BPOV
7
Lauren rushes into the library wearing a ferocious scowl and four inch spike heel boots. Angela and I stare as she manoeuvres around the chairs and tables, graceful and gorgeous as a sleek black panther. She slides into the seat across from us and glares at a painting of sunflowers. Rips her white leather jacket off and dumps her designer bag on the desk.
Angela frowns prettily, says: "Lauren, are you alright?" in such a gentle, genuinely concerned voice that it makes Lauren pause, look up, face soften.
"Yeah…just – y' know – boy trouble ," she says, rolls her big fathomless eyes, trying to pull off nonchalance. I see her tense shoulders, her blazing eyes.
"Ah," says Angela, nodding solemnly. Like she understands. I keep quiet, desensitized to the awkwardness my inexperience with boys has in a conversation like this. Rose has gone through so many boyfriends with me as her wingman, as the referee, as the mediator and shoulder to cry on, that I no longer blink and fumble when girls talk.
"Want to talk about it?" Angela again. I flip through art books and note references. Angela puts down her pen, leads forward to listen, attentive and looking like she's ready to take notes too.
Lauren clears her throat, shakes out her dark hair. Straightens the books out and lines up the pens in order of size.
"We've been goin' out for a couple weeks now. Me and Jazz – you know Jasper Whitlock? Crazy white boy in senior year, all surfer-hot? He's the lead drummer and singer in a local band me and my girls went to see last month. I never really noticed him at school, y' know? But then we got talkin' at a gig he did at my dad's place – y' know Mallory's in Port Angeles? I told him his music was good and he said I looked good and then we got talkin' music. I sing a little, nothin' serious, but he wants to write a song with me, a duet." Lauren pauses, her lips pursed into a frown. The anger is still in her posture but her shoulders sag with sadness. "We're gettin' kinda serious."
"Then what's the problem?" Angela asks quietly.
"His family." Lauren's mouth forms a wry grimace. "His parents moved here from Texas a bunch of years back. He's told me all about them – their tryna convince him it's not the colour of my skin that bothers them. They're makin' out like he's got some girl back home. But we all know what it's really about. You heard about them protests a couple years ago? Against Obama?" Angela and I nod, my books forgotten. I remember the protests; it had been all over the news, the picket signs and racist slurs, the angry faces and trampled families. Houses and property vandalised, defaced. Arson attacks on businesses owned by black families. "It was funded by them – by his parents. They were the brain behind the op."
Lauren stops talking; we join the books in their silence.
A/N:
Sorry Alice/Jasper fans, you won't find any of that here - keep reading and you'll find out why ;)
Events described in the last paragraph are completely fictional and used only for the purpose of this story - I don't mean to offend anyone or create political controversy; it is all merely for creative purposes.
