, getting Danny’s breakfast ready and packing his lunch. I bring his medicine to him and wake him up gently.
“Danny,” I whisper. “I have to go to school early to do something. Can you get yourself dressed? Here’s your medicine.”
He sits up, disoriented.
“I don’t want to do school today,” he whines, trying to flop back against his pillow. I hold him upright with one hand and wait for him to wake enough to take his meds.
He finally blinks a few times, smiling a sleepy half grin when he focuses on me. “Hi Jazzy.”
“Hey kiddo. Here you go.” He takes his medicine and I sit on the edge of the bed, watching him as he lies back on his pillow, yawning and stretching and looking at the ceiling.
“So you’ll get up and get ready?” I ask again.
“Yes!” He nearly shouts, but he turns over and pulls his iron man comforter back over his head. I sigh. He’s not always the easiest to wake up and I don’t have time to fight with him today. I look at his bedside clock and debate. I have to get to school. Pulling his comforter off his head, and making sure to turn his overhead light on, I cross my fingers that he’ll get up in time.
“Thanks.” I bend to kiss his forehead. “Summer is almost here and then no more early mornings.”
Danny groans and rolls over, blinking against the bright light. I stop in his doorway and give him one more glance. He looks okay and I say a silent prayer that the new medicine dose will keep any seizures from breaking through.
He yawns as he sits up. “Where are my shorts? I didn’t have any yesterday.”
“Hang on,” I say, going into the living room for the basket of laundry I folded earlier in the week. I bring him a pair of camo shorts. Danny smiles, the morning crankiness finally ebbing.
“Thanks, Jazzy. Snuggles?” He nestles into my side for a hug and I squeeze him tight, bringing my gaze to his level. “I have to go, okay? I’ll wake Mom, but make sure to eat your breakfast and keep on her to get up and get you to the bus stop, okay?”
He nods as I kiss his forehead one more time and go off to wake my mom. I slip out of the house only a few minutes later. Emotions tumble in my stomach, the flip flop of the excited rush I get right before a radio show, and the worry and guilt that I’m not home to make sure Danny’s morning goes smoothly.
“GOOD MORNING, EASTON High!” I pull the microphone toward me, feeling the full joy of my voice going out across the airwaves. All my worries fade into the background.
“Today is dedicated to friends, new and old. Write to me at Eastonmornings at Easton dot edu and tell me a friendship story. Who is your best friend? New friend? Old? What has a friend recently done for you that made you realize how awesome they are? I for one, have the absolute best friend a girl can have. She taught me to tie my shoes back in first grade and taught me to parallel park a car just a few months ago. Amazing how many times she’s given me a shoulder to cry on and an ear to listen, and she’s the absolute funniest person I know. So tell me, listeners, about your friendships—new, old, good or bad, send your stories in! In the meantime, here’s a song or two as you all get this amazing day started.”
I hit play, setting the shuffle to a few pop songs. I sit back with a smile and wait for the emails to come in. In the meantime, I’ll make sure Mom is up and Danny is ready.
My mom rarely answers her cell, so when her voicemail picks up, it’s no surprise. I tap the edge of the desk. We had the landline disconnected last year once she got me a cell and put us on a family plan. So it’s cell or nothing. I try again and get voicemail yet again. I hope this means she is actually getting ready or already at the bus stop with Danny, and not that she’s still in bed. Momentary panic grabs at me. What if something’s wrong? What if Danny isn’t okay?
But my playlist ends and I pull the mic to me, banishing any other thoughts from interrupting my broadcast.
“This next song is dedicated to Sunita,” I say, reading one of the emails in my inbox. “For all the times you listened and cared and are always, always there. Love you! From Shelby. What an awesome dedication. Nothing like a best friend!” I hit play on the next song and sit back again.
My text dings. It’s Frankie.
Great show this morning! Love you, bff!
I smile and text back, then scan the emails for what I’ll use in my next bit.
An email from Wes McEnroe cycles into the list and I can’t help but smile. How about a song for my new, and kind of dorky, friend? Dedicated to her time in the magazine aisle, the subject reads. And in the body of the email a song title:
Free FALLING by Tom Petty. (In case you thought I didn’t notice you almost topple over).
Very funny. Falling, eh? Well I’ll take your fall and raise you. Two can play at this game. I giggle as I scroll through my music.
I cue up a song and pull the microphone to me. “This next one goes out to someone named Sunny. This listener looks up to Sunny with great admiration, and he admits, sometimes even jealousy for how perfect she truly is as he wishes he could be more like her every day and in every way. So, Sunny, this one is for you. It’s an oldie, but here is: “Wind Beneath My Wings.”
I laugh to myself as I play the song, and slide my cell phone toward me. As I expect, it buzzes almost instantly.
OMG. wind beneath my f-n wings?
hahahahhaaa
keep laughing sunny. just wait
I finish my show, turn the recording off, and pack up to get to first period
. My program went 45 minutes and I had a lot of segments with friendship dedications and even an on-air caller with a story to share. Next Wednesday I have an interview set up with Student Government Association president Farrah Wiggins, since everyone is dying to know what next year’s budget is keeping and cutting as far as extracurriculars and specials. I really need to start prepping for it and nail down my exact questions. I’m obviously trying to get enough clips for my interview to show I know my way around a radio show and on-air interviews are a big part of that. Not that the internship will be much more than probably getting coffee and buttering bagels. Even still, I’d give my left arm to butter bagels for the Get Up and Go crew.
When I close the station door behind me, the energy of my broadcast still pulses through me as I hike my bag on my shoulders and head to first period.
“Jazz!”
My mood plummets faster than a brick dropped in water. I take a deep breath and turn around with a smile for my ex-boyfriend. “What brings you to this far corner of the school, Sebastian? I hope you didn’t come all the way over here just to talk to me. Surely you have more important before-school activities to keep you busy? What’s her name again?”
I walk fast, fast enough that he has to rush to keep up. “Jazz. Stop walking for a second. Geez, girl.”
I stop and cross my arms. “Speak.”
“Your show was great this morning.”
I compose my face into the coolest expression I can as if I’m utterly bored, even though my heart and thoughts are doing their coyote chasing the roadrunner thing. I shake my head and mentally slap myself. Why am I stopping for him?
Newsflash: I’m not.
“If you’ve got something to say, Sebastian, spit it out because I have to get to class and I don’t have time for this. Or you.”
“You seem really good,” he says quietly. “Happy.”
I don’t answer, but inside I seethe. What, does he want me to fall at his feet sobbing and begging for answers on why he threw our relationship away and cheated on me? What the hell? It’s like my not falling apart or being outwardly miserable is a disappointment to him or something. I guess my stony exterior is believable after all.
This Ordinary Life Page 7