by Alex Flinn
We drove to a gas station next, and Jarvis insisted I sit in the car while he blew up the giant blue-and-gray sled. Through the window, I could tell he was shivering. He dropped his quarters for the air pump twice, but finally, the sled was inflated, and he managed to squeeze it into the backseat. When he got back into the car, his teeth were chattering. His face felt frozen to the touch.
I put my arms around him. “Are you okay?” I asked.
He said he was fine, but I could feel him shaking. “It’s c-colder than New York.”
I said maybe it was too cold to go sledding, but he seemed determined. “If I’m going to go to school in Michigan or Pittsburgh, I need to get used to it.”
Finally, we decided to drive through McDonald’s and get coffee drinks. We warmed up in his car for a while. Then we drove to the sledding hill. There were dozens of kids who’d had the same idea. We finished our coffee, then joined them.
“I’m still scared,” I said as we settled onto our sled at the top of the cold hill.
“Remember what I said yesterday,” he said. “I’ll protect you.”
I pulled his arms around me. “Okay,” I said. “I’m ready.”
He pushed off, and then we were flying. It was the most thrilling feeling I’ve ever had, the motion, the cool wind in my ears, my face, Jarvis’s arms around me, and when we reached the bottom, I said, “Again!” His eyes were shining, and he kissed me.
We flew down that hill maybe ten times, maybe more. Every time, I was afraid. Every time, I felt safe in Jarvis’s arms.
“You’ll be ready to try free-climbing in no time,” he said.
Finally, it got too cold, so we went back to Jarvis’s hotel to warm up by the fireplace. Then we ordered room service for dinner (I’ve never had room service before!).
“I want to change my answer,” Jarvis said to me later. “Maybe I love you because you sing Elvis songs in roadside diners.”
“And maybe I love you because you take me to such great diners,” I said. Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, and I plan to give him a book called Diners of Pennsylvania, for when he gets to Carnegie Mellon.
“Is that the only reason?” he asked.
I nodded. “The only reason.” But we both know that’s a lie.
“What if there was something bad about me that you didn’t know?” I asked.
Jarvis said there was nothing in the world that would make him not love me.
“How do you know?” I said.
“Try me,” he said. “Tell me what’s so awful, and I’ll tell you why it doesn’t matter.”
I shook my head.
“Is it some embarrassing childhood memory?” he asked. “Like my thumb-sucking?”
When I shook my head and said it was worse, he said, “Have you hurt anyone?”
I told him no. He said, “Is there another guy? Are you a spy, sent to ruin my good name? Are you an ogre by night like in Shrek?”
No and no and no again. He said, “Do you think Andrew Lloyd Webber is a better composer than Stephen Sondheim? Or you don’t believe in global warming?”
Laughing, I answered no to both of those. “I’m not a monster,” I said.
His voice became serious. “Did you change your mind about loving me?” he asked.
“Never,” I said.
And it’s true. Nothing could make me change my mind about Jarvis. Nothing.
“Then I won’t change my mind about you either,” he said. “Let’s just be happy.”
I nodded. Maybe that’s enough. Maybe after years of being sad, I deserve this, deserve this school, this boyfriend, this life.
Jarvis is stirring. He just beckoned to me to go to sleep.
And I think I will.
Good night.
Love, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: February 14, 1:08 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: Can I talk to you?
Dear Mr. Smith,
Is there any way we can possibly talk? Something awful has happened. I suspect you know what it is. I’m alone and need adult guidance.
Love, Jacaranda
P.S. I’m very unhappy.
To: [email protected]
Date: February 14, 4:45 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: What happened
Dear Mr. Smith,
I spoke with Vanessa, and I feel calmer now. She said you were away.
This morning, I woke to snow outside. I was warm and secure in Jarvis’s arms, and I could smell bacon cooking somewhere. I know it was wrong to sneak out overnight, but half the school was on vacation with their families on the holiday weekend, and since I don’t have one of those, I felt like it was partly justified.
But maybe not. Maybe circumstances have proven that I had no right.
We dressed and went down to the coffee shop in the lobby. It was adorable, with windows all around and a panoramic view of the silver-and-white world outside. We were watching two kids in red snow jackets build a snowman when I realized other people were staring at us.
Jarvis, as usual, ignored them. He’s used to being a celebrity. But I had a weird feeling people were looking at me, not him. Then a middle-aged woman came over and said, “Excuse me? Are you the girl in that video?”
At first, I thought she meant the Publix video (which I’d never told Jarvis about), but she said, “You know, the Elvis one?”
It took me a second to realize what she meant. Then it came back to me. That guy filming me!
How could this happen twice in a year? When am I going to listen to my grandmother’s advice and keep my mouth shut and stop making a public spectacle of myself?
Of course, the first video, people saw because I was talented. This time it went viral because of who I was with!
I told her it was me, and Jarvis said, “Isn’t she wonderful?” She started to gush that I was, and meanwhile, Jarvis googled the video. He found it in seconds and showed it to me.
It was as I remembered, me bebopping around the diner, looking adorbs. But when I handed Jarvis’s phone back and searched for it on my own, I found thousands of hits for it—many with the headline, “Pendleton Heir Seen with Jailbird’s Daughter in Michigan Diner.”
“Jailbird’s daughter.” That was me. I scrolled through the articles. Some connected me to the Publix video. They called me Jacaranda. One noted that an anonymous MAA “friend” first tipped them off about my mother being in jail “for murder.”
But who at MAA knew?
My first thought was Falcon. But she wouldn’t do that.
Brooke! From my computer that day. She’d seen my emails, all of them.
What did I do to make this girl hate me so much? Was it just because I made her feel stupid that day I talked back to her? Are people that vindictive?
The articles kept going on and on, calling my mother a “jailbird” like the guy on the Get Out of Jail Free card in Monopoly, a caricature with no humanity. And the comments! I was a gold digger. And garbage. Or they said Jarvis had been taken in by me, like Jarvis was gullible, instead of being a brilliant guy who got into MIT.
Jarvis held out his hand, trying to cover my phone. “Don’t read the comments, Jackie. Don’t you know you can never read the comments?”
I wanted to puke. I stood and rushed from the restaurant as fast as I could. Jarvis followed me to the elevator, waving away some people who were getting on. I collapsed against the wall. Jarvis put his arms around me.
“Stop,” I said. “I’m awful. I’m taking advantage of you. They all said it.”
“Who said it?” His voice was disbelieving. “Internet trolls? I don’t care about them.”
“But you should care,” I said. “They’re right. I lied to you.” I kept going on, that I was a liar, unworthy of him, and he was trying to calm me down, saying he loved me no matter what. He said he loved me because of the hard life I’d been able to overcome, because I was so optimistic against all odds.
I wished I could believe him
, but no one is that kind. And, besides, I wanted to be with someone who didn’t have to love me due to kindness. Maybe that’s why my mother had so many worthless scrub boyfriends over the years. Maybe she knew she wasn’t worthy of anyone better. Maybe I’m not either.
The door dinged. I broke away and ran to the room. I began gathering my belongings, with Jarvis begging me to stay. I stuffed everything into my laptop bag and headed for the door. I told him not to follow me. I didn’t want a big scene in the lobby. I’d get a car back to campus. I left Diners of Pennsylvania on the nightstand.
When I last saw him, he was sitting on the hotel bed. I think he was crying. I felt like a hand was squeezing my heart like one of those stress balls.
He made one final attempt to call me back. “You are the most fascinating, passionate girl I’ve ever met, and I love you no matter what,” he said. “Do you understand, Jackie?”
“It’s Jacaranda,” I said, heading for the door.
I saw him sink to the floor as the door slammed behind me.
As soon as the elevator closed, I broke down. I wanted to go back and tell him I loved him too. But I didn’t. Instead, I blocked his number on my phone. He’s better off without me.
I got back to campus somehow. I don’t remember. When I reached my dorm, there was more trouble. They’d been looking for me last night, after the video blew up, and found out I wasn’t there.
There will be a meeting Tuesday morning about my future here, whether I have one.
I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.
Love, Jacaranda
P.S. I want my mother.
To: [email protected]
Date: February 15, 10:45 a.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: Thank you!
Dear Mr. Smith,
I got Vanessa’s message, saying she’ll be here Tuesday to support me. I guess she’ll be here to help move me out if they expel me too.
I didn’t leave my room all day yesterday, not even to eat.
I couldn’t face my classmates. All those websites reported the story of sweet Jarvis involved with sketchy me. They acted like I was the one who’d been convicted of a crime. They all said I’d lied to him, which was true. But I hadn’t lied to get away with something. I’d lied because I didn’t want them to sneer at me. I wanted to have friends here.
Now I can’t look at any of them without wondering if they’re thinking that I’m all those terrible things people posted.
I’ve been crying so hard that if I cry any more, I’ll dehydrate, and there will be nothing left but a pile of Jacaranda dust on the floor.
I’m on my second day of not leaving my room.
Someone’s knocking on the bathroom door. Daisy! She has food!
I yelled at her to go away.
She’s knocking louder. She just said, “I’m going to keep knocking, so you might as well open it while the waffles are still hot.”
I’ll write later.
Love, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: February 15, 9:15 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: Daisy
Dear Mr. Smith,
When I dragged myself to the door, Daisy was holding a plate of waffles with syrup and bananas on them. She pushed her way into the room, saying, “I’m your friend even if you didn’t trust me with your secrets.”
Ouch.
Behind her, I heard Phoebe say something about how she couldn’t believe I lied to her. She’d had me staying in her house. Like I might have murdered her in her sleep. Or made off with the silver. Or made off with her cousin!
Daisy pulled the door closed behind her. “She’ll get over it,” she said.
Daisy went on. “You should have told me. I would have understood.”
“You tell people your mother’s in jail, and they think they know everything about you,” I said. “I just wanted things to be normal.”
“I get that,” she said, and gave me a hug. “Now eat.”
At dinnertime, she insisted I go to the cafeteria. She sat on one side of me, with Falcon on the other. David joined us across the table, and he’s tall, so he blocked some of the people staring.
I didn’t see Phoebe, but I saw Brooke, holding court at a table across the room, whispering to her friends, some of whom I’d thought were my friends too.
It will probably be better next time. If I don’t have to leave school forever.
I’m going to try really hard to stay. At least here, the ice is broken.
Love, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: February 16, 7:00 a.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: Meeting today
Dear Mr. Smith,
I’m lying in my lavender-and-white bed, typing this on my phone. It’s probably my last day at MAA. Where will I go? I’ve moved so many times, both when I was a kid and we got evicted or when my mom broke up with a boyfriend. Or later, when she was in prison. But this is different. This time, I had hope.
My meeting’s at 8:00. I’m too sick to eat breakfast.
I’m sorry I disappointed you.
Oh, God! Someone’s at the door! Are they coming for me early?
Love, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: February 16, 10:14 a.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: Phoebe
Dear Mr. Smith,
It was Vanessa! In a red dress, which she said was her power outfit. I wanted to ask her if she was wearing her fancy red-bottomed shoes (I now know they’re Louboutins), like the first day.
At the meeting, they discussed my many sins. I’d snuck out. With a boy! And it wasn’t the first time. That time I got dragged out to karaoke counted against me too. They mentioned which rules I’d violated and the possible penalties, including expulsion. Then they asked me if I had anything to say. And they waited.
It took me a minute to say anything at all. When I did, I said I was sorry. I was grateful for the opportunities I’d had, and if they gave me another chance, I’d be perfect. I mentioned that I had good grades in all my classes and had gotten a part in the musical and was going to all the rehearsals. I didn’t know what else I could say. There was no excuse.
At that point, someone knocked on the door, one of the ladies who works in the office. When she came in, she said, “Mr. Hudson is here.”
Harry walked in.
Why was Harry here? Was he mad at me too?
He looked at me gravely and cleared his throat.
And then he spoke in his melodious voice.
“Jacaranda Abbott is one of the hardest-working students I have ever had the privilege to teach. She started the year two years behind most of her classmates, never having taken an acting class, never having taken dance, completely unfamiliar with music theory, and she has blossomed. Whatever I ask her to do, she does without complaint. She learns from her mistakes, and she improves. She took a small role in the spring musical and has approached it as if she was the star. I wish I had more students like Miss Abbott.”
I was trying not to jump up and down in my seat.
“Additionally,” he said, “she’s helpful to other students. This past semester, I asked her to assist a fellow student who was struggling with a song. Even though the two girls weren’t friends at the time, Miss Abbott helped her, and they both improved.”
Phoebe! Harry’s Parent Trap setup!
He continued. “This other student is a young woman who, while very gifted, suffers from such crippling stage fright and anxiety that it has inhibited her progress. Miss Abbott has since befriended her, and this young lady has improved by leaps and bounds, to the point where I have given her a lead role in the musical. I’ve brought that student to speak on Miss Abbott’s behalf.”
He walked over to the door, and Phoebe came in. I hadn’t cried when I said goodbye to the guy I loved, but I burst into tears when I saw Phoebe.
She gave me a look that said, “Stop crying.” Then she spoke to the room. “Harry’
s right. Jackie’s been great. She’s an inspiration. And it was my fault she stayed out. She was going to come home every night at 10 over the weekend, and I was the one who suggested we could cover for her. If anything, you should kick me out.”
Even though she knew that would never happen, it was sweet.
After she spoke, they told me and Vanessa to wait outside while the faculty deliberated. We sat in chairs they’d left for students waiting to hear their fates. Vanessa took my hand. Phoebe took the other hand.
I wanted to thank her for what she said, but I knew it would be weird, so I squeezed her hand and Vanessa’s hand too. They both squeezed back, and I felt so much love right then. Maybe it would be okay.
The final decision was to kick me out of the play for the first week’s performances. I could play my part the second week. “This is an extremely lenient punishment because of your previous exemplary academics and conduct and Harry’s testimony,” Miss Pike said. “But if anything of the sort happens again, we’ll have no choice but to—”
“It won’t happen again,” I assured her. “Thank you! Thank you!”
I felt, if anything, sicker than before. Maybe I was sick the whole time, but since I was so unhappy, I hadn’t noticed. Now when I stood, I felt the world turn gray, and I sat back down again. Harry told Phoebe to walk me back to my room and get me something at the cafeteria. Before we left, Phoebe asked if she could talk to him while I waited.
“What did you say?” I said on the way up.
“I told him Brooke was definitely the one who told the reporters about you, and that he shouldn’t give her your part. That’s probably what she wanted all along.”
Whoa. I couldn’t help but laugh.
Phoebe brought me a muffin. She said, “Jarvis said he already knew about your mother.”
He didn’t. This was obviously just something he’d told Phoebe so she wouldn’t hate me, but I nodded and thanked her for the muffin.
After she left, I lay there, sniffing the cool air, listening to the familiar sounds, someone shoveling snow, a distant trumpet. We so seldom know how lucky we are when it’s happening, but I do. I am so grateful for still having the right to lie in this bed.