Like Jazz

by Heather Blackmore

  “I don’t know you well enough to know.”

  “Ouch.” She stared out her window.

  Several uncomfortably silent moments passed, all of which found me feeling like an ass. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. No, I don’t think you’d say anything to either of them. It just sounds stupid, even to me. I’m frustrated with myself, not you, and I don’t mean to take it out on you. Okay?”

  She glanced at me, her eyes full of hurt, then grabbed the steering wheel and started the car.

  “Fuck.” I reached for the keys and killed the engine again, taking the keys and shifting my body to face her. “Sarah, please.”

  She looked at me again, her hurt starting to fade as she read my sincerity.

  I powered through to get this over with.

  “All Kip said was, basically, something…” I took a deep breath and exhaled. “Something like not wanting the prettiest girl in school to sit home on Homecoming night. That’s all he said, okay? And I’m sure he meant me, and I’m sure if I were a normal person, if I were anyone else on the planet even, it would have seemed super sweet. But I’m such a fuck-up, and I’ve heard it all before so many times from guys that treat me like a piece of meat, that only want a conquest or a piece of ass or whatever, that I wouldn’t be able to tell a sincere compliment from one designed to get me into bed. I haven’t the slightest clue how to tell the difference, and my track record so far is abysmal.

  “I don’t mean to hurt your friend’s feelings, so if you tell me he’s a great guy, I’ll trust you. But there’s no way I can go to Homecoming with him or anyone else if I have to hear one single word about how pretty I am or how beautiful or whatever, because all it does is put me on the defensive and make me recall past mistakes and wonder whether I’m making another one. All right? I’ve never told anyone that before and I don’t intend to tell anyone again. I’m just trying to convey to you that however unfair it is of me to keep potentially well-meaning people at arm’s length, and however irrational it might seem, I have my reasons. Now will you please, please just accept that I’m totally fucked up and do your friend Kip a favor by keeping him the hell away from me?”

  I was so wound up that my voice was louder than I intended, straddling the fence between anger and pain. Sarah’s eyes held so much emotion I couldn’t make heads or tails of, and her silence wasn’t reassuring. Feeling too exposed, I inserted the key back into the ignition and opened the passenger door again.

  “See you Monday,” I said.

  I felt her reach out for me like she had earlier and thought maybe I heard my name, but I needed to be alone. Racket and tote bag in hand, I closed the door behind me, hopped up the porch steps to my front door, and quickly pushed my way into the refuge of home.

  Chapter Five

  On Monday, after Wilcox’s class, I decided to try to get a moment alone with Kip. As much as I wasn’t looking forward to it, I owed him a timely response since he’d been nice as well as accommodating. I stood two steps above the quad and watched as he conversed with Sarah, Dirk, Jasper, and Amy. Still raw from our Saturday conversation in front of my house, not to mention my unraveling on the tennis court that morning, I didn’t want to talk to Sarah. That stopped me from walking over and interrupting in order to get a word with Kip. After several minutes, since it didn’t seem like the group conversation would end any time soon, I headed to the locker room to dress for practice.

  Relieved not to run into Sarah, I bounded down to the courts and sought out my usual doubles partner, Kristin. We made small talk with some of the other players for a while as we awaited Coach’s instructions for the afternoon. As we chitchatted, I glanced around to see Coach and Sarah at the base of the parking lot behind court twelve. Sarah had the ball cage with her, presumably returning it, and she and Coach were conversing. Coach nodded at something Sarah said, and then they both walked along the fence between the courts and the parking lot, until they reached the rest of us on court one. Coach handed out the drills and partners for the day, sending pairs and foursomes of girls to various courts, until only Sarah and I remained.

  Because I was the fourth-best singles player and the meets were typically played in teams of three singles players and three doubles teams, I usually played and practiced doubles with Kristin. Coach occasionally changed things around so some of the doubles players could play singles and vice versa, but it was fairly rare for Sarah and me to practice together.

  Coach studied me. “How’s that ankle?” she asked.

  “Ankle?”

  Sarah jumped in. “I told Coach how you twisted your ankle on Saturday after we’d started working on your serve.”

  “Oh. Right.” I wasn’t very adept at lying, so I turned to face Coach and told the truth. “It’s feeling pretty solid, honestly. Good as new.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure, Coach. No worries.” I flicked my eyes over to Sarah, who wore a sly grin.

  “Glad to hear it. Take it up where you left off. Cazz, I want you to focus on learning the kick serve from Sarah. Sarah, work on your return of serve with Cazz. Court eight.”

  Sarah grabbed the ball cage and we walked along the outside of the fence toward court eight. Still feeling raw from my admissions over the weekend, I didn’t hide my irritation.

  “Sarah, what the—”

  “Before you start in on me, I knew you’d probably be angry for the ruse, but I wanted to talk to you and you’ve avoided me all day.” She glanced at me as we continued to the court. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  I couldn’t argue; I had been avoiding her. I didn’t respond.

  “I thought so.”

  We got to our court and stopped at the baseline. Sarah set up the cage between us, then looked at me. “Listen,” she said. “I know Saturday was a pretty big deal for you, and I’m guessing you’re feeling vulnerable right now.”

  I shifted my gaze to the soccer field, letting my eyes settle on a boy juggling a soccer ball with his knees, head, and feet.

  “I’m sure I’m the last person you want to be practicing with today, but Cazz, you got out of the car before you gave me a chance to respond. I wanted to tell you that Saturday meant a lot to me. I’m glad you told me what you did, and I know how hard that was for you. I promise I’ll never use it against you, and I’ll never tell anyone about any of it. I feel like you gave me a gift, and it meant more to me than you can know. So thank you for telling me and letting me in as much as you did. And now, I’m going to drop the subject so you can focus on your serve, and I’m going to stay at least four feet away from you while we go over this again, so you won’t be uncomfortable. Or at least less uncomfortable, since I wouldn’t exactly call you the touchy-feely type.” Sarah said this last bit in a lightly teasing tone, trying to get a reaction from me.

  I pulled my eyes from soccer boy and looked at her. “No, not exactly,” I said with a half smirk.

  She raised both eyebrows. “So, are we good, or do I have to embarrass you into submission by giving you a huge hug in front of all our teammates and not letting go until I get you to promise to stop avoiding me?” She gave me a wicked grin. She really had my number. And she’d do it, too.

  “Aren’t you funny?” I grabbed a ball from the cage. “So. Ball toss at eleven o’clock, racket head moving across the ball from six o’clock to twelve o’clock. What else?”

  *

  Practice that afternoon felt strange, but in a good way. I felt an odd kind of peacefulness. Restfulness. Liberation. For the first time in my life, I felt that someone really got me, understood me, accepted me for who I was. Hell, liked me despite it.

  On the court, Sarah was unparalleled. She made for a tough opponent: strategic, quick, tough, and determined. She exhibited impressive coaching skills when helping me with my serve, displaying patience, humor, knowledge, and intelligence, pushing hard but not too hard. Having been her doubles partner in a tight match, I found her to be nurturing, self-confident, tenacious, and gritty. She was
all of this and more off court, whether a resourceful and analytical study partner who followed through and demanded excellence, or a fun, kind, giving, and loyal friend to those she cared about. And of course, on or off court, I couldn’t help but be struck by her physical beauty.

  Slow on the uptake, I realized that afternoon for the first time what a beautiful person she was on the inside. She’d held me when I needed to be held and backed off when I needed space. How she knew when to do one instead of the other was a mystery. But I felt grateful for it, for her. More than grateful, I felt somehow expanded, like I was a fuller version of myself when I was with her. Through the very simple act of sharing herself with me, she made me feel like I was a better person than I was—richer in spirit, more complete. What’s more, instead of feeling undeserving of her, I was buoyed by her. She lifted me up to a place that made me sense we were both special, worthy, and deserving of happiness.

  After practice, I went to the library for an hour before heading back to the parking lot to wait for my mother. Mom was notorious for telling me “five minutes” when she really meant twenty, but if I wasn’t where I was supposed to be on the rare times she actually did come in five minutes, I’d catch hell.

  As I made my way to my usual perch on the short wall, Kip was straddling his bicycle, speaking to another boy who was sitting in a car in the senior lot, talking to Kip through the rolled-down window. I decided to walk over. I stopped about twenty yards from where they conversed, and after another minute or so, the driver and Kip exchanged a fancy dude handshake and the driver sped off.

  “Kip!” I called. He turned to me and his face lit up with a bright smile. He hopped off his bike as we approached each other.

  “Hey, you,” he said. “I was hoping I’d run into you today, but I figured you’d be long home by now. You waiting for a ride?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You should get some wheels.”

  Not wanting to get into the gory details of my family’s moving history and why a car was not in my immediate future, I went with a simple reply. “Yeah, I should. Hey, I wanted to talk to you about this Homecoming thing.”

  “Great.” His earnest response wasn’t helping.

  “I really don’t think I’m up for it. I know you mean well and you think it’ll be fun, but it’s hard for me to get excited about it.”

  His smile evaporated.

  “Trust me, I’m not one of those girls who says no because she’s hoping for a better offer. I think your offer is great, and if I were going, I’d love to go with you.”

  He searched my eyes for the truth. “You’re serious.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But it’s not because of me?”

  “Definitely not.”

  He smiled slightly. “Then let’s bail on the dance and go out instead. You and me. On a date.”

  I gasped in disbelief. “Kip! No! It’s your Homecoming! This is your fourth year at Claiborne and it’s your time to celebrate. I practically just got here. I don’t have that kind of history with this place or with any of you guys. You’re super-awesome and a ton of girls want to go with you. You need to go to Homecoming.”

  “Forget about Homecoming. Say yes and go out with me.”

  I sighed heavily and practically whined his name. “Ki-ip.”

  “Ca-azz,” he teased me, sing-songing my name as I’d done with his. “Well?” He grinned.

  “God, you’re a royal pain in the ass.” I shook my head with a smile, finding him annoyingly endearing. “Fine. You win. I’ll go to Homecoming with you.”

  *

  Practice ran long for Kristin and me on Wednesday, since Coach had us playing a doubles match against our best singles players, Joanie and Sandra, to work on their volleying. Kristin and I were on fire, playing much better than usual, forcing them to elevate their game. We lost, as expected, but had some long rallies with fast volleys, and we all enjoyed the caliber of play. As the four of us filed into the locker room, a few of the other girls were drifting out. Some had already gone home. Sarah was walking out as we entered, and as we noticed each other, she reached for my upper arm and stopped me.

  “Hey. Got a minute?”

  I nodded and she pulled me outside the locker-room door.

  “What are you doing the Saturday after Homecoming?”

  Happy at the thought Sarah’s question might mean I’d be doing something with her, I didn’t hide my enthusiasm.

  “I don’t know. What am I doing?”

  “My dad’s foundation is having its semi-annual L.A. fund-raiser, and I was hoping you might come.”

  “What kind of fund-raiser?”

  “A black-tie affair with a five-course dinner, top-notch entertainment, and a silent auction. It should raise over a million dollars.”

  This had to be a joke. I played along by giving her an apologetic look and shrug. “Sorry, I left my purse at home.”

  Keeping her eyes on mine, she dropped her chin, affecting exasperation. “Not as a donor, obviously.”

  “You’re not kidding.”

  “I know it sounds kind of major, but they’re usually pretty fun.”

  “I don’t have anything to wear to that kind of thing.”

  “Don’t worry about that. The Foundation will cover it.”

  I eyed her in disbelief.

  “I’ll explain later, but it’s a nonissue,” she said.

  “Is Dirk going?”

  She shook her head. “I’d be the only one you’d know.”

  This was starting to sound better. “Assuming I’m adequately dressed, it’s not going to annoy anyone that some high-school girl is hanging out with the rich-and-famous?”

  Sarah’s eyes shifted to the locker-room entrance, then back to me, and a look of concern shadowed her face.

  “Listen, Cazz. Full disclosure. It’s selfish of me to even ask you to this event because it may be well outside your comfort zone. The truth of the matter, and something I want you to consider very carefully before agreeing to come, is that many of these donors are wealthy, powerful, often famous men. Married men, sometimes attending with their wives, sometimes not. They’re harmless, but they tend to be a little more…hmm…I guess…let’s say, philanthropic, with pretty, young girls around. They’ll be far from annoyed by your presence.” I couldn’t follow what she was trying to tell me and must have looked perplexed. “To be blunt, you’ll be eye candy.”

  I was momentarily confused. A small part of me was wondering whether Sarah had asked me to attend this function solely because it might possibly be advantageous to her father’s organization, but the other, larger part of me was staunchly defending her, telling myself she was being forthright, trying to give me the honest lay of the land so I could decide for myself whether to accept her invitation.

  My internal struggle must have been playing out on my face because she crossed her arms, glared at me, and shook her head.

  “No, I didn’t ask you to come because I think you’ll be good for business.”

  I believed her. Though I couldn’t seem to prevent my inherent—or learned—suspiciousness from creeping into my thoughts, I trusted Sarah. If I was going to get hurt, it would be beyond measure, because in less than a month, Sarah had single-handedly torn down the walls I’d instinctively spent years building around myself.

  I decided to mess with her and pretended to be offended. I mirrored her posture by crossing my arms. “I see. You think I’ll be bad for business.” I bit back the smile that was threatening to show itself and gave her a cool stare.

  Sarah appeared flustered and uncrossed her arms to gesture with her hands. “What? No! No. I didn’t mean you wouldn’t be good for business, I meant—” Realization dawned on her as she noticed the teasing smile blossoming on my face.

  “You little shit.” She gave me a light shove. “I’m glad you can joke about this, but don’t kid yourself.” She provided yet another warning. “Seriously. You’re bound to receive a lot of attention in the form of compliments
and prolonged handshakes. Are you up for that?”

  “If we’re going to be at a swanky place surrounded by hundreds of people, I think I can handle it. But I appreciate you looking after me, Sarah. I really do.”

  “So you’ll come?”

  “I’d be happy to. Thanks for inviting me.”

  She awarded me with a delighted smile. “I’m so glad. Details to follow.” She wagged her eyebrows flirtatiously, then walked away.

  If I’d been able to focus on anything aside from the prospect of having an almost-date with Sarah, the idea of hobnobbing with the jet set would have unsettled me. As it was, probably a full minute elapsed after her departure before I could recall why I was standing alone outside the locker room. Sarah had chosen me, and instead of letting doubts seep into my consciousness, I reveled in the choosing.

  Chapter Six

  Once Sarah found out I’d agreed to go to Homecoming with Kip, she insisted we join her, Dirk, and some other seniors in the massive SUV limo they’d rented. In the week and a half that followed before the big night, I saw a lot of Sarah, as I kept being invited to hang out with her and her other friends from Homecoming court. The nominees had been announced as a kickoff to over a week of Homecoming-related events, including daily dress-up themes (e.g. superhero, nerd, and pajama day), leading up to Saturday afternoon’s football game, half-time coronation, and evening dance.

  Most of these girls seemed to require an endless amount of shopping and preparation and to have a similarly boundless desire for gossip about who was going with whom, who turned down whom, what so-and-so was wearing, and so on. Sarah occasionally partook of these gossip sessions but never in a spiteful way. She seemed to be having fun with it all. I kept more or less to myself, but enjoyed being able to hang out with some of the more popular girls at Claiborne. I especially relished being in Sarah’s company, even though I missed having time alone with her.

  The night before the big dance, Sarah invited me over to her house, ostensibly for “final preparations,” whatever that meant. It turned out she wanted to spend time away from the company of others for a change, since there’d be no shortage of them the night of the dance, had been no shortage of them in the days leading up to it, and she knew I was relatively low maintenance.