by Alex Flinn
I laughed, picturing it, but that turned to a frown when Danny said I could do the same thing, send my family a picture and freak them out . . . then he realized his mistake and stumbled all over himself for misspeaking.
I said it was fine and asked him to take this photo to send to my guardian.
“You look cuter in that outfit than Daisy did,” he said as he took it.
“Could that be because she’s your sister?” I asked.
He said maybe and then asked if I wanted to race down the hill. He’d give me a head start.
When he finally caught up, he said, “You’re good. If this theater stuff doesn’t work out, maybe you can be an Olympic skier.”
I laughed. “I think I’ll stick to theater.”
“You’re good at that too. I saw that video.”
We smiled at each other. Daisy says Danny likes me. I wish I could like him that way too. Maybe I could. He’s funny and nice.
Maybe if I wasn’t constantly thinking about Jarvis.
So I said, “Let’s race again!” and took off, quick as I could, toward the lift. Maybe later in the week, I’ll send you a picture of me on the gondola.
Love, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: March 26, 10:36 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: I rode the gondola!
Dear Mr. Smith,
It was beautiful! And long and peaceful. There is just something so powerful about being above everything.
Danny was right. The trail isn’t really harder, just longer and more satisfying. I pretended I was an Olympic skier, and I didn’t fall even once.
When I was finished, I was so jazzed about having done it that I wanted to go again.
But Danny’s friend Brent said he was cold and wanted to go to the lodge, so of course, Daisy was cold too. And Phoebe wanted to get one last run in on a harder trail since tomorrow’s our last day.
Danny offered to go with me, and we boarded the gondola.
We were all alone in there, looking over the quiet mountain. I said, “Isn’t it pretty?”
And then he leaned toward me, and I thought he was going to kiss me.
“Oh, no!” I said, taken off guard. I like Danny so much! And Daisy too! I didn’t want to ruin everything!
But I also didn’t want to kiss him.
There’s only one guy I want to kiss.
I remembered how sweet Jarvis was, asking if he could kiss me that first night. It wasn’t that Danny was presumptuous, exactly. Or maybe most guys are.
He jumped back. “Oh! I wasn’t going to . . . !”
“No, it’s me,” I said. “I like you so much, but . . .”
“Daisy said she thought you still liked that rich guy,” he said.
I nodded even though he was wrong. I don’t like Jarvis. I love him.
Danny continued. “I said I didn’t think you did because you broke up with him. If you still liked him, you’d be together.”
I shook my head and said it was because of my family and everything.
Danny raised an eyebrow. “Only a jerk would care about that kind of thing.”
Then, thankfully, it was time to get off the lift. I skied down without falling in a heap on the exit and waited for Danny.
When he got there, I said, “I really wish . . .”
Danny waved his hand at me. “Nah. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made it awkward. I hope we can still be friends.”
I told him of course we could.
The whole way down, I thought about Jarvis. It would be so much easier if I could just like Danny. But that’s not how I feel. Everything that happens to me, what I want to do is tell Jarvis.
I think when he comes to school to see me, I’ll tell him we should talk.
Love, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: March 28, 10:36 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: Tech week
Dear Mr. Smith,
Back at school. It’s tech week! You can see me April 8–10, matinees on Saturday and Sunday at 2:00 and evenings on Friday and Saturday at 7:00.
You know, if you happen to be in the area.
Pleadingly, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: April 4, 11:58 a.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: Guess who called
Dear Mr. Smith,
I wasn’t going to write again until after this weekend’s performances because I’m ABOUT TO DROP with exhaustion. How do real theater actresses do it when they’re playing 9 performances per week?
But today, just as I was thinking about going to the theater, my phone rang and . . .
It was my mother. Again, for the second time. I feel so guilty. She must really have missed me!
She asked me what was happening in my life, and I told her about the play and summer programs and that I’d visited my friend for spring break. I downplayed Vermont because talking about open spaces seemed mean to someone who is incarcerated, especially in hot Central Florida. But she wanted to know about the play.
And then she asked me to sing!
Mr. Smith, I never sang for my mother. I’ve never sung for any member of my family unless you count singing with my grandma before she died. For a second, it felt like juries all over again. I drew a blank on every song I ever knew.
Then, for some reason, I thought of Phoebe, singing “Hallelujah” that first day, and how that song has all the angst of my heart, so I sang that, and when I finished, my mother was crying. She said, “Was that really you, Randa?”
She said she couldn’t believe how grown-up and talented I was, “Like a star. You’re a star, Randa,” and asked me if I remembered watching American Idol when I was little. I did!
And then she said, “Your father loved to sing. You get your voice from him.”
Mr. Smith, I never met my father. My mother never mentioned him. I assumed she didn’t really know him, or worse. So this was a revelation.
But, just as I was going to ask her about it, the call dropped.
My father could sing! Imagine.
Love, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: April 6, 2:17 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: Incredible news!
Dear Mr. Smith,
Well, good news for me, anyway.
Ava Tamargo has mononucleosis! She wore herself out with rehearsals and auditions and flying all over the country, and the doctor has prescribed at least a week in bed.
I’M GOING TO BE THE WITCH!
We have extra rehearsals after school today and tomorrow. I asked Harry whether all the publicity and controversy about me would be bad for the show. He said, if anything, it would sell more tickets. “You’ve been through so much, and you’re still devoted to your art. Who your parents are makes no difference. It’s all who you are.”
Have I mentioned I love Harry?
That made me remember Angie on the first day, saying I’d be fine if I just did the work.
Maybe Jarvis was right all along. What some internet trolls or even jealous, awful people like Brooke think doesn’t matter. What matters is people who have my back.
Like Jarvis.
I’ve been needlessly cruel to him. As Elvis so wisely said, “Don’t be cruel.” Why wouldn’t I let him make his own decision? Harry’s right. I’m awesome. And Jarvis wants to be with me, no matter what my past.
Phoebe says Jarvis is coming to my performance Saturday. I’ll tell him how I feel, how I’ve always felt.
Please come see me. I want to make you proud!
Love, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: April 9, 12:11 a.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: I didn’t see you at my performance
Dear Mr. Smith,
I looked and looked for some sign of you. Well, your loss. I was AMAZING.
Before the show, Harry announced, “The role of the Witch will be played tonight by Miss Jacaranda Abb
ott.” There was a gasp from people who recognized my name, but no one left.
And then, when I walked onstage, another murmur, probably from people trying to decide whether it was me. The Witch wears heavy makeup in the first act.
But it calmed down, and I played my part well. People laughed at the funny lines, like they’re supposed to, and got a little weepy during “Stay with Me.” In the end, when I transformed into my beautiful, glamorous, young self, people applauded maybe a little more than they should have. Some people whooped and yelled, “JA-CA-RAN-DAH!” and someone even yelled, “I love you!”
The applause at the end was genuine. I wished you could have been there. Also, I wished my mother could have been there too.
But, as Jarvis said, I’m an entertainer. That means laughing through the tears sometimes.
And at tomorrow night’s performance, I’ll see him, and it will be even better!
Wish me luck!
Love, Jacaranda
To: [email protected]
Date: April 10, 12:03 a.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: I can’t believe you!
Dear Jarvis,
I was so looking forward to seeing you tonight. Phoebe said you were coming. I’d made up my mind to talk to you, that what happened wasn’t your fault and maybe you even loved me.
Little did I know . . .
When I came onstage, I instinctively searched for you. It wasn’t hard to pick you out, the tall one with flowers. What was hard was not directing every song, every line to you.
Finally, the show ended. I rushed backstage, knowing you’d be at the stage door.
Outside, you looked at me tentatively, as if you wondered how I’d react. But I suspect you knew. I threw myself into your arms. For one moment, two, it was so wonderful to feel you close to me. I saw people taking pictures, but I didn’t care. I heard your voice in my ear. “Jackie . . . Jacaranda . . .”
And then you said, “I knew. I knew all along. Don’t you see?”
I was confused. You’d told Phoebe you knew about my mother. But that was a fib. How could you have known unless, maybe, you’d investigated me?
“How? How would you know?”
You gestured to the roses in your hand, to the card attached. You held them toward me.
I took them, opened the card. A business card fell out. Your father’s.
It said, To Jacaranda, With warm regards, Mr. John Smith.
I still couldn’t comprehend it for a moment. How could you, Jarvis, know about Mr. John Smith? None of it made sense.
Then I realized what you’d said. You’d known all along. Didn’t I see?
And suddenly, it all made sense. All the pieces came together, and I understood that you were—or maybe your father was—Mr. John Smith. I was some charity case your family was sending to school because they were so high, and I was so low.
I dashed the flowers to the ground and ran to my dorm room. Even though you ran after me, I couldn’t face you. When Phoebe knocked on the door, minutes later, I pretended not to hear, but I’m sure she could hear me sobbing.
I can’t believe you lied to me. You knew everything and you lied. You got your father to pay for my schooling. Then you used what you knew to make me fall in love with you. Did I get that right?
Did you think I needed a sugar daddy to pay my way through school? Do you believe that’s what I wanted? The poor are not pets, nor were we put on this earth to assuage your guilt about being wealthy. We have lives just as worthy as yours, even though you might not think so.
Take your love, Jarvis, and take your money. I don’t need either of them. I’ll go back to Miami where I belong.
Jacaranda Abbott
Century Hotel
11 Main Street
Rolling Hills, Michigan
April 10
Dear Jacaranda,
First, I’m sorry. You have to believe I had innocent intentions. I saw your video. You were so talented, and I thought you should go to this school, which I knew about from Phoebe. My family foundation donates scholarships there. I told my father about you. The foundation helped you because you deserved it. Yes, you’re right that I’ve always felt guilty about how much I have. There’s no way my family deserves a hundred times more than someone else’s family. But I didn’t help you out of pity.
And I didn’t plan to fall in love with you.
Yes, I read your letters at first. They were your idea, but I didn’t object. I felt like someone should read them, in case you needed something. I thought maybe I would just read one. Or two.
I didn’t know you’d write so often or in such detail. I didn’t think I’d read them all. But you snuck into my mind at odd times, as I studied or went out with friends, checking and rechecking my email for something new, wondering what you were doing at that moment. Were you singing? Were you in French class? How did your voice sound in French? Had you seen some new tree or flower, eaten some new food? Were the leaves beginning to turn where you were?
I didn’t think I was treating you like a pet, but maybe I was.
That first day, you said, “I want to be like other girls, like everyone else here except me.”
But you were like no one else, at least no one I’d ever known. Maybe you’ll say there are lots of girls out there like you: strong, smart, talented girls who keep their optimism despite terrible difficulties.
I didn’t think I’d want to meet you. But I fell in love with you, like some old Nora Ephron movie my mom would make me watch, You’ve Got Mail or Sleepless in Seattle or the musical She Loves Me, where the couple is in love, but they haven’t met.
I never realized I was lonely until I was lonely for you.
So, when I went to Ann Arbor to tour UM, I took a side trip to see my cousin, and to see you. I loved you even more in person. Just watching you eat a lobster gave me life because it was all special and new to you. But I went slowly. I didn’t want to take advantage. You have to believe I loved you, Jacaranda. I still love you. That’s why I’m writing this.
I wanted to tell you the truth. I tried to. I just didn’t know how. We were both lying to each other, weren’t we, neither of us knowing how to stop?
I promise that I stopped reading your letters to “Mr. Smith” once we met, once you started writing about me and writing to me as me. I told Vanessa to change the password and to read them all herself, in case you said anything Mr. Smith would need to know, like when you asked to go away for Thanksgiving break. That’s also why I gave you the airline gift card for Christmas. I wanted you to be able to decide whether to come see me or not. So I put the choice in your hands.
I wanted to know you as just Jarvis, the way you knew me. I wanted not to have the advantage of knowing your thoughts, though it was tempting. I wanted to let it unfold.
I wish I could have met you completely innocently, as Phoebe’s cousin. Because that was what you deserved.
This isn’t meant to justify what I did. I was wrong to lie to you. I could use the excuse that I’m “just a kid” and didn’t know what I was doing, but I should have known. I don’t plan on writing you a hundred letters or trying to wear you down. I wish you’d give me another chance, but I understand if you don’t. I hope you’ll think about it, though.
I know you think it’s best, but please, please don’t leave school. Take the money, Jacaranda. It’s only money. My father’s money. Vanessa can help you apply for financial aid, but if it’s too late to do that for next year, take the money. There’s no conflict of interest if we aren’t dating.
Take the money, and leave me.
So often, people tell me I get everything I want. But the only thing I want is you. I know I’ve thrown away your love. So be it. I want you to be happy. I want you to be successful. I want you to have the future you deserve. If never speaking to me again is what it takes to make that happen, I can live with that.
But I wish I didn’t have to.
Love,
Jarvis
To: JJarv
[email protected]
Date: April 11, 11:28 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: Please don’t write anymore
Jarvis,
I got the letter you gave Phoebe. I’ve been hiding in my dorm every minute I don’t have classes. Except I don’t even know if it’s my dorm anymore, because your family is paying for it. I want to go home except I don’t even know where home is.
You say, “Take the money, and leave me.” But I can’t keep taking your money.
I think it’s too late for me to leave MAA before the end of the year. I told Vanessa I want to go back to Miami for the summer. I asked her to contact my case worker.
At the end of My Fair Lady, Eliza tells Henry Higgins that when he took her in and taught her to speak correctly, he changed her. “I sold flowers,” she says. “I didn’t sell myself. Now you’ve made a lady of me, I’m not fit to sell anything else.”
I know how she felt. Before, I wasn’t exactly happy, but I didn’t know all the opportunities I was missing. I thought maybe someday I’d be a cashier at Publix or even a manager! That was my dream, and it was a fine one. Now, you’ve made me too good for it. You’ve ruined me.
But I’m not going to be ruined. I can go to Miami where it’s sunny and beautiful all year long, and the jacarandas are in bloom. I can work at Publix and apply to colleges. It might take longer, but I can do it.
I don’t know how I’ll manage without writing to you, either you. But I will.
Please don’t write again.
Jacaranda Abbott
To: [email protected]
Date: May 6, 2:07 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
Subject: Open window?
When the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window.
—Maria, The Sound of Music
Jarvis,
It’s been almost a month since I saw you. I’ve written so many emails I haven’t sent. But, almost every day, I think, “I wish I could tell Jarvis this” or “I should write to Mr. Smith.”