Old chapters with little changes, because I think they’re good enough.
Chapter Eight
“Sorry, I’ll have to gather a few things—” I started, busy tidying the markers scattered on the benches.
“I’ll wait for you at my car, yeah?” Kaiser politely offered.
“Thanks.” I nodded and grabbed the markers in one hand, the drawing in the other, and returned the markers while watching Kaiser go. It felt almost normal to talk to him, like I was someone else—a normal girl without the burden of her past, without a façade, without an image to maintain, without any evil intentions—anyone else but me myself. How odd. And the strangest thing was that I actually enjoyed the exchange. It felt like talking to a friend.
A friend, as in a true friend.
How odd.
I supposed I should be frowning because of all the confusion and puzzlement spinning up in my stomach, but there was this warm feeling that overwhelmed my mind and brought a light smile on my face. But, heck, I was smiling to no one in particular.
“Jesse! Can I keep your work?” Ms. Evans’ voice startled me a little, but I quickly adjusted and agreed with a smile.
“Good. I’ve lost Kaiser here, though. Could you perhaps…find some way to give it back to him?” She asked uncertainly, waving my drawing of myself in the air.
“I can do that.” I took it and smiled at her.
“Thank you!”
“Welcome, Ms. Evans.”
With that, I stuffed the drawing into my bag and walked out of the art room, while rolling my drawing and fitting it into the portfolio.
It wasn’t until I was transferring books from my locker to my bag, did I notice something wrong.
The sketchbook was missing.
As much as I wanted to calm down, I buried myself into my locker, which still had a strong scent of cheap perfume, and went on for a frantic search. I couldn’t find it anywhere! I fished through the pile of worksheets and notes without success. My fingers brushed the top shelf of the locker finding nothing. My heart leapt into my throat. Shit. This wasn’t helping anything.
Maybe I left it behind in the art room? Maybe it accidentally slipped out of my bag? Maybe someone, somehow, got hold of it—no. That would be downright disastrous. All hell would break loose.
I ran back to the art room and quickly looked for my sketchbook. I muttered losing something to Ms. Evans and started searching. No sign of it. I bent down and looked under the stools and tables, still finding nothing. I jerked and stood up straight again, my necklaces swinging from the motion. It must be here, somewhere; I must find it, or else…fuck, I couldn’t even think of what would happen if it got into the wrong hands.
I looked for it in the whole art room, still finding nothing.
A cold panic gripped my heart, while my mind launched into a frenzy frustration.
I ran out of the art room and started tracing back the classrooms I went throughout the day. I looked for the English room, the Calculus room, the cafeteria where I was forced to sit with the bitches and laugh along with them, and the paths I took. Still couldn’t find anything. Fuck!
I was briefly tempted by the idea of tracing the school campus once to look for my sketchbook, but I suddenly remembered I promised to meet Kaiser at the parking lot. He should be bored by now. I’d better go meet him, like, right now.
A scowl dragged down my face. I walked as fast as I could, with anger evident in my large steps.
I stopped at the middle of the stairs.
Mother fucker.
Don’t tell me someone stole it.
My mind shut off for one full minute, before I regained my senses and started arguing with myself that such a possibility simply did not exist.
No. Someone stole it. The suspicious me pointed a finger.
No one did. The reassuring part of me replied calmly.
Someone did. That devil cried again.
No! No one did that. No one could do that to me, I thought.
I felt torn into two halves, as this internal debate threatened to make me cough, gag, cry, and giggle all at the same time. But as much as I wanted to deny it, deep down in my heart, I knew that possibility of someone stealing my sketchbook from me existed. I knew.
I took a long breath. And one more.
Let’s not think about it for now. I had someone to meet. I had some place to go to. I had to work.
Slowly I managed to move again, and in quiet, mechanical steps, I made it to the parking lot, and saw Kaiser chatting with some of his friends by a black Mercedes. That was his car? It looked awfully new, shiny and expensive. Somehow it reminded me of Nicole’s Prada purse—she’d probably throw it into her walk-in closet by now. The thought of Nicole added a horribly heavy weight to my stomach.
Oh shit. I wrote about Nicole being a lesbian in the sketchbook.
If someone read the sketchbook, that means I’d betrayed her.
The son of a fucking bitch.
I did that. I did the thing that I despised the most. I betrayed someone; and I hated being betrayed with a fucking passion. The irony in the whole thing was so damn tremendous it made me want to chuckle. But before I noticed, tears were streaming down my face.
“Shit!” I hissed, my voice broken. I brought my hands to my eyes and wiped them off, but they kept coming. “Shit! Shit!”
My nose felt hot and wet and sore, and my eyes were hot as well. My whole body seemed to be shaking, and my hands were trembling. Grief and anger and frustration and so many negative emotions I couldn’t even begin to understand seized my heart rudely and were squeezing it with the hugest force it could manage to bring upon. It hurt. Suddenly it hurt so much, it’s like I wasn’t only crying because I betrayed someone, but also because of me failing to keep the sketchbook safe and sound, me failing to respond to Nicole’s confession, me failing to maintain a fake friendship with Allie, me failing to do so much, me always screwing up the things I planned and laid out for myself, and me always just—damn it—screwing up.
It didn’t make sense anymore. Or like I didn’t really want it to make sense.
Why did I have to be so weak-willed? Why was I always screwing up? Why was I always making mistakes? Why was I making the same mistakes all over again? First I rejected someone again, and then I joined in the popular crowd again, and then I went on to flirt with someone and had my hopes kicked up again, and then I lost it again, and then…and then I stood here and bawled my eyes out all damn over again.
The tears tasted bitter and salty on my tongue. I swallowed a lump of snot. Crying wasn’t pretty. The train of emotions you feel when you’re crying isn’t pretty either.
The logical part of my mind was still dutifully reminding me of me having to meet Kaiser somewhere out there—I couldn’t see! Everything was so damned blurry—and I was still dumbfounded and stuck by my overwhelming sorrow.
It was like someone suddenly cutting out all the light from this world. Flipping a switch, and then the lights went off in a snap. Power off. I felt like being in the dark once again.
But did I really want that to happen again?
I stopped crying gradually, as a voice in my mind asked: don’t you have any control over what was happening right now? Could you at least go change a few things? Could you at least confront your fears and mistakes?
Although every fiber in me screamed of that being far too much, I somehow pulled myself together, and dried my tears, combing my hair with my fingers and calming down, preparing myself to meet Kaiser.
It was me who eventually chose to step out of the shadow and go into the wide blinding light outside again.
That moment I stepped out of the doors, I felt something inside me shifting, changing, as if I finally decided to release something that I’d been gripping on so tight and holding it against myself. I was admitting the mistakes I made in the past. I made them. I did. And I regretted it now.
Perhaps, just perhaps, I was starting to forgive myself.
I breathed in and out slowly, and my shoulders suddenly felt a lot freer, like an invisible weight being lifted off them. I conflicted with myself for one last second and bravely walked up to Kaiser.
“Sorry for having you wait for so long,” I said in a breeze as Kaiser noticed my swollen eyes and red nose, raising a brow and looking alerted, “I think something in my locker triggered an allergic reaction or something.”
He instantly looked relieved, “Oh. Are you okay? Did you have meds with you?”
“Yeah, it’s getting better now.” I responded. The words left my mouth, and I realized that I wasn’t only talking about the make-believe allergic reaction, but myself and everything in general. It felt good. I felt lighter.
As I sat myself comfortably in his lush car, telling him Adagio’s address, he asked me if I mind listening to some music. I said okay and asked him what he usually listened to; he smiled in response and put on some jazz and rock. I told him I liked jazz especially if they were sung in a language I did not know. He laughed and asked me why; I answered. We made small talk and I was at Adagio in fifteen minutes, still being a lot earlier than the time I’m required to check in.
He rolled down the window and waved. I waved back and watched his car zooming off, leaving behind a faint scent of his shampoo around me and dust and smoke. I stared into the distance, and for once, my mind felt warm and blank, and serenity finally found its way to my heart.
Even though I still panicked a little and quizzed on who took away my sketchbook, I felt oddly peaceful. At least I didn’t have to carry the weight of others’ secrets for now. If someone decided to let them out to the public, just let it be. Let it be. Let it be that I betrayed Nicole and many more people. Let them hate me. It’s not like I don’t care, but I had a fleeting sense that everything would be all right in the end, if I really wanted it to be that way. I had a little, if not any, confidence in myself being able to get it over with. I could probably survive this, if I survived the worst. This would be nothing compared to what I experienced before.
For once, I didn’t worry about the future, and was purely enjoying the present.
The next day I was back at school, I sort of expected everyone staring at me and talking about me, or some kind of prank waiting in my locker, or an announcement be made, or a poster being pinned onto the board, or insults written all over my desk, or a full water bucket being poured onto my head…but none of these happened. Nothing really happened. I still went to my classes as usual and stayed with the Silvia gang, smiling at their jokes and having a good time with them. Classes passed in a blur.
Throughout the week, I had two more art doubles and earned myself four more errands from Kaiser. (Ms. Evans decided to stretch the Impressionism portrait thing a bit more and asked us to do an acrylic version of it, so I did that and another project about animal cartoons with markers for Kaiser.) Doing some addition and subtractions, I found Kaiser owing me 2-2+2-1+4=5 errands. He obviously disliked owing people much and politely asked me to use them as soon as possible, and that he was really willing to do anything for me.
His exact words were: “Seriously, Jess, instead of having to worry about future errands, I would rather you order me to do crazy things.”
“Well, what kind of ‘crazy things’ are you talking about?” I asked.
“That’s a good question. Something along the lines of…a dare? Like, skinny dipping in the public pool, challenging the teacher, wearing a shirt with cuss words, a play date, a fake kiss or whatever…” He looked away as he said the last two activities in a small voice.
Oh.
Something sparked in the air at that instant. I felt utterly self-conscious at the way he was eyeing me and the tip of his ears getting redder, and he fidgeted on the stool of the art room.
But the experienced Jesse laughed at that, chiming, so that was his definition of crazy stuff? He’s just taking advantage of the deal! Don’t let him trick you and take the upper hand, fool.
So I said neutrally, “That sounds pretty middle-school to me.”
He glanced at me and at the floor and at me again and at the windows before he said, “Solomon, was that an insult?”
“If you would like to think of it in that way.” I shrugged, a grin threatening to control my lips.
“I consider things very seriously, if you have not noticed before.” He scoffed and finally looked into my eyes, asking, “So what are your examples of crazy things, huh?”
“Well, they’d have to be…crazy.” I started slowly.
“Way to state the obvious, Jesse.” He commented sarcastically.
“Don’t interrupt, okay? I’m thinking!” I complained, and cleared my throat before saying, “I would say things like…drinking your head off. Or pole dancing. Or wear a French-maid dress to school for a day. Or go into some shop and buy a bra. Or kiss a male teacher. Or…drive three hours to somewhere and take a photo to prove that you went there, and drive back. Or take up an extreme sport. Or jump off cliffs into the sea water. Or, you know, pretending to be someone that you are not for fun. Or making really, really smart pranks on…”
“On whom? I would like to do that for you, your highness.” It wasn’t until he asked that I noticed his eyes were shining like stars; bright golden stars, with excitement and action and hope and being challenged. I stopped speaking, and he filled the silence for me by saying, “Professional Prankster Kaiser Logan at your service.”
I opened my mouth, and shut it.
“Name the victim, huh?”
Damn, his offer was so tempting.
I shook my head and said, “Not so soon. I haven’t even decided on asking you to do that kind of crazy stuff yet. They all spelled so much trouble, and, of course, I would like to get your ass in one big trouble.”
“Oh no. Oh no. I feel like I have just dug up my own grave.” He panicked but with a grin plastered on his face, pressing his hands to his chest for effect.
“Be alarmed.” I grinned back, and turned back to my work.
“Wait, so you’re still not using any errand?” He sounded legitimately panicky, and I shot him a look, sighing, “Anyone taught you to be patient with girls? You’ll scare your girlfriends off some day with that attitude of yours.”
“That’s one of the reasons why I opt for celibacy.” He shrugged, the grin back on his face again.
Although I was tempted to question him on the other reasons of opting for celibacy, I finally said after some thought, “Maybe I’ll call soon. I’ll call you in this week when I can finally think of something.”
“Cool. I’ll sleep with my phone on.” He smirked.
“Yeah, yeah, as if you like being called up in the middle of the night.”
“What? It was fun!”
“Well, it was just me being a bitch…” A confession slipped out of my mouth. I regretted it instantly.
“No, you were just having a bad day, and needed food.” He said it so firmly that I was momentarily caught off guard, dumbfounded, staring at his straight face. He added as he scratched his head, “Uh, I mean, like, you haven’t been sleeping well, right? And, things could happen…”
While half of me wondered about his purpose of saying this and how on earth would he look into my mood on that particular day, I felt strangely warm for being understood by someone else.
“Besides, I love adventures, especially in the middle of the night.” He babbled as if he wanted to cover up something, saying, “Okay, I don’t know if you read or not, but there was this book called Paper Towns starting off with something like a midnight adventure, all about pranking and getting back at people…”
“And then going on a road trip, right?” I finished.
“You read it?” His expression resembled from a five year old puppy getting Birthday presents—wait, did puppies get presents? For birthday?
“Uh, I don’t read a lot, but, yes, I did.” I answered. True, Beth—her again; her name was forever associated with books—strongly recommended reading John Green and got me a John Green box-set as a Christmas present. (I had told you that before, didn’t I?)
“Seriously?”
“Yes…” I swore he looked so eager with his eyes wide in wonder and disbelief and joy, and…perhaps, it was cute in a way that I seldom find in boys.
“You’re my favorite person in the world! Shit! You read John Green! You read Paper Towns! You’ve met Margo and Q!” He exclaimed loudly that Ms. Evans eyed us with amusement. I immediately shushed him as the other boys were starting to glare at him.
“Oh my god. Oh no. This is so freaking fantastic. I finally met someone in the school who understands the awesomeness of John Green; I’ve been waiting for someone like you to appear all the time—” He started frantically, all giddy and happy.
I cut him off, “In my defense, I didn’t like Paper Towns that much; I preferred The Fault in Our Stars.”
“It doesn’t matter which one you like better.” He waved it off easily, saying, “You read it. You understand it. And then you’re my buddy.”
“Sorry, why are we getting all friendly? Did I miss something?”
“My point is, you read John Green, and you’re my friend.” He deadpanned.
“Okay. I’m trying not to feel…weirded out.” I grinned.
“It doesn’t matter what you feel, you will be my best—”
I cut him off again, partly because I didn’t want to hear the rest, partly because I realized we got sidetracked, “Wait, where were we just now? Why were we talking about this?”
“What? Oh, about midnight adventures.” To my relief, he didn’t seem to be annoyed by my bad habit of interrupting, and responded.
“Right. You really don’t mind one of those?” The doubt in my voice was evident.
“Yes!”
“…But, I’m not sure I can plan things out as comprehensively as Margo did...”
“You don’t have to. As long as you have an aim, and something to do.”
“A…general direction?”
“Yeah. That would be great, ‘cause I want to contribute too.”
“Well…okay. I’ll think of something.” I nodded after a moment of hesitation.
“Cool.”
He grinned and launched another discussion about reading preferences. I told him my book bank was pretty limited, but he insisted to know, so I truthfully recounted Twilight, The Hunger Games, Harry Potter, Fallen, Paper Towns, Looking for Alaska, An Abundance of Katherines, The Fault in Our Stars and Percy Jackson. He whistled and told me, all elated, that I had a pretty impressive record. I was pretty dubious, because I was sure Beth read all the books I read, if not more. (I shared books with Beth like I shared wardrobe with Nicole, albeit in the former case I had lesser to contribute to. But it wasn’t like I had a lot to contribute in the latter, either.) But I managed to seal my lips about Beth, not wanting to result in any more betrayal. Kaiser promised to lend me more books without consuming any errand—I guess he was really just pleased to know that someone was a secret nerd like he was—and he talked about book recommendations for a while.
The lesson passed so fast that I didn’t feel as if two hours had passed. I wasn’t even drawing, just talking.
After the bell, when Kaiser casually asked me if I was working or not, and I answered yes, he offered to give me a lift, again, without consuming any errand. I was a little, if not a lot, surprised by him. He repeatedly emphasized that a ride wasn’t a lot to offer, but I argued with him and eventually he agreed to let me consume this as an errand.
From the way he gently looked at me sideways, I knew that he understood we were essentially the same kind of people.
We hated owing other things.
He didn’t say that out loud; he didn’t need to, either. I was already grateful for his silent understanding for my resistance, for my demands and temper tantrums, and for me awkwardly staying at the school art room during the nights. I felt really grateful.
When I threw on my apron and rolled up my sleeves, however, I suddenly remembered him taking a long break from the art lesson last week, and giving an obnoxious excuse. But from the way he acted, somehow I knew he was using the provocativeness of the excuse to his advantage to mask its crappiness. And I still wondered why he did that, as I served coffees and cakes to the rare customers of Adagio, spending my hours to inspect every flaw present on the counter table, and reciting the types of coffee beans as well as where they were from.
It seemed like we’d known each other for a long time, but in reality, Kaiser had only joined art for a little more than two weeks; strangely enough, I felt like we had gotten closer over the little time we were together, despite my earlier resistance and tarty attitude. He seemed nice enough. As the familiar image of his grinning face filled my mind, a little voice in my head broke my haze and pointed out, you’d never guess he would cross paths with you in his first art lesson, right?
He looked pretty perfect and popular. Me? I might appear to be harmless, but on the inside, I was as wrecked and used like crap. So with that smart brain of mine, I’d anticipated a big gap between us in terms of intelligence level, conversational topics, demeanor, disposition (well, that one I still had reservations on) and more. But it didn’t feel that huge, if not being non-existent.
And I kept wondering, why was that so?
Really, why?
I felt a huge disparity between Silvia, Cynthia, Kara, Eliza and myself whenever we talked; the same gap was present even between Nicole, Allie and I. Looking back, even with Lunette and Geraldine, who both knew what kind of person I was, and knew better to be afraid of me, there was still a thin gap between us. Not that I blamed anyone for that, but sometimes, it felt lonely with all those gaps going on, like I was barely surviving on a small, abandoned island, looking for the next ship to come by.
Was Kaiser that ship?
I couldn’t decide. Another person’s familiar face flashed through my mind, and it was like a sharp dagger instantly stabbing into my heart, making me wince. Knowing him was my biggest mistake in life. Falling in love with him was nearly fatal. It killed Jessamine. All that was left with me now was a half-wrecked Jesse.
I wanted to hate him, blame everything on him, or even forget him—but sometimes I still hoped for the best for him, and imagine how he was doing in his little cell of a prison, or his face behind the grey bars of the cell door. Was he bored? Did he quickly get to know people there? Did he find some way to obtain drugs again and indulge in them? Did he resume what he used to do in the prison, again? Did he regret what he did? Did he remember what kind of person he was? Did he reflect on what he did? Did he ever, ever briefly think of me?
Or if he fulfilled his sentence, what would he do when he got out of the prison?
Start a new life?
Unlikely. But, yes, he would probably have forgotten about me by then; completely forgotten the marks he once made in my life, forgetting the way he recklessly destroyed Jessamine, and squeezing life out of me. All that was left was a pretty but empty shell, named Jesse Solomon, still lost, still wondering.