by Seven Steps
Five minutes into the class someone burst through the door, yelled, “Bombs Away!” and threw an egg at Bradley Morris. It hit him square in the face.
Bradley, running back for the football team, wasted no time in jumping out of his seat and sprinting after the offender, while Mr. Khan ran to the phone to inform the principal of this latest development.
“What a troglodyte!” I chuckled.
Ollie opened his mouth, then closed it again, and stared at his paper. But his pencil didn’t move, and neither did his eyes. He sat there, unseeing for a moment, then looked back at me.
“What’s a troglodyte?”
I forced myself not to chuckle again, while his mouth turned down in a suppressed smile.
Ollie had a nice smile.
“You don’t know what a troglodyte is?” I asked.
He shook his head in confusion. “A frog?”
I laughed out loud again, and Mr. Khan glared at us from his post at the classroom phone.
I looked down until he looked away.
When I was off Mr. Khan’s radar, I took a sheet of paper from my notebook and started to draw a picture. First a tall wall, then a hole in that wall, then a person in the hole sitting on a chair and staring at a television. I figured the guy would be hungry, so I added a little TV dinner on a tray in front of him. Then I made him overweight and bald, because of all the TV dinners he’d been ingesting. And because he was a guy I drew a baseball bat hitting a ball on the screen of the television to indicate it was a sports channel. I added some trees, rocks, and shrubs around the outside of the hole, and a steep drop-off in the distance.
Then, I slid the picture over to Ollie.
He stared at it for a minute, still confused.
“It’s a… retired football player?”
I snorted, but it was just when Mr. Khan was breaking us into groups again, so I missed the detention threat.
“Is it a man cave?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“One more guess,” I said. “If you get it wrong, you have to let me drive the van tonight.”
“And what do I get if I get it right?”
His eyes dropped to my lips, and I felt my entire body light on fire.
Something sparked between us. Something electric.
He licked his lips.
I licked mine too.
Crap. I shouldn’t have done that.
I just couldn’t help myself.
Why did Ollie always make me feel like I was balancing on a tightrope, ready to fall off into the abyss at any minute?
“Not that,” I croaked.
Ollie blinked, then blinked again. His cheeks colored, and all the humor drained from his face.
“Is it because of Andrew?” he asked softly. “Is he your boyfriend?”
His eyes rose from my lips to my eyes and my heart skipped a beat.
“No.” I thought I shook my head, but my mind was so focused on Ollie that I couldn’t be sure.
“Do you want him to be?”
His eyes were pure fire.
This was no ordinary question. This question was important. It meant the different between something. But I had no idea what. It was like we were both talking in code that neither one of us understood.
I frowned.
Yes. I wanted Andrew to be my boyfriend. Didn’t I?
The bell rang, saving me from answering my question.
We’d done zero work this period, and yet, it felt like my life had just shifted a little.
And I wasn’t sure why.
Andrew was by my side a second after the bell rang.
“Walk you to your locker?” he asked, quickly raising his arm for me to slide my hand into.
I looked at Andrew’s arm, then peeked at Ollie. But Ollie wasn’t looking back at me. His eyes were down, focusing on the too short dog with the too short tail.
“Sure,” I said. I stood, gathered my things, and took Andrew’s arm. “See you around, Ollie.”
He waved me goodbye. “Yeah. See you around.”
31
Surprisingly, the mural was still moving along as scheduled.
Ollie and I had almost finished outlining the first wall and had started to fill everything in with colors. Still, I couldn’t help thinking that something was missing. We needed something between the flowers and sky, but I wasn’t sure what that something needed to be.
“Do you think we should draw something… extra?” I asked.
Ollie slipped his pencil behind his ear. “What do you mean?”
“Like, do you think the wall is too plain?”
He scratched the back of his neck, examining the wall and introducing me to some very defined triceps. I looked away, so I wouldn’t stare.
“Do you want the truth?” he asked.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Can I expect any less from you?”
“The whole thing is too plain. You keep saying you want to move people, but this is more of the same stuff. Pretty flowers.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I just think you’re better than pretty flowers.”
I nodded slowly, unsure of how to take that. I wanted to impress Devinta with my mural and get the summer internship, but we’d also come so far already. Was there time to come up with new ideas? To start over?
I grounded my toe into the floor.
“What would you suggest?”
“Honestly?”
“Yes, honestly.”
“I would suggest that you stop being so afraid to step out of your box and start actually painting.”
He turned to me and placed one arm on my shoulder, gazing deep into my eyes.
“You’re more than flowers,” he said. “When are you going to start believing that?”
My shoulder heated where his hand touched. He was so close that my body instantly sensitized. Something sparked between us. A feeling that made my gut clench and my breath catch.
His hand trailed a slow path from my shoulder to my neck. It didn’t stop until it cupped my cheek.
Our gazes devoured each other’s.
My face warmed where he touched it. His hand felt nice. The perfect blend of rough and soft. I wanted to wrap my hand around his and press it deeper into my skin.
But I couldn’t feel this way toward Ollie.
He was a bad boy. Forbidden. Someone to be avoided at all cost.
And yet, I was finding it harder and harder to keep my thoughts about him purely platonic.
His thumb caressed my cheek so gently that I completely lost my breath.
I never thought Oliver Santiago could be gentle. It was one of the many secrets I was slowly coming to learn about him.
“Ollie, I—”
“Jasmine.” With that one word, my body went from white hot to ice cold. I turned from Ollie to face Andrew walking down the hall toward us. His hands were in his pockets, and his eyes were on Ollie’s hand on my face. I saw the confusion there. And another emotion he was trying to hide.
Anger.
I stepped back from Ollie, though he hadn't stepped back from me. My brain was overloaded from Ollie’s caress, and I struggled to regain my wits.
Andrew stopped directly in front of me, his eyes darting between Ollie and me.
Crap!
I was certain my cheeks had turned tomato red. Even though Ollie and I weren’t doing anything, I got the distinct impression that we’d been caught.
Andrew’s voice was controlled. Tight. I imagined this was how he’d talk to an employee who’d done something to displease him.
“So, this is the famous mural I’ve been hearing so much about?” He stepped between Ollie and me, blocking our view of each other. I was certain that action was deliberate. “It looks different without hundreds of students crowding around it.”
I stepped closer to Andrew. I didn't want him to think there was something going on between Ollie and me. Andrew was such a great guy. I didn't want to give him any reason not to trust me.
“Here it
is,” I said. “What do you think?”
He bent his head to the side, as if seeing the mural sideways would somehow improve his opinion of it.
“I like it,” he said. “It already looks like a masterpiece.”
I forced a smile to my face, trying to look as innocent as possible.
“Thank you. We’ve been working hard on it.”
“I see that.” He turned to me. “I was thinking that you and I could grab a bite to eat. Are you through here?”
“Oh, well, Ollie and I were working on—”
“Go ahead,” Ollie said. “I’ll finish up here.”
He was still standing in the same spot I’d left him in. Head high, back straight, chest out, hands visible. His eyes were sharp, throwing irritated glances at Andrew.
“Good man,” Andrew said. He walked over to Ollie and placed a hand on his shoulder. Ollie eyed that hand as if he wanted to bite it off. “I want to say how much I appreciate you helping Jasmine with all of this.” He waved his hand at the mural. “It’s very considerate of you.”
Ollie’s glare could cut stone, but Andrew was either to confident or too stupid to back off. He just stood there with one hand squeezing Ollie’s shoulder and a big smile on his face.
“Jasmine. You ready?”
“Um… yeah.”
I wanted to stay and finish the mural, but I didn’t want Andrew to think I was staying to be with Ollie. He’d already seen us touching. Maybe he would think that something else was going on too?
I handed Ollie my pencil and tried to communicate through my frown how sorry I was.
He only stared back at me.
Andrew offered me his arm, and I took it, forcing myself not to look back at the boy I was leaving behind.
We didn't speak again until we stepped out into the sidewalk.
“Be careful around that one,” Andrew said. “He’s trouble.” His words sounded so mature.
No.
Not mature.
Old.
Like something my father would say.
“Ollie’s just helping me with the mural,” I replied, dropping my arm from Andrew so I could yank my blue, wool hat on top of my head and pull on my matching gloves.
“I’m surprised that kid bothers to show up to school, let alone participate in an after-school activity.” He paused, and I could tell he was measuring his words. “Look, I just don’t like the way he looks at you. You’re a beautiful girl, and you shouldn’t be left alone with a guy like that. He has no morals. No class.” He took my hands in his and looked deep into my eyes. “I worry about you.”
My throat felt tight, and I swallowed to try to loosen it. “He’s harmless.”
“Harmless? He destroyed the art display case. He’s unhinged.”
“He was just upset because the principal hadn’t been fair to his friends about their entries.”
“So, he smashed something?”
“It was an impulse.”
“It was irresponsible and violent.” Andrew’s eyes blazed. “Jasmine, the boy is a whack job. Trash. You shouldn’t be defending him. You should be trying to get him some help.”
“Help like what?”
“Call the guidance counselor. Talk to Mr. Mann and ask that Ollie be barred from helping you with the mural. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I don’t like the way he looks at you, and if something ever happened…” He raised his hands to cup my cheek. “I’d hold myself personally responsible.”
I bit my cheek. Andrew’s words were like mosquitoes, making my insides itch. Why did his comments irritate me so much? Especially since they were things I'd said in the past myself? Maybe it was because I knew Ollie a little better now. And the more I knew him, the less I saw him as a monster. These days, he was looking more like a man.
I sighed and covered Andrew’s hand with my own.
“Don’t worry about Ollie. He doesn’t want to help me any more than I want him to help me. Besides, once we finish the mural, we’ll go our separate ways and that will be that.”
Andrew searched my eyes for truth. He must’ve found it because he visibly relaxed.
“Good,” he said. “That’s the kind of reassurances I want to hear from my girlfriend.”
I gasped. “Girlfriend?”
He smiled and reached into his pocket, pulling out a diamond encrusted tennis bracelet that sparkled even though the day was cloudy. It was gorgeous.
“I was going to wait and ask you after my parents’ dinner tomorrow night, but something has propelled me to be bold.” He clasped the bracelet around my wrist. “Hide it when you’re around Santiago, though. I wouldn’t want him to steal it and pawn it for drug money.”
Girlfriend? It was a position I'd coveted for so long that it almost didn't seem real. I should've been happy. Ecstatic. I should have been doing backflips. But, right now, I could barely manage a smile. I stared at the bracelet, watching the diamonds sparkle and shine.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Just like you, Jasmine.”
I spun the bracelet around my wrist. Why did this moment feel so anti-climactic? I wanted to be Andrew’s girlfriend, didn't I? It was my dream, wasn't it?
So why did it feel like I'd just pulled off the biggest deception in the world? Why didn't this feel genuine? Why did I feel like such a fraud?
“Now, my lady, I have a few friends set to meet us at the Turtle and Shell. You can show off your new pretty piece, and I can show off you.”
I bit my lip, hoping he'd interpret it as excitement instead of disappointment. Andrew was a really nice guy. One of the good ones. And now I was his girlfriend.
Why wasn't I happier about that?
I took his arm and leaned against him, allowing him to lead me to his car.
A red Maserati.
Just like mine.
We had so much in common. We were perfect for each other.
Weren't we?
“And don’t worry,” he said as he started the engine and pulled away from the curb. “We’ll be there early enough for you to clean yourself up.”
Clean up? I pulled down the passenger side visor and looked into the mirror. There were black smudges on my cheeks where Oliver had touched me. Just seeing them on me, remembering his touch, made my skin sizzle.
I closed the visor and looked down at my tennis bracelet, fighting to keep thoughts of Ollie at bay.
32
I heard the yelling before I opened the door.
My parents were at it again.
Like they had been for months.
I quietly stepped through the door and slipped off my shoes.
What were they yelling about now? I tried to understand, but they were screaming over each other so loudly that I could barely make them out.
I remembered my mother’s note from earlier.
Don’t trust a man with your happiness.
Was that why my parents were always fighting? Because they were trusting each other with their happiness? But that didn’t make sense. Weren’t you supposed to trust your partner with your happiness? Wasn’t that part of the deal?
I passed by the living room, then for some reason, I stopped. I turned, my eyes taking in the scene.
They didn’t even know I was standing there. As they screamed and yelled, I watched their faces contort in anger. Pressed brows. Glaring eyes. Tight jaws. Open mouths. Clawed hands.
Like two velociraptors circling and ready to claw each other’s eyes out.
I must’ve stood there for five straight minutes and yet they didn’t see me. They were so deep in their own misery and problems they had no energy left to acknowledge their own daughter.
“Hello,” I said.
Their yelling overpowered my voice, so that I could barely hear myself.
I took a deep breath, desperate to be heard.
“Hello!”
They stopped and turned to me. I could see the sweat formed on their brows. Their red faces.
My gut clenched, un
sure as to how they’d react to my interrupting them.
Would they turn their anger on me?
In a way, I hoped they would. At least they wouldn’t be angry at each other all the time.
“Yes?” Dad asked harshly. It was as if he were anxious to get back to arguing with Mom. “What is it?”
After another deep breath, my eyes went to my parents.
We were three strangers, standing in a room. Everyone screaming but no one being heard.
Standing here, with their eyes on me, I was suddenly unsure of what to say.
I wanted to say something purposeful. Something that would make them stop and think. Something that would make them stop fighting for one second. Something that would make our family whole again. But I didn’t know those words.
So, I said the first thing that came to mind.
“Um. I just wanted to say hi.”
Lame. It was lame. I wish I knew what to say to them. I wish I knew how to fix them.
They looked at me in confusion, as if seeing me for the first time.
“Hello,” Dad said.
“Hello,” Mom said.
I bit my cheek.
I hadn’t said hello to my parents since the fighting started. How long had it been?
Months?
Years?
It felt like forever.
The moment stretched on for several pregnant, uncomfortable beats.
“Five months until Yale,” Mom said. She raised her thumb high in the air, but it was halfhearted. Like she was fishing for something to say to me during the awkward moment.
“Yeah,” I whispered. “Five months.”
Then, I turned on my heels and walked into my room, closing the door loudly behind me.
Raja leapt off the bed and ran his warm, furry body against my feet.
At least someone was happy to see me today.
Were my parents happy to see me? Did they care?
I dropped my bookbag on the floor and collapsed onto my bed.
This apartment was huge. Thousands upon thousands of square feet.
And yet, sometimes it felt no bigger than a bottle cap. So small that I could balance it on the tip of my finger. The tension that hung in the air choked me. The heaviness pressed on my shoulders.
My parents hadn’t screamed at me, and yet I felt like the one their anger was directed to. I felt it through the doors. In my bed. In my ears.
