If I Tell (13 page)

Jackson smiled. “He died before I was born. According to Grams, it was just as well. He’d have killed my dad and blamed him for my mom’s death, she said.”

I nodded. “My grandpa died when I was thirteen,” I told him. “He was my real dad in the ways that mattered. Most people don’t get that.”

The two of us sat in silence, thinking of our families.

“I’d have told him,” I finally said. “About Simon, I mean. My grandpa would have known the right thing to do.”

Jackson drummed his fingers on the table and leaned forward. “What do you think that is?” He grabbed my hand.

I stared at his fingers on my own, and my heart played a mean drum solo in my chest. His hand made mine look little, almost dainty.

“What do you mean?” I whispered.

“What do you think the right thing to do is?” Jackson took his hand off mine and reached for his drink, and my fingers missed his immediately.

I thought about his question. “I don’t know.” But in that moment I realized that in my heart I did. I’d known my answer all along.

“I can’t tell. What if my mom rejected the baby if I told her? Like she did with me? My grandma is too old to bring up another baby. I don’t want to ruin someone else’s life.”

“Then don’t tell.” Jackson’s fingers tapped up and down on the checkered cloth, and I listened to the rhythm. It sounded like a song. I smiled in spite of myself. He stopped, and I willed his fingers to move again but they were still on the table.

“I guess you have to trust that it won’t happen again.” Jackson paused. “What about Lacey?” he asked.

I tucked my hands in my lap. “What about her?”

“Can she keep a secret?”

I leaned back in my seat. “I think so. No one has said a word about it. And she’s not exactly the hero in this story.”

We sat in silence for a moment, and then the waiter approached our table with a huge piece of apple pie. He placed it in the middle of the table. A scoop of vanilla ice cream had already started melting all over the crust. He put down two forks and left us with a smile.

“Mmm.” Jackson said. “Dig in, Jaz. You need to be fattened up.”

I gave him a dirty look, but he grinned and dug his fork into the pie, shoving a big piece in his mouth. “Mmm. It’s still warm. Come on. Do you know how many girls would kill to be told that they need to be fattened up?”

“Well, not me. I hate being called skinny.”

He chewed. “Skinny? Ha! You’re perfect, and you know it.”

I lifted a fork and shook it at him. “I am not and I do not.”

He laughed. “Your forehead gets all wrinkly when you frown like that.” He shoved more pie in his mouth.

I took a bite of his pie. The taste of apple and cinnamon warmed my taste buds.

“I can’t believe you’re part black.” I shook my head in disbelief. “I never would have guessed.”

He dug his fork back into the pie. “People see what they want to see.”

I took another piece of pie and thought about it. We ate in silence for a minute. I knew he’d never gone through what I had. Ignored by the black kids. Ignored by the white ones.

“So your grandma really shipped you to juvie?” I asked.

“Yup. She’s tough.” He put down his fork and folded his hands, his expression serious. “I’ve never claimed not to have faults. I’ve done some stuff. Drugs.” He grinned but looked like a boy caught with cookie crumbs on his mouth. “But now I’m back in school. Hell, I’m even holding down a part-time job.”

I wanted to ask him if he still dealt drugs. If the phone calls were what I thought. But I couldn’t make myself say the words.

He smiled. “Amber knows about juvie. I had to tell her when I applied for the job. Apparently she had some druggie years of her own when she was younger.”

“Amber?” I put down my fork, finished with the pie.

Jackson nodded. He dug in. “You want the last bite?”

I shook my head.

“Sure?”

He grinned, scooped it up, and shoved it in his mouth. “So? You want to come to my house and play?”

“Play?”

He nodded at my guitar on the floor. “I do a fierce ‘Smoke on the Water.’”

I made a face, sure he was teasing me again. “You do not. I’ve heard you sing.”

He laughed. “Okay. You’re right. I play. I didn’t say I played well. Not like you. But I play. What do you think I did to keep out of trouble at the Bad Boy School?”

I stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

“Mastered guitar chords, of course. Taught to me by fellow juvenile delinquents.”

I scowled. “You’re making that up.”

He grinned. “Nope. I learned to play guitar in juvie.” He leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “I don’t want to brag, but I have a custom-made Martin. My own inlay design.” He leaned forward, grinning at me. “But I guess you’re not interested in seeing it.”

“You do not have a Martin.” I chewed my lip, almost drooling at the thought of a custom Martin guitar.

“Oh, I do all right. You want to see it?”

Jackson drove to the oldest part of Tadita, where the mountains were clearly visible on the horizon. He pulled his car up to an old brick apartment building and parked on the street in front.

“It’s not exactly the Ritz, but it’s home,” he said with a shrug.

The building looked like it had been around for a long time. Old but still in nice condition on the outside.

He turned to me. “You sure you want to bring your guitar in?” he asked. “I don’t know if your Alvarez can handle it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Another secret. A custom Martin.” I wasn’t sure I believed him yet.

“I don’t want to make it jealous of Marty.”

“You named your guitar Marty?” I slung my guitar case over one shoulder, my backpack over the other, and opened the passenger door.

“What was I supposed to call it, Fred?”

I shook my head as we climbed out of the car, and I followed him up a sidewalk lined with cracks. I glanced at the building as Jackson got out his key and opened the glass door, holding it for me to go in first. Inside the lobby, an old orange-and-brown rug covered the floor. The smell in the hallway reminded me of old folks’ homes where I’d performed with Grandpa Joe.

We passed a group of elderly couples playing cards around a wooden table in what looked like a games room. Jackson waved at them but kept walking to the elevators even as they stopped their game and craned their heads to get a look at me.

He pressed the Up button, and the door opened right away but took forever to close. He smiled. “It’s slow so no one gets stuck. Lots of old people live here.” He grinned again. “Grandma will be happy with gossip that I brought a girl home. The whole building will be buzzing.”

The elevator sluggishly headed to the fourth floor. When the doors finally reopened, Jackson waited for me to walk out first.

“Apartment 404.” He pointed down the hall. “We’ve got a two-bedroom, which is quite an accomplishment in this building. It’s mostly the old married couples on our floor. With cats. Lots of cats.”

I smiled but didn’t say anything as we walked down the narrow hallway toward the door with the gold numbers nailed on: 404. Jackson dangled his keys, and I had a sudden fit of nervousness. I’d never been to a boy’s home alone. Who was I kidding? I’d never been to a boy’s home at all.

“Uh. Is your grandma home?” I asked, guessing she wasn’t. I hoped she was. Wasn’t. Was.

“Nope. Friday is poker night at Dorie’s.” He laughed. “Don’t look so shocked. They’re old. Not dead.” Jackson unlocked the door and gestured for me to go inside.

I stepped into a small entrance. Directly to the left was a kitchen, and a long mirrored closet door was on the right. I slipped off my shoes on the entrance mat and dropped my backpack on the floor. I avoided my reflection and tiptoed after Jackson down the hallway to the living room. The apartment smelled like an old lady. Musty and floral at the same time. I smiled at the thought of Jackson living here.

“Go and sit,” Jackson said, pointing to the couch. “I’ll get my guitar. It’s behind glass in my room. You want something to drink? Orange juice or water or something?”

“No, thanks.” I walked to the overstuffed floral couch and sat, putting my guitar case by my feet. “It’s not really behind glass, is it?”

A moment later he joined me in the living room, holding a beautiful acoustic guitar with an amazing design etched into the wood. I jumped up, pressing my hands together and bending forward to inspect the instrument, and forgot my nerves. “Oh, my God. It’s gorgeous. You did the design yourself?”

“Yup. And I picked out everything else too. The bridge-pin setting, neck, body wood, all of it. Official Mandolin Brothers original. Marty is sweet.” He stroked the body of the guitar, touching the strings lightly and lovingly. And then he held it out.

I licked my lips. “You’re sure?” I asked, longing to grab it from his hands. “It must have cost a fortune.”

He nodded. “Drug money.”

I wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. I couldn’t resist the guitar though. My fingers caressed the wood, longing to stroke the strings and bring it to life.

“Go ahead,” he told me. “Play.”

I went back to the couch and got into position with the guitar. Then with a deep breath, I began to strum. “It’s amazing,” I whispered, and then my fingers plucked out the melody from a favorite song. After that, I closed my eyes and strummed out the first chord to my song.

Jackson sat beside me on the couch.

I kept playing, realizing his opinion meant more than I wanted it to. Then, still in my zone, I quietly sang the words I’d written.

It was you I saw, and I couldn’t close my eyes.

You I saw exposing me to your lies.

What you did makes me bereft

Because instead of facing it I left,

And now I’m alone with no one to trust.

Betray me. Betray you. I must.

When I finished, I opened my eyes. Jackson sat close to me. His dark bangs hung over his face. Without thinking, I reached across the guitar and brushed them back from his forehead.

“You wrote that.” A statement. Not a question. He smiled. “You’re talented. It’s an amazing song. I’m just sorry about what inspired it.”

My eyes filled with tears.

“I’m sorry Simon let you down,” Jackson said quietly, watching me.

He licked his lips. I stared at them. Moist. Pink. They looked so very, very kissable. Compassion shone in his eyes. For me.

I wanted him to kiss me. And I wanted to kiss him more than I’d wanted anything else in my life. My whole body ached, pleading me to do it.
Be brave for once. Kiss him.
I leaned forward. Jackson’s eyes widened, but he didn’t move back. I held my breath and kept moving until I touched his soft lips with my own.

The kiss altered my body chemistry. His lips were softer than I’d imagined. Light. I breathed him in, his delicious smell. Tentatively I pressed harder on his lips, and he kissed me back. Almost on its own, my tongue darted out, and I nibbled his bottom lip. My insides quivered, thrilled with the sensation.

And then he pulled away.

Jackson jerked back, ending the moment with a horrible gasp.

My eyes sprung open at the sudden painful parting, as if he’d ripped a Band-Aid off a stinging wound. He jumped up from the couch, glancing around the room like a trapped convict. My body instantly flooded with humiliation even as my lips shook with loss. My head swam. I couldn’t speak.

He hadn’t wanted to kiss me.

“Man. That wasn’t supposed to happen.” Jackson said, reaffirming my horror. He practically ran to the kitchen to get away from me. “Play some more. I’ll get us a drink. Play.”

I touched my lips and lowered my eyes, swimming in shame. In the kitchen Jackson clanked glasses around and babbled. I listened without answering him, feeling empty but horrified. He must think me incapable of friendship with a male. He knew about me and Nathan at Marnie’s party, and now, when he’d offered his friendship and the sharing of music and his awesome guitar, I’d pounced all over him. What was wrong with me? Did I really have a need to mess everything up? I remembered what Lacey had said about screwing up friendships.

With a deep sigh, I placed his guitar down beside me on the couch and stood as Jackson walked around the corner holding two glasses filled with ice and water. Probably he wanted to dump it over my head. Calm down my hormones or something.

“Hey. What’s up?” he asked, glancing at his guitar.

I swallowed a lump. “I, uh, put your guitar down carefully. Don’t worry. I love it. It’s awesome, but, um, I have to get going.” I stared at the ground. “I kind of forgot I was supposed to help my grandma with some stuff tonight.”

“You were?” He walked forward and put the glasses down on the coffee table in front of the couch. “You’re sure? Let’s have a drink of water first. Talk about this. We need to talk.”

I bit my lip and forced a smile. “No. No. It’s okay. Really. I’m late. I totally forgot. I have to get going. My grandma is really strict. She’ll kill me if I’m any later.” I wrung my hands together nervously. “Um. I love your guitar. Thanks for showing me.” I coughed. “Uh. I’ll get my cell from my backpack and call a cab.” I grabbed my guitar case from the floor.

Jackson waved his hand in the air, dismissing me. “Jaz. We really need to talk.”

No. I didn’t want to do that. Not at all. I didn’t need more humiliation. “No. No. I have to go. Now. I’ll call a cab.”

He crossed his arms. “Forget it. I’ll drive you home.”

I nodded, embarrassed. Truthfully, I didn’t have much cash on me or else I would have insisted.

Jackson reached over and grabbed his guitar from the couch. “I’m sorry…I want to tell you…I have to…”

“No, no,” I interrupted. I so did not need an explanation of why kissing me revolted him. I forced a smile. “It’s fine. I just have to get home.” I took my guitar and hurried to the hallway and slipped on my shoes. I opened the door and stepped out into the main hallway, not wanting to be alone with him for another second. I slung my backpack over my other shoulder, clutching the strap close to my chest.

“Shit. Just a sec,” he called and rushed to his room with his Martin. When he came out of the apartment, I dashed toward the elevator as he locked up. I pushed the button and he joined me. I wished I could shrivel up and disappear into a layer of wrinkles, unrecognizable as my seventeen-year-old self and like one of the old people who lived there.

“Hey,” Jackson said. “I didn’t mean to freak you out. It’s not what you think. I have some things to work out.”

I cringed, imagining his impending “I only like you as a friend” speech, and attempted a fake laugh. “Don’t worry.” I jumped as my cell started ringing in my backpack pocket. I’d never been so happy to get a call in my whole life.

I made a big production of answering my call, and the elevator finally arrived. We stepped inside as I said, “Hello?”

“Jasmine. Where are you? You didn’t let me know where you were headed after karaoke.” Grandma sounded panicky.

I opened my mouth to calm her, but she kept talking.

“It’s your mom, sweetie. She’s gone into labor. Hard and fast labor.”

An image of my mom pulling the baby out like she’d threatened to flashed in my head, and I made a face. “But she’s not due for a month,” I said stupidly.

“Well, apparently this baby is in a hurry. I’m sure it’s because your stubborn mother doesn’t want a baby shower. Anyway, it’s coming.”

“Is she all right? I mean, is the baby okay?” Fear stabbed me. “Where’s Mom?”

“They’re on their way to the hospital. In Pullayup. Her and Simon. I’m on my way too. I’ll pick you up. Are you at Grinds? Lacey said you probably went there after karaoke.”

I blushed but spun around and glanced at Jackson. He didn’t hide his curiosity. “No. I’m with a friend from work.”

“Does she have a car? Can she get you to the hospital?” I didn’t bother to correct the mistaken gender of my friend.

“Hold on.” I covered the mouthpiece. “Could you drop me off at the hospital instead of home?”

“Of course,” Jackson said.

I lifted the phone back to my mouth. “Yup, I can get dropped there. Where do I go? Where do I meet you?”

The elevator doors opened, and Jackson led us toward the part of the street where he’d parked his car.

“The Women’s Life Care Center. Go to the triage area and tell one of the nurses your mom was brought in and who you are.”

I nodded to the phone. “Is she going to be all right, Gram-mommy?” My old pet name for Grandma slipped out.

“I think so.” Her voice shook slightly. “The baby’s early, but they have amazing doctors and facilities so…” She made a sound like a hiccup.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “She’ll be fine.”

“I know. I know. God. Your mother never does anything according to plan.”

She hung up without saying good-bye.

“The baby?” Jackson opened the passenger door for me and held it, waiting for me to get in.

I put my guitar in the back and climbed in. “It’s early.” I really wanted the baby to be okay. I sat and lifted a nail to my mouth and started chomping it.

Jackson didn’t offer false or empty words. “I’ll get you there fast.” He looked in the backseat. “You can leave your guitar with me instead of dragging it to the hospital. I’ll get it back to you.”

I glanced back as he closed the door and went around to the driver side of the car. I wanted to take everything with me and never have to see Jackson again, but dragging the guitar around the hospital wouldn’t be appropriate under the circumstances. Jackson opened his door, jumped in, and revved the engine.

“She’s going to be okay. Don’t worry.” He sounded a little scared himself though, as he put his foot on the gas and drove me toward the hospital. We barely spoke the whole way there. I quietly worried about my mom and her baby and looked out the window, trying not to think about the kiss. The horrible, wonderful kiss that might have ruined everything with Jackson. But I didn’t even have time to think about that now.

Things were about to change again.