by Seven Steps
“Well, I don’t want you to get sick of me or anything.”
“Impossible, Jelly Roll.”
I pulled at my bookbag straps and started walking again. “Am I stuck with this whole Jelly Roll thing?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. I mean, if you don’t like the name…”
I thought a minute. “I’m not completely adverse to it, I guess. As long as I don’t have to call you Superman.”
He grinned. “You don’t have to call me Superman… until you want to.”
Then, he winked and speed walked ahead of me, leaving me blushing and flustered, and absolutely unsure as to what just happened.
After play rehearsal, Quincey, Joe, and I drove to 75 Central Park West and parked our car in the underground lot. Jasmine and Ollie were hosting an art class for kids in the building next door, and I wanted to go and support them.
When Joe found out the reason for me missing our study session, he asked if he could go too, which I agreed to. He told Quincey, who said he’d love to come.
Mom was disappointed that Quincey wasn’t coming to church with her, but since he was with me, she didn’t argue.
A bell jingled over the glass door when we pushed it open.
“Hi.” A purple-haired girl waved at us from behind the counter. “Are you here for the art class?”
“Yeah,” I said. “We’re a little late.”
She waved my comment away and pointed to the back of the store. “It’s fine. Straight to the back.”
We thanked her, then walked down an aisle filled with colored pencils, crayons, and different kinds of paper. It smelled like paint and sawdust.
I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect. I’d never been to one of Jasmine’s classes before, though I knew she loved to paint.
Motown music drifted the aisles, and I bobbed a little to Smokey Robinson’s “Tears of a Clown.” At the end of the aisle was a doorway. I peeked my head into the medium-sized room and looked around.
Jasmine and Ollie were upfront, bent over a glass table. Behind them was a video screen projecting what their hands were doing. They were surrounded by tubes of colorful paint and were using small rollers to roll colors onto what looked like a clear gel pad.
Bella spied me standing in the doorway and waved me over. They’d saved me a seat at the long table, but there were more seats in the back. I decided to hang out with my friends tonight and let the boys find their own way.
“You’re late,” Bella said.
“I know. Play rehearsal ran long.” I looked around the table. Bella, Cole, Ariel, and Eric were all there.
“Where’s Purity?” I asked.
“She’s restocking some paint supplies,” Eric said. “She’ll be back in a sec.”
I nodded and adjusted myself on the stool.
The title of the class was Gel Press, Simple Techniques. As far as I could tell, I had to put some paint on a gel pad, roll it flat with the roller, called a brayer, and press some paper on it to create cool, colorful patterns.
It seemed simple enough.
“Who’s the guys with you?” Bella asked. “Is that your cousin?”
“Yeah, that’s Quincey and his best friend Joe.”
I plopped some white, blue, and green paint on a piece of paper. I didn’t know exactly what I was going to make yet. I planned on figuring it out as I went along.
I rolled out my paint as hard as I could. Then I pressed a sheet of paper onto it and pulled it away. It made a cute sort of light green pattern, almost like a morning forest color. I liked it. The peaceful colors sucked out some of the sting from Cole’s oversight.
Purity slid into the seat next to me.
“Where’ve you been?” I asked.
“Just hunting up extra gel pads and paints.” She put three drops of paint on her gel pad. One red, one orange, and one pink. Then she started to roll it out.
“Yo, Sophia, check it out.”
I turned around at the sound of Quincey’s voice. He was holding up a blue and white mix of colors on a white sheet of paper. It wasn’t as pretty as mine, but I gave him the thumbs-up anyway.
“Why is your cousin sitting so far away?” Bella asked.
I shrugged. “We needed a little space, I think.”
A gasp next to me pulled my attention, and I turned to see Purity looking wide-eyed and pale.
My gut clenched. “What’s the matter?” I asked. “Are you okay?”
She gathered her purse and supplies.
“I have to go.”
“What?” I asked, suddenly very concerned. “Why?”
“I just… I have to go.”
And then she was gone. Running out of the room as if her shirt was on fire.
I looked at Bella and Ariel, and, within seconds, we were racing after her.
“Purity, wait!”
The bell chimed by the front door.
She’d ran outside? Where was she going?
We reached the door and burst out of it.
“Where did she go?” Ariel asked.
A scan up and down the street revealed that Purity had in fact disappeared.
Why? What had happened to her?
I pulled out my phone and dialed her number, but it went straight to voice mail.
What was up with her?
I hugged myself. “Why did she just bolt like that?”
“Maybe she had bad tacos or something,” Bella said. “Or maybe she just got her period.”
“Or maybe something’s really wrong,” I replied.
Ariel put her arm around me, and we headed back inside. But my mind was no longer on the art workshop. Where had Purity gone? And why did she look so scared?
14
“Shouldn’t you be studying?”
Quincey chucked the video game controller onto the bed and sucked his teeth.
It was the night after the art workshop and we’d been playing Mario Cart for at least an hour. I was destroying the two boys sitting next to me and they weren’t happy.
“We’re going to study,” I said. “Just one more game.”
“Nope. No more games. It’s time to hit the books. Or do you want to be a twenty-five-year-old eleventh grader?”
“Wow, you sure are interested in my grades lately.”
“Somebody has to be. You aren’t.”
I put down the controller. “What is your problem lately, Q?” I glanced at the door to make sure my mom wasn’t listening and lowered my voice. “You’re trying to blow up my spot with Mom about the play, which I did not appreciate, by the way. And now you’re harping on my grades. What gives?”
He shrugged, as if he had all the right in the world to show up and trample on my life.
“Just looking out for you.”
“Why does it feel like you’re doing more than that?”
He jerked his chin at Joe. “Hit those books, cuz. Reading is fundamental.”
I glared at him and stood up. Joe stood too.
“We’ll be back,” I said. “I’d brush up on my skills if I were you.”
He scowled, and I gave him a triumphant smile. Then, Joe and I made our way out of the bedroom and into the living room, where my bookbag, and all of its contents, were scattered on the floor and table.
“Wow, what a study area,” Joe remarked, plopping down on the couch. “Scattered pencils, notebooks with mostly doodles, a used barbeque potato chip bag…”
“Are you judging me? Because I feel judged.”
“Yes. I’m judging you so hard right now.”
His boyish smile made me giggle, and I sat beside him on the couch.
“So, where do we begin?”
“How about with your focus.”
“My focus is not a subject.”
“Well, it will be today’s subject. There is no way we can possibly get anything done if you don’t know how to focus.”
I pretended to look around the room, then back at him in confusion.
“I’m sorry. Were you saying something?
”
He sighed. “Stop. I’m being serious.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll be focused.” I closed my eyes. “I’m focusing on hitting you with a pillow.”
“Jelly Roll.”
I heard the frustration in his voice. There was something hot about aggravating him.
So, I did the one thing I hadn’t done for weeks.
I sang.
“Jelly Roll. Jelly Roll. Jelly Roll.” I even bopped a little as I sang it to the tune of Largo Al Factotum from the play The Barber of Seville.
He growled, and I sang louder.
Suddenly, a thumb was on my chin, stopping me cold. At his warm touch my eyes popped open. Joe’s face was six inches from my own, his hazel eyes blazing. He was so close I could smell his spicy aftershave.
“Sophia. Focus.”
Oh, I was focusing all right. On those eyes. That strong hand. His smooth skin and full lips.
Joe was gorgeous, and I couldn’t focus on anything else if I wanted to.
“Can you focus?” he asked.
I nodded. Slowly. “Yeah. I can focus.”
He pulled away. Slowly. His thumb on my chin was the last thing to move, and when it did, I missed it.
Crap.
He cleared his throat, while I tried to remember how to breathe.
“Okay. We’re going to do this hardcore. We have to make a schedule.”
Schedules. Ugh. That was like a dirty word.
“I see your face, and I am letting you know we’re doing this. If you want to pass eleventh grade, this is key. Okay?”
I groaned. “Can I at least get some ice cream first?”
He smiled. “Fine. Bring the tub.”
For the next hour, we wrote out my entire study schedule for the rest of the year, including time carved out for studying for finals. It felt like I was in military training.
“What about fun time?” I finally asked.
“Fun time?”
“Yeah. When do I have time for fun? You do remember what that is, right?”
He scoffed. “I have fun.”
“Oh yeah? When was the last time you had fun?”
“I play video games with Quincey every day.”
“Besides video games.”
“I don’t know. I have fun all the time.”
“A date, please?”
He shrugged. “Last year. At prom.”
My face heated, and I looked away. Last year seemed like a lifetime ago, and yet I remembered it like it was yesterday.
“That’s a long time ago,” I said.
He nodded silently.
“You should have some fun,” I said.
“I told you. I have fun.”
“Then prove it. I will abide by this ridiculous schedule, but you have to have fun with me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “What kind of fun?”
I jerked my chin at the taped together sheets of paper that were much too filled already. “Finish the schedule. After that, we’re going out.”
Lights flickered in time with the music that poured through the speakers as The Big Red Bus rumbled through the most famous sights in New York City.
“And here we have Bryant Park,” said the female member of the tour guide duet. She had chocolate brown hair and a full figure, while the other tour guide was lean, bearded, and kind of short. “Every winter the lawn gets turned into an ice rink.”
“And all the grass gets smoked,” the man interjected.
I laughed. Joe did too.
He was having more fun than he cared to admit. I could tell. Every time we had to clap or wave our hands in the air or yell out something stupid, Joe was the first to participate. He laughed at all the corny jokes and looked in awe at all the tall buildings. All with a camo trucker hat on, of course.
A true tourist.
The tour bus was all glass, except for the wheels and seats, giving us a one-hundred-eighty-degree view of the city. I say one-hundred-eighty because all the seats faced the right. At first, I thought it was some sort of engineering faux pas, like buying a sweater with both arms on the same side. But, as the bus started rolling and the “acts” started popping up along our route, I knew it was fully planned this way.
Every few minutes, we would see a dancing tourist, or a rapping delivery driver, or a businesswoman who also was a gymnast.
But my favorite part came at the end, where a woman sang an old Jackson 5 song along with a man playing the violin.
Watching her belt her heart out made me sad. I remembered when I could sing on the street or on a stage or at a party. I remembered when the thought of me singing in front of strangers didn’t bother me. Now, it felt like standing in front of a firing squad.
Would I ever perform again, or would this fear always have a hold on me, like an anchor keeping me in shark infested waters?
After the bus trip, Joe and I went to Duke’s Diner. Known internationally for its steamed cheeseburgers, Duke’s was a hodgepodge of decorations, each odd piece seemingly strewn without any thought or process.
Hand-painted stein glasses hung above a bar. Pressed pennies made up the counter. A mini Little Debbie car sat in one corner while a cooler filled with plastic skulls sat in another. Included in the madness was a candy stripe pole, a chandelier made of upside-down liquor bottles, a random row of stadium seats, and two posters of chickens. One of whom rode a Harley Davidson motorcycle while the other sat on the beach with the words, Baked or Fried written beneath it in bright red letters.
Yes, Duke’s was kind of a mess. But it was also kind of cool, and they served the best burgers I’d ever eaten.
We sat down to the tune of “Elevation” by U2, and I sank into my comfortable wooden chair.
“This place is awesome,” Joe said. “Did you see the picture of the chicken on the motorcycle?”
“Yeah. Creepy, but cool.”
“Reminds me of zooming around the back roads back home.”
My eyes went wide. “You had a motorcycle?”
“Yeah. I fixed up my dad’s old one. It’d been rusting away in the garage for years because Mama wouldn’t let him ride it anymore.”
“But she let you ride it?”
“I wouldn’t say she let me ride it. More like I rode it with questionable permissions.”
“OOO. Watch out. Superman’s turning bad.”
“No. Nothing like that. It’s my belief that not everything needs to be asked about. Plus, it was a really sweet bike.”
“I’ll bet.”
A young, blond waiter came over, and we put in our drink orders. Ginger ale for me, Pepsi for him.
“So, do you miss Trouble, Texas?” I asked.
His eyes turned troubled, and he quickly dropped his head.
“I miss my friends. My family. My farm. Riding horses and shooting at cans. I miss my teammates. But…”
I leaned forward.
“It was nice when Quincey told me he’d be in New York this summer.” He lifted his head and looked up at me. “I felt like I got a little piece of home back.”
“I’m sure it’s not so great up here.”
“Yeah.” A smile ghosted across his lips. “But it’s not so terrible either.”
Our burgers arrived, and we tucked into them. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until the first bit of juicy meat hit my taste buds. Yum.
Joe took off his hat, closed his eyes, muttered something, then put his hat back on and took a huge bite of his burger.
He prayed before eating? He was religious?
Mom did the same thing. Technically, I was supposed to pray too, but it’d been a while. Me and God hadn’t had a chance to catch up since I’d come to New York and started to catch up on being a teenager.
I took another bite of my burger, feeling a little guilty that I hadn’t prayed first.
“This is almost as good as a Texas burger,” Joe said. A bit of mustard splashed onto his cheek, and he wiped it away with a napkin.
Almost as good? Was he crazy?
This burger was amazing.
“Sorry, but Texas ain’t got nothing on Duke’s,” I said.
“You’re going to tell me that this burger can compare to a Ralph’s BBQ steakhouse burger?”
“Who’s Ralph?”
He stared at me as if I’d said a bad word.
“You mean to tell me that Quincey never took you to Ralph’s BBQ Steakhouse?”
I shook my head. “My aunt Beatrice preferred to cook when we visited.”
Joe chuckled. “Well, no wonder you bolted out of there so fast.”
I swallowed a mouthful of beef.
“Look. I know I said this before. But I’m sorry for not telling you who I was.”
He held up a hand. “No need for apologies. I know what you said about your mom. Though, I’ve been hanging out with her all week and she doesn’t seem like a bad lady.”
“She’s not bad. Just tough.”
“Well, she’s nice to me. Makes lunch and all that. Doesn’t hover.”
“That’s because you’re not named Sophia. I can hardly breathe in that house without her having a say about it. Where I go. How I dress. She doesn’t let me think for myself. It’s annoying.”
He put down his burger. “Sometimes, parents do more than necessary because they think they have to.”
“Wow, that was clear as mud.”
“What I meant to say was that maybe she’s going overboard because she’s trying to do the job of two parents.” He took another small bite of burger. “Speaking of, what happened to your dad?”
My mood downshifted to the sadness I always felt when I talked about my dad.
“My dad died in Afghanistan on September 16, 2002. On my birthday.”
Joe’s eyes opened wide, then he exhaled. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
I shook my head. “Thanks. His picture’s on the living room mantle. And he gave me this.” I pulled my gold, heart-shaped locket from my shirt to show him. It wasn’t a fancy one with a picture in the heart. Just a thin chain and a heart on the end with one small diamond in the center.
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s all I have left of him. Sometimes, I wish he were here to help me figure out what to do, you know? To show me how to be. It’s silly. I know he’s not coming back. I just wish I could have spent a little time with him.” My throat burned, and I took a sip of ginger ale to keep the heat at bay. “It’s weird how you can miss someone you never knew, right?”
