“Oh, okay.”
He walked in and closed the door behind him. I went into my room, grabbed a pair of pajamas, and then headed to the other shower. As the water hit my body, I couldn’t let go of the feeling Elliott left me with. He was exactly what I needed when I hadn’t even known I needed it, the light that lit the darkness I’d been walking in for so long.
Traveling so much meant I never had time to know what it felt like to belong. Elliott gave me that feeling, and I’d never be able to thank him enough for it.
After getting dressed, I walked into the living room to see Elliott in his oversized clothes, scrubbing the floor. “You don’t have to do that,” I told him.
He looked at me and rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty sure I do.”
I got down on my knees and started cleaning up the mess with him. “I’m really sorry about tonight. It was perfect, until it wasn’t.”
“Yeah. It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” I stated sternly. “It’s not okay what they did to you.”
He shrugged. “I’m used to it.”
“Just because you’re used to it, that doesn’t mean it’s okay.”
“In life, you have the nobodies and the somebodies,” he explained. “It just so happens I’m a nobody and Todd is a somebody, and somebodies are able to get away with treating the nobodies any way they want. It just is what it is.”
“You’re not a nobody,” I told him.
He smirked. “Says the somebody.”
If only he knew how many times I’d been told differently.
When we finished cleaning, we tossed the dirty clothes in the washer and sat on the sofa together. I grabbed two glasses of water, and we talked—about nothing and about everything, about each other, and about everyone else.
Talking was great when both people listened. I listened closely to each and every word Elliott said, and he did the same with me.
“Why jazz music?” I asked as we both lay facing opposite directions on the sofa, our heads beside one another and our legs hanging off each end.
“Because it tells stories in such a unique way, and there are no mistakes in jazz, not really, only chances to make a misstep shine.”
“I like that.”
He nodded. “Chet Atkins once said, ‘Do it again on the next verse, and people will think you meant it.’ And Miles Davis said, ‘When you hit a wrong note, it’s the next note that makes it good or bad.’ That’s my favorite thing. You get the chance to make bad moments seem perfect. I like that about it.”
“I’ve never listened to jazz,” I confessed. “I mean, not really.”
He lifted his head a bit. “You mean you’re a normal teenager who doesn’t listen to old-school jazz? Shocking,” he joked.
I laughed. “Can you play something?”
“Sure.” He pulled out his iPod and handed me an earbud. “Don’t worry, I cleaned them.”
I placed it in my ear and closed my eyes.
As the music started, chills raced down my spine. The trumpets, the saxophones, the pain, the joy…it lit me up inside, but what warmed me the most was turning my head to face Elliott. His eyes were shut, and his lips were turned up into the happiest of grins. This was his happy place. His safe haven was in jazz. It was as if the awful moments of the night faded away as he took in the sounds.
I loved how music saved him.
“Listen to her voice,” he told me, his eyes still shut. “Listen to how she cries as she sings. It’s painful, right?”
“Yes.” It hurt to listen to the woman’s voice. It hurt to hear her suffering behind the bars she sang, but still…it was beautiful. Tears fell down my cheeks, my emotions falling out of me. “But it’s so beautiful.”
He opened his eyes and turned his head to face mine. Our eyes locked. “Exactly.”
“Who knew things could be painfully beautiful?”
“Yeah.” He wiped away my tears and shrugged. “Who knew?”
We grew closer, my heart racing, my chest tight, my butterflies still strong. We were so close, and his lips were hovering near mine. He’s going to kiss me, I thought to myself. The moment was there, and I knew he was going to seize it.
“Eli,” I whispered, my lips hovering near his.
“Jazz,” he whispered back.
But I couldn’t continue speaking. My eyes closed, and I waited. I was going to have my first real kiss with the first boy I’d ever really cared for, and right before it happened, Elliott spoke. “Why did you hook up with those boys?”
My eyes sprang open, and I saw the sincerest gaze staring back at me. “What?”
“Was it because of me?” he asked nervously. “Did they say they’d stop bullying me if you hooked up with them?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters a lot.”
My lips parted, and my voice cracked. “It’s just sex, Elliott.”
He sat up on his elbows, confusion in his stare. “What?”
“I said it’s just sex.”
He stood up from the sofa and kept shaking his head back and forth. “Who told you that?”
I chuckled lightly, confused by his sudden change of mood. “The first guy I ever slept with told me that. I told him I loved him, and he told me it was just sex, nothing else. Which is fine. It’s not a big deal.”
“No,” Elliott argued, still shaking his head. “No,” he said once more, sternly.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“That’s not true. It is a big deal.” He paused his movements, and his hazel eyes locked with mine. His tone was so adamant, so sure his words hit me hard in my chest. “It’s not just sex.”
Before I could reply, I heard keys jingling outside the door.
“Oh crap!” I hissed, falling off the sofa and hurrying to my feet. Elliott froze, and as the door opened, I felt a stabbing in my gut when I saw Ray and Mama standing there.
Mama’s face went white when her eyes landed on Elliott, and then her gaze turned livid. “What the hell is going on?” she barked.
“Jesus,” Ray murmured, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Wh-what are you doing home?” I asked, my mind scrambling, trying to catch my breath. Elliott hadn’t moved an inch, and all the color had drained from his skin.
“Is that really the question you want to ask me, Jasmine?” Mama said, her voice solid and stern. “Tell your friend he has five seconds to get out of my house.”
“We weren’t—” I started.
“FIVE!” Mama shouted.
Elliott scattered. I’d never seen a person move as quickly as he did as he left. The moment the door slammed shut, I felt a knot in my stomach as both Mama’s and Ray’s eyes peered into me.
“Snow White, what were you thinking? Bringing a boy here alone?” Ray asked calmly, because Ray never raised his voice at me. “Do you know how dangerous that could’ve been?”
“We weren’t doing anything,” I told him, my voice shaky. Mama’s stare was terrifying me. “He’s just a friend.”
“You said you were sick,” Mama scolded. She tossed her purse onto the sofa and placed her hands on her hips. “The only reason I went out with Ray tonight was because you told me you were sick and couldn’t make it to dance class or the studio to work.”
“I know, but—”
“And instead, here you are, messing around with a boy like a little hussy,” she remarked, making my skin crawl.
“Come on, now, that’s harsh,” Ray scolded her as I lowered my head.
“Stay out of this, Ray,” Mama snapped. He parted his lips to stand up to her for me, but I shook my head slightly. He shouldn’t have to fight with her over me. “You are so childish and you’re missing out on all of your opportunities because you’re running around with some boy. This wouldn’t have been an issue if you were homeschooled. So, from here on out, I forbid you to see him, or any other boy for that matter.”
“But, Mama!” I cried. “He’s just a friend.”
“No, Ja
smine, he’s a distraction, and tonight you proved that you are not capable of dealing with distractions and your career. You know the rules: three strikes and you’re out of public school. This is strike two. Now go to bed.”
I started to argue, but she wasn’t having any of it. As I lay down in my bed, I listened to Ray fight with Mama as he tried to stand up for me.
“She’s a teenage kid, Heather, and you’re treating her like a grown adult.”
“She needs to focus. The last thing she needs is some boy knocking her off her path to success. While she was running around with that boy, she was missing meetings, opportunities, her life.”
“Her life can’t be spent in music studios, dance studios, acting studios. You’re suffocating her.”
“I’m saving her life! I’m giving her more than I ever had, and if you have a problem with that, you can leave at any time,” Mama said, her voice so cold.
No…
Don’t go, Ray.
The argument ended with a slamming door and Mama remaining in the apartment. I reached for my iPod and put my earbuds into my ears to listen to music. It was the only thing left in the apartment that understood me.
Through the music, I could hear Mama’s footsteps coming toward my room, and as she entered, I pretended to be sleeping.
“I know you’re awake,” she told me. “Tomorrow you owe me four hours of vocals and three hours in the gym. You’re going to make up for every single second of time wasted this evening, and if you ever pull something like that again, you will bear the consequences. Do you understand me?”
I remained quiet as a tear rolled down my face.
She walked over to my bed and sat down, nudging me in the arm. “I said, do you understand me?”
“Yes, Mama,” I said with a slight tremble in my voice as I nodded slowly.
“Good. Maybe now you’ll think about your future instead of being a little whore for a boy who can’t provide you anything in life.”
She stood up and walked away, closing my bedroom door behind her.
As she left, I turned my music up high and silently repeated four words to myself.
I’m not a whore, I’m not a whore, I’m not a whore…
Chapter Eight
Jasmine
Monday morning, I walked into the hallway, and it felt different. The whole environment of the place that gave me the happiest moments in life wasn’t as fun. People were whispering as I walked through the hallways. I held my backpack straps and started walking faster, trying to get the idea out of my head that it was me they were laughing at, but I couldn’t. My skin crawled as I rushed to my locker to get my books, and then I stood still in my shoes when I saw why everyone was laughing.
WHORE. SLUT. TRAMP.
It was written in bright red spray paint across my locker. A janitor stood with a sponge and a bucket of soapy water, scrubbing away.
“Oh, shit,” Todd said, sliding behind me and placing his hands on my shoulders. His nose was taped up, and the skin underneath his eyes was black and blue from when Elliott punched him. “Isn’t that your locker?”
“Why would you do this?” I asked, feeling sick to my stomach.
“Me? What makes you think it was me? Trust me, everyone knows you have a million guys on your roster. It could’ve been anyone. As for me”—he moved in closer to my ear and whispered—“I wouldn’t touch your STD ass with a ten-foot pole. I told you, you committed social suicide, Hollywood. Now deal with it.”
He walked off, and I stood shaking as a crowd stood around me. Some girls mocked me, laughing, calling me “disgusting”, repeating the rumors they’d heard about me and Todd’s parties. I didn’t know what was worse—the rumors being spread or the fact that most of them were true.
“Come on,” someone said, grabbing my arm and pulling me down the hallway. When my eyes focused enough to realize who was yanking me, a bit of relief hit me.
Katie.
She led me through the hall, and we walked down a set of spiral stairs until we hit the basement floor. No classes were held down there except for auto shop, which was mostly taken by guys, which meant the girls’ bathroom on that floor was almost always abandoned.
We walked in, and she hopped up on the countertop by the mirror. “You okay?” she asked.
“Define okay,” I joked.
She frowned. “I’m sorry that happened.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Yeah, but it does. What they did to your locker is crap. They’re jerks because they struggle with the fact that this is it for them. High school is where they’ll shine before going out into the real world and realizing they are nothing more than just assholes who belittle girls because they’re terrified of being lesser than us.”
“Are you always so passionate?” I asked.
“Only when it comes to guys treating girls like crap. Yeah, I’m always passionate about that.”
My hands raced over my face. “What if they aren’t wrong, though? What if the words are true?”
“True or not, what they did is still disgusting. You didn’t deserve that. No one deserves that.”
I swallowed hard and hopped up onto the counter beside her. “Elliott’s going to see it,” I whispered, nerves writhing in my gut.
“He won’t care.”
“It’s just…embarrassing, him seeing that.”
“He won’t care,” she repeated.
“But—”
“Jasmine.” Katie placed a comforting hand on my shaky leg, and gave me a stern look. “He won’t care.” I listened to her words, but still, they were hard to believe. I wasn’t sure how I could face him, especially after seeing how he reacted at my place when he found out I was screwing around with guys to keep him from getting beat up. I saw it in his eyes when he told me it wasn’t just sex—I saw how I had let him down.
“He’s too good for me,” I told her.
“He’s Elliott.” She laughed. “He’s too good for everyone.”
“Why did you pull me away up there? Why did you help me?”
“Because I know how it feels.” Katie ran her hands through her dark curly hair and shrugged her shoulders. She looked just like her brother in many ways, from her caramel skin to her hazel eyes. The only difference between the two was how she carried herself. She held her head high while Elliott’s confidence shook. “Last year, I was you. I was the one the guys talked about. I was a junior getting attention from senior guys and I felt unstoppable. All the girls hated me, but I didn’t care. They were just jealous, I told myself. They just wished they could be me. Then, one night I made a mistake at a party. I got wasted and…” She swallowed hard. “There was a video of me doing things with a group of guys, and it got around. Needless to say, I wasn’t as unstoppable as I imagined. Come Monday morning, my locker was painted red, and the video was viewed by just about everyone at school. I was humiliated. I mean, Jesus, even my little brother saw it.”
“Oh my God,” I muttered, stunned. “I can’t even imagine.”
She nodded. “It was bad. I spent a lot of nights crying in my room. My mom didn’t know how to help me, because I couldn’t bring myself to tell her what had happened. I was too ashamed. Then one night as I was crying, Elliott came into my room, and he sat on the edge of my bed and said, ‘It’s not true, what they wrote about you.’ I laughed, because it was comedic, ya know? I knew it was true. I told him that, too. He’d seen the video, so there was no real way to deny what had happened, but still, he said, ‘It’s not true.’ I asked him how it wasn’t true, and he said, ‘Because they don’t get to label you. Those guys don’t get to tell you who you are.’”
Oh, Elliott.
“When he overheard the guys talking about me at school, he got into a fist fight with them, and obviously, he lost. That’s the reason he gets beat up so bad now. He beat up Todd’s older brother, who graduated last year. So now, because of me, he’s bullied every day.”
“It’s not your fault those guys are jerks. T
hey would’ve found a reason to hurt someone regardless.”
“I know, but I just wish it wasn’t Elliott. He’ll never admit that it bothers him, you know? He just takes the bullying,” she told me. “Which is why I worry about him, because he’d rather get himself hurt than his loved ones. He’s been that way all our lives.”
“I can see that.”
“When my mom was with my dad, he used to shout at her all the time. Then, one day the shouting turned into shoving. The next time, hitting. He normally hid it well from us kids, but one night, Dad got so upset that he went to slap Mom in front of us. Elliott leaped up and shoved Dad into a wall.” She snickered and shook her head. “He was seven years old and stood up to our dad, to protect Mom. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Elliott is a stick—there’s no part of my brother that should be fighting.”
“But still, he gets up and goes to war,” I said, my chest feeling tight.
“Yup. Every day. Every day he goes to war for the ones he loves, and he’ll make sure to go out of his way so you know it wasn’t your fault. So, I get you feeling embarrassed about him seeing what they wrote on your locker, but don’t, because he won’t care. He’ll just want to make sure you’re all right.”
When I finally built up the courage to leave the bathroom, I headed back to the world of high school. I didn’t see Elliott, though. I was both happy and sad about that fact; I was afraid of what he’d think of me, but I also craved being in his presence.
At the end of the day, I walked toward my locker, and when I saw Elliott standing next to it, butterflies formed in my stomach. He gave me a half-grin, and I gave him one right back. My locker was scrubbed clean, but still, the memories persisted.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m okay.” I shifted my weight around on my feet, unable to stand still. “Did you see my locker earlier?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
I looked down at my hands and started to fiddle with my fingers. My nerves were building more and more as I waited for his reaction, but he didn’t give me one.
Behind the Bars Page 7