This Ordinary Life (8 page)

Whatever.

I stop at Mr. James' desk. I missed class yesterday and even though he's one of my nicest teachers, being that English isn't my best subject, I have to work harder here than I do in my other classes. Given my love of reading, you'd think I'd have some innate ability to do well in the subject, but alas, no. I just hope I didn't miss a massive project or assignment or anything that will tank my weekend. Mr. James is very fond of projects.

“Aha!” He says with his usual dramatic flourish. “She finally arrives. How was your day off, Ms. Torres?”

“So sorry.” I duck my head. “Family stuff. I had to leave early yesterday.”

His face softens. “Everything okay?”

I nod. Mr. James is super nice, but except for Ms. Hudson, I try to keep my family drama out of school.

“We were working on a new group presentation project. You can work with Trina's group,” he says, rooting around in his briefcase.

Group presentations? Please universe,
do not
put me in a group with Sebastian.

“Here it is!” He pulls out a crumpled piece of paper and smiles triumphantly, waving it like a flag. I laugh, despite myself. Mr. James is crazy, in a funny way though, like a family friend whose antics entertain at parties but who you're thankful isn't related to you.

“I am,” he says with a dramatic, hand sweeping bow.
“The Invisible Man.
Not really, but that's the book we're reading, as you hopefully know and have been reading. Anyhow. Here's a list of questions to choose from. Your group has probably already started some, but you can decide among yourselves which others you may want to answer. You'll report to the class by Monday of next week.”

I take the paper and walk to the corner of the room where Trina sits. My stomach drops out like one of those free fall rides at Great Adventure. The ones I hate.

You have to be kidding me.

My feet stutter like I'm just learning to walk. I have to force them to do that one in front of the other thing they've been doing for much of my seventeen years.

Of course Sebastian is in Trina's group. Of course I'd be forced to work with him. Sigh.

Universe, 1. Jasmine, 0.

“Oh my God,” Trina is saying to Sebastian as I drag a desk over to them. “I'm still on
chapter one
, I am so useless on this project.”

“You know I already read it. I did all the work yesterday too.” Sebastian huffs, his lips turning down in a frown. Those lips I've kissed so many times. Deep breath. I can do this.

“Hey guys,” I say. “I'm apparently joining your group. And no worries, Trina. I read it too.”

“Hey, Jasmine! I heard your radio show this morning. So awesome. You're so incredibly good at it. I would completely choke up and have no idea what to say.”

“Thanks,” I say with a genuine smile as I slide into the desk. I scoot slightly closer to Trina. I may have to work with him, but if I don't look at him or smell his cologne, I can pretend he's just any guy in our group.

“Yeah.” Sebastian deadpans. “I loved the Taylor Swift song.”

Gulp. Okay, maybe not just any guy.

“Thanks so much, Sebastian, that is so nice of you to say.” I keep my voice sweet as sugar and, I'm going to admit it right now, even if my pulse is off the charts fast and even if being near my ex is sort of making me want to both fold up and cry and stand up and scream, I kind of love the way his face turns tomato red in anger.

I'm a mess.

Trina looks back and forth between us. Obviously, she isn't a link in the Easton High gossip chain.

“So, what question are we working on first?” I ask, feigning sudden interest in
The Invisible Man.
I did finish it, so I should be able to contribute, but really, I just want Sebastian to get that dark look off his face.

He taps the edge of his notebook with his pen. I watch his fingers, considering how many times I've held them, how many times they've massaged my neck or rubbed circles on the back of my hand. Damn it. The ache of what he did swells again, like it did the day I found him with that girl, and I'm momentarily blinded by it. But Taylor Swift had it right. I honestly do not want him back, even if questions about how it all went down bob endlessly in the sea of my emotions.

Trina sighs. “You guys are always so smart and ahead of the game. I've totally had my head up my ass the last two weeks with the Hello Summer carnival thing.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, just barely. He hates all school events so this is no shock. But I realize suddenly that thanks to him, I've missed out on plenty, too.

“When is it?” I ask.

She lets out a sound that's a cross between a squeal and a yell, her magenta lips wide in shock. “Oh my God, you are coming, right? You have to come. It's the last Friday in June. Last day of junior year, but together one last time. You guys can't miss it. You're totally a who's who of our class. You're like the longest running couple of our year, probably.”

I clear my throat and look down at my paper. If I could broadcast a radio show from my head to hers it would say:
Hello listeners this is your newly single and liberated DJ, Jasmine Torres! Ix Nay on the Oyfriend Bay conversation.

But of course, being Trina, bless her heart she is as nice as she is dumb, she completely missed any type of signal Sebastian and I are giving off. I can't believe she
still
hasn't heard the rumors. Girl lives in her own world, that's for sure.

“Sounds fun!” I say, which is a total lie. I hate carnivals. I can think of about a million reasons not to spend the afternoon in the school parking lot playing dumb games and eating greasy food. Of all the fun school events I missed when I was Sebastian's girlfriend, it would have been awesome if the first one I'll probably go to was something I actually wanted to do.

“Anyway,” I say. “Let's get started on these questions.”

W
ES AND
I text no less than ten times before we figure out exactly where our coffee non-date is happening.

Since it's not a date, I'm not nervous. I mean, I'm meeting him for coffee. In a bookstore. Well, the bookstore's coffee area. Whatever. Nothing to be nervous about.

I wear a yellow polka dot sundress and my beaded leather sandals. Yep. My favorite outfit.

Which still doesn't make it a date.

Thankfully I was right about Mom having the night off. I give Danny his evening medicine and go over his homework. The kid is crazy smart, despite all his hurdles. I kiss the top of his head.

“You smell nice Jazzy.”

“Thanks, Dan. How're you feeling?”

He rolls his eyes. “Same as I did when you asked five minutes ago. Fine. Why you always asking?” He sticks out his tongue.

I slap a big smile on my face, but inside, I crumble more than a little bit. I have to keep my worries to myself. Danny has already had enough to deal with in his short life. He doesn't need me making him even more paranoid about having another seizure.

Mom comes in, fresh out of the shower, her wet hair hanging halfway down her back. “You look nice,” she says. “Going out?”

“Yeah. Out for coffee. With friends. Remember, you said I could borrow your car?”

“Oh yeah, that's right. Have fun.” Her eyes dart around the kitchen as if she's nervous or looking for something.

“Danny's homework is done, but I didn't make dinner.”

“That's fine, I'll heat something up. Want to watch a movie, kiddo?” She ruffles Danny's hair.

“My choice?”

“Sure, go ahead. We'll eat in there.”

Danny sprints across the room, grabbing the remote from the counter on the way. He flops onto the couch and starts flipping through the channels while Mom pokes through the leftovers in the fridge. She pulls out a bottle of soda and a Styrofoam container. I watch as she mixes a drink with way more vodka than soda. With her back to me, she takes a long gulp.

My stomach turns.

“Hey Dan,” she calls. “I'm going to reheat the hamburgers, how's that sound?”

“Good,” he calls, the TV volume almost louder than his voice. “But none of that gross cheese.”

“Um, Mom?” I swallow, eying her already half empty glass. I want to remind her to keep a close eye on Danny, a more or less sober eye.

She turns to me with a smile, eyes not glazed over yet.

“Forget it,” I say. I don't want to fight with her before I leave. All that will do is upset Danny.

My cell phone rings in my room and I dash down the hall to get it.

I hope Mom doesn't drink too much while I'm out tonight. Maybe going out is a bad idea.

I reach the phone on the third ring. “Hey, Ms. Hudson!”

“Sorry to bother you at home. I listened to the recording of your morning show. Pretty good stuff there. Since we have the WYN60 meeting in less than two weeks, it would help if you
could add some more to your portfolio. Want to do the morning show tomorrow too, and all of next week?”

I stop pacing and stare at myself in the mirror. Morning show all week? Hell yes. I can totally be the star for a week. Excitement bubbles in my stomach.

“As long as things are cool with my brother, I should be able to be there early enough to do it each day.”

That's a big if, of course. Mom better cooperate and get her crap together. I adjust the straps on my sandals and give my dark hair one last once-over, scrunching my curls. I blend my eyeliner with my fingertip, trying for a less dramatic look.

“Perfect!” She says. “I'll let the others know we're changing the schedule. I'm sure they'll understand. You've been sounding, good, Jasmine, but there are some kind of shaky segments I'd like to leave out of your portfolio. So try to really nail these next few, okay? You want to give yourself the best shot you can.”

Shaky segments? Great.

“I'll be there tomorrow morning, then,” I say, hoping I can pull it off.

We hang up and I head out the door with mom's keys. Sometimes Mom does come through, I admit to myself as I slide into her car. I back out of my driveway with a silent prayer that everything will work out tonight and Mom will keep a good eye on Danny.

H
ERE
'
S THE THING
about non-dates at bookstores. Books. I get there earlier than Wes, so I stroll around looking at all the new releases. I thumb through a few that look decent and commit them to memory for my next library trip.

On my way to the magazines, I look outside. I wonder what kind of car he drives. Or if he drives. Lots of epilepsy patients can't drive, depending on how well their seizures are controlled
with medication. I have spent three years worrying about the same thing for Danny when he grows up. But I don't know much about Wes's situation.

I think about the way he casually threw out his diagnosis with me at Dr. Bee's office yesterday. He's an open book, no freaking pun intended as I stand amongst thousands of them. I like that about him.

I squat down in the magazine aisle, flipping idly through
Teen Queen
magazine. I'm deep in a quiz about what my future job should be, trying to add up the score to each question while making sure not to wrinkle the pages. These stupid quizzes suck me in every time. I add the numbers in my head, falling squarely in the “creative job” category. I can live with that.

“Sunny!”

Wes's voice is way closer than I expect. With my balance being pretty crappy as it is, and squatting down the way I am, I have to grab the edge of the magazine rack to keep from falling.

“Hey.” I pull myself up, trying to pretend like I wasn't about to fall over.

Wes pushes his hair back and gives me one of his side smiles. He's wearing a plain black tee shirt that's fitted enough to show off his physique. He's not really muscular, but he's got a good build. And the black looks really good with his coloring, making his natural blond highlights stand out.

“You look nice,” he says, scratching the back of his head. He nods to my dress. “Sunny again.”

I look down at myself and laugh. Yellow again. “So it is. And thanks.”
You look nice too,
I'm tempted to add.

“Sorry I'm late,” he says. “My friend was over and I couldn't get rid of him. I finally left him there, playing video games alone in my house.”

“Alone in your house?”

“Sort of. My parents are home. Mom'll cook him dinner and let him hang out.”

I laugh. “That's kind of odd.”

“Yeah. Jacob is really a weirdo. He's like the quintessential frat boy, even though he's only in high school. His parents are pushing him for college and all that, but all he does is play video games. I don't think he's destined for more than beer pong champion.”

“Ouch. Hope you don't talk about all your friends that way.”

“What can I say, I'm honest. And don't worry, he says it about himself. Laziest guy around. Come on.” He nods toward the café.

We wait in line behind a mother with four very noisy kids. One of them turns around and sticks his tongue out at us, more than once. I barely stifle my laugh. Beside me, Wes makes a funny face back at the kid, sticking his tongue out and crossing his eyes.

“Oh my God, Wes,” I whisper, snorting a laugh.

I trace the edge of the dessert case while the line edges up toward the counter. We peer into the window like kids in a candy shop. “Everything looks so good,” I say. “I'm definitely going for the double chocolate brownie.”

When it's our turn he motions for me to order first. “Order it to go,” he says. “We'll sit outside. If a famous radio DJ doesn't mind being seen with a lowly guy like me…”

I raise an eyebrow. “Hardly famous.” I laugh as I pull out my wallet when the barista returns with my brownie and coffee. Wes nods to the register.

“Come on,” he says. “I got this.”