A/N: Surprise! I decided, since I finished this chapter early, I'd post it early! Some of you have been asking me to update more than weekly and I'll try to shoot for twice a week, but no promises. Hopefully there will still be an update on Monday as well.
Enjoy, and please review!
|Jade|
"I don't understand." Lane, running his palm over the short, tight black curls on his head, stares between Beck and I with a disapproving look. "Weren't you two in love on Friday?"
I glance sidelong at Beck. He has a towel in his hands, damp with the pink juice I had poured on him not twenty minutes earlier. His long, black hair is still slick with it, his white shirt stained, and I can't help the smug smile that roots itself on my lips. I turn back to Lane, the poor guidance counselor of Hollywood Arts who has yet to guide me in the right direction (he's been trying since I was a freshman and never really succeeded) who crosses his arms and furrows his brow at us.
"We broke up." I pause, allowing the intensity of those words to sink and hook themselves inside of me somewhere before I take a breath and speak again. "Contrary to what he has been telling people, he broke up with me. Just so that's clear."
I hear Beck sigh beside me. I risk another look in his direction and he's pinching the bridge of his nose, shaking his head, like I'm some insolent child he can't tame. Anger bubbles under my skin, setting my blood to boil. I twist in my chair, half ready to launch myself at him with my nails at the ready, only for Lane's body to slip between us.
"Okay, cool it." His hands are raised, palms out. After he's assured I won't tackle Beck, he steps away again, sitting on the edge of the swing that dangles from the ceiling in his office. He studies us for a moment longer. "You didn't pour juice on Beck because he broke up with you."
"No. I poured juice on him because he lied about it."
Lane shifts his eyes to Beck. "You've been telling people that she broke up with you."
Lifting his head, Beck says, "Two people. Robbie and Andre. It's not a big deal."
"Saying it to one person is a big deal!" I snap, my fingers curling around the edges of my chair as if that would hold me back. "You're lying!"
"It's more believable!" He shoots back, his face contorted just as angrily. "They didn't even question me when I said you broke up with me because you have broken up with me before."
I throw up my hands. "A year ago, for two days!"
"Hey!" Lane interjects, but we continue to shout over him. We bicker back and forth for almost a minute before Lane grabs a whistle from his desk and blows into it ferociously, the high-pitched scream silencing both of us, hands clamping over our ears. He waits for a minute, glaring. Finally, he folds his hands over his stomach and turns to Beck, but keeps the whistle curled in his palm. "Why did you break up with her?"
Beck blinks, hands squeezing the towel. "Is that really any of your -"
"Yes. It is because you two are my students and this is obviously tough for both of you. I want to help you get through this."
I stare longingly at the door. I don't want to be here. I don't want to listen to this. I just want to go back outside in the hot sun and sit with Tori and eat a salad. I want to listen to her talk and forget about Beck because I only feel better when I'm with her. Which should freak me out, or at the least piss me off, but it doesn't, and I'm tired of feeling conflicted about it. I turn my head back to Beck, who once more pinching his nose, and my heart gives a hollow thump in my chest.
He lied. He lied. I can't think of one time I had ever seen him lie, even to his parents or his teachers. He's always been honest - it's one of those things I always loved about him. He's not afraid of the truth. My eyebrows crunch over my nose. If he can lie - about me, no less - then what else is he capable of that I never knew about? Is he even the boy I've thought him to be all this time?
"I love her." He props his chin in his hand. He doesn't look at me. "I do. I wouldn't have been with her as long as I was if I didn't love her."
My throat feels tense. I swallow, or try to, and I can feel Lane watching my expression. He clears his throat and says, "But?"
"But." Beck sighs, shoulders sinking. Turning, he sets his dark eyes on me. "I told you, back at the coffee shop. I don't know what I want. I've only ever been with you."
"That doesn't make any sense," I manage, my voice quivering despite my best efforts. I sink back in my chair and tear my eyes away from him. "If you love me the way you say you do, then you would just - you wouldn't care that I was your only 'real' girlfriend - whatever that means. You wouldn't want to test drive someone else."
"I don't -" He halts, sighs, rubs his face with his fingers. "It's not just that. It's -" his eyes jerk toward Lance before finding me again. "It's other stuff, too."
"What? What did I do? Just give me a straight answer." I'm still angry, but the mean front is cracking and I can feel tears burning behind my eyes. I just want to know, to understand, because being kept in the dark is worse than knowing. "I don't understand." My voice cracks. Beck's eyebrows dig over his nose. I know he doesn't like hurting me. I know he cares. But that won't stop him from doing what he's doing. That won't make him take back the break-up.
I blink when the thought occurs to me - do I want him to take me back?
Do I want him back?
"You're so closed in," he says, looking back to his towel. "It's been almost three years and you still keep me out. Every time I try and get closer to you, you pull back."
I don't know what my expression is doing because I'm not sure what I feel. What he's saying doesn't make any sense - he's the closest I've ever been to a person. The only person that rivals that intimacy is Tori, and that's just of this past weekend. I look down. Now that I think about it ... in those two days, I revealed things to Tori - my parents divorce, my insecurity about what people say and think about me, even trivial things like my favorite foods and movies and colors, how I like my coffee - that was all stuff that I waited months to reveal to Beck. Not because I didn't want him to know, but because it took me a long time to ease down my guard, to let him in. I don't know why it wasn't like that with Tori. I never felt the need to throw up my walls. And even with Beck, there were instances where I was uncomfortable with him knowing some things, so I would store them away until later - but that didn't mean I wasn't ever going to tell him. I've always trusted him.
It occurs to me that I might trust Tori more than Beck, which is a terrifying thought, considering I've known her for far less time and have only very recently even called her my friend. I don't know how I feel about it, or how I should feel about it, but the fact that it could be true really scares me.
I stand. I'm done feeling like this. I'm done letting him make me feel like this.
You're Jade West, she had said, washed in the sunlight on her deck.
Tough as nails, I tell myself, turning to face Lane and Beck with my arms crossed.
"I'm sorry I wasn't enough for you." I say the words as thickly as I can, watching as they weigh down on Beck, who bows over his damp towel. I turn to Lane. "I'm not sorry I dumped juice on his head, but I'll take whatever punishment you've got."
Lane gestures back to my chair. "Please, Jade, can we just -"
"No. I'm done."
He backs down. He eyes Beck for a moment before speaking. "Detention. Every day this week after school. Two hours."
"No, it's okay." Beck stands, too, wringing the towel in his hands. "I don't want her to get in trouble."
Lane raises his eyebrows. "This isn't court, Beck. You don't get to decide if you can press charges or not. She behaved badly on school grounds. I have to discipline her. I can't make exceptions." He turns to me now. "Don't make this a habit, Jade."
"Won't happen again." I turn my burning gaze on Beck before spinning on the heel of my boot and flinging myself out of the classroom. I march straight to the girls' restroom to calm myself down. I press my fingertips under my eyes until I'm certain I won't cry, and then make my way to my next class.
Lunch has long since been over, but I have this hour with Tori. I slip into the quiet classroom, exchanging a knowing look with my teacher who glares pointedly before waving me toward the sea of desks. The ones beside Tori on either side are taken, but the one behind her is vacant. I drop into it, nudging the tip of my boot into her lower back.
She's half glaring when she turns around but a smile overwhelms her expression as soon as she sees me. Instantly dropping her pencil, she twists to face me and her expression quickly shifts to that of concern. I can read it in the worried curves of her eyebrows, the nervous pluck of her lip with the corner of one tooth. "Are you okay?"
She says it so sincerely that I almost feel like crying again. I nod, leaning closer. "Detention every day this week. That's the worst of it."
Tori's face falls for a moment, only to perk up again. "I'll stay here with you."
"It's two hours," I clarify, though I can't say I don't want her there. It would definitely make those hours bearable. I can't help but think, once again, about how I couldn't stand her a week ago. I never wanted to be around her, and I made it a point to make sure she knew that I wasn't there by choice. Thinking back on it, I can't even remember the sole reason for feeling the way I did. I just knew that she intimidated me, that her bubbliness had a certain … attraction that freaked me out. I didn't want to want to be around a girl like that, so I forced myself into thinking she was awful.
But she's not. I rest my chin on the open palm of my hand. She's not awful at all.
Tori is shrugging her shoulders. "I don't care. I have nothing else to do, and I like spending time with you."
The words have my eyebrows rising in surprise.
She makes a face. "What? Your company is very enjoyable."
"If you enjoy venomous snakes."
"You're not a snake," she laughs, her arm extending across my desk so her hand can settle on my bare wrist. "You're more like a mouse."
"Ladies."
We both twist to face our frowning, disgruntled teacher. He spins a finger at us and Tori turns, bending back over her book, but not without throwing back another smile at me.
At the end of the school day, while everyone else races toward the doors, I text my mom telling her I have detention. I've gotten in trouble before, so this isn't exactly a new thing. I grab the homework I don't plan on doing and make my way to the room detention is always held in - the only room in Hollywood Arts that doesn't have a window. It looks like a cell, the walls painted a mute gray, with a lonely chalkboard that never gets used on the wall where the door is. When I walk in, there's already two other kids sitting there, one boy and one girl, who don't even look up as I sit down, near the back. I'm not foreign to this place, so I lean back with ease, releasing a heavy sigh. It's moments later when Tori slithers in, her eyes instantly on guard when they assess the tiny room and the two other kids inside. As soon as she sees me, however, she noticeably relaxes. My brows flicker in thought at this - do I comfort her? Is she okay with this place because I'm here? Tori's not a detention kind of student, but she is the kind of student to sit with her friends during detention. Following behind Tori are three more kids attending detention, all of them intimidating in their own way - not to me, but I can see Tori flick her eyes over them uneasily as she walks down the aisle to join me.
Tori swings her backpack on top of the desk beside me, scooting it a little closer. I offer a smile to her, about to say something only to be interrupted by the teacher with detention duty this week to open the door. I've had him before, and he's usually pretty chill about whatever we do in here. He takes attendance, only raising a curious eyebrow at Tori when she explains she's here by choice and not because she's in trouble. He glances at me when she says it, shrugging before moving on.
There isn't much chatter after that among the other students, but Tori slides her desk next to mine. We talk quietly, my math book propped to give us privacy.
"Closed in?" Tori questions, after I've told her about the meeting with Lane. Her eyebrows scrunch down over her nose. "I don't get it. He's your - he was your boyfriend, he's supposed to love you the way you are."
I shrug. I don't really understand what he meant by that, either. I can't think of anything of major importance that he didn't already know. "Apparently I wasn't open enough." I press my palm against my temple, frowning.
"Actually, when I was talking to him earlier, he seemed ... almost confused."
"About what?" I pick my head up, watching her chew her lip, thinking.
"I told him ... that, you know, that your parents divorce made you not trust people easily, right? And he looked at me like he couldn't believe I knew that."
I look back at my open math book. Why would he think that to be a curious thing? I told Tori about that, what, the second day I was at her house? When did Beck learn about it? I don't bring it up often and people don't usually ask that kind of thing. Does Andre know? Cat? I frown when I can't remember.
"I didn't tell Beck about it until a few months into our relationship - it never came up. I didn't think it was important. Maybe that's why." I settle my chin into my hand. "With you, it just kind of ... came out. I didn't really think about saying it until it was already out there."
That statement should mean something. With Tori, I don't think about saying a lot of things I end up telling her. They just barrel out of my mouth without any real consent from my mind. Is that because I trust her? More than Beck? More than anyone?The thought makes me a little nervous, but when I look up at her, it's replaced with something warm and strong in my gut. Faith? Do I believe in her?
I scold myself. It sounds ridiculous.
By the look on Tori's face - thoughtful, concentrated - she seems to be thinking about the same thing. Finally she just smiles, shrugging her slim shoulders. "It's supposed to be that way with friends." Her expression falls. "I just don't understand how he could have broken up with you over that. He should have stayed and fought for you." Her head falls against her closed fist, her next words whimsical, as if she means to keep them in her head. "If you were my girlfriend, I'd fight for you."
Blinking at her, I watch her expression shift from soft to shocked and back to neutral again in the matter of a few seconds. She's an actress, so she's good at covering up whatever she might have been feeling. I don't comment, simply watching her as she twiddles with the corner of a page in her book.
We fall back into less serious conversation, but those words hang over us.
She would fight for me.
If I were her girlfriend. Not if she was a boy and she was my boyfriend, but if I was hers.
I don't know how I'm supposed to feel. My stomach still feels warm, but my heart is doing weird pitter-patters in my chest. I think about how she said I was more like a mouse earlier, and how that was probably supposed to be nice, but all I can think about is how even mice can frighten gentle, sweet elephants.
