If I Tell Part 2

Mostly everyone treated her the same way they treated me. They ignored her. This late in the game, that didn't seem to bother Ashley.

"Lacey was really out of it at the party," she said after a moment.

"What else is new?"

Ashley glanced sideways at me but didn't comment. Lacey had never made an effort to get along with her, but Ashley wasn't the type to trash talk.

"You'll never guess who did show up," Ashley said as we maneuvered our way around bodies going the opposite direction.

I didn't guess.

"Your mom's boyfriend, Simon."

"No kidding?" I kept my voice level, my eyes straight ahead.

"He came by to pick up his younger brother. Simon was the one who ended up getting wasted, though, and Damien ended up driving him home."

Before she said anything else, I cut her off. "What an idiot. It's like he's trying to recapture his youth or something."

"Simon's not that much older than Marnie. He's younger than your mom, right?"

"I have no idea how old Marnie is," I said as we slipped inside our English cla.s.s. We slid into chairs in the relative safety of the middle row just as the bell rang.

"Twenty-two," Ashley supplied.

I peeked at the back of the room where Jackson usually sat. He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head.

"Hey," he mouthed.

I couldn't help a slight smile but forced myself to turn away, ignoring the little solo jig my stomach performed. So, we were going to acknowledge each other now? With an effort I forced myself not to look back again. I failed, and when I peeked, he was smiling. I dropped my gaze to my desk, my cheeks blazing.

At the front of the cla.s.s, Mr. Dustan began giving instructions. His favorite student came around and dropped exams on our desks. When I finished the test, I looked back at Jackson. As if he felt my eyes on him, he glanced up and raised his pencil in the air, saluting me. A smile turned up my lips, but I got up and took my paper to the front of the cla.s.s and left.

Alone.

When I walked into the living room, Simon was sprawled on Grandma's comfy leather couch. He made me sick, so I focused on Grandma and ignored him.

Not a strand of her storm-cloud-colored hair was out of place. She looked a little frail in her old-lady jeans and yellow cardigan, but under it was one tough woman. The only time I'd ever seen her cry was after Grandpa Joe died. And that was only once. Never since.

On the couch opposite Simon, Mom looked relaxed, but obviously appearances could be deceptive. I'd bet money she'd only included me in her meeting with Grandma to be a buffer, in case Grandma disapproved of her pregnancy. Grandma would play it down in front of me. To her, I was still a child.

"Hey, Jaz, my second favorite lady. How's your song writing going?" Simon sounded on the verge of revealing the punch line to a secret joke.

"Second?" Grandma asked. "What about me?"

He threw back his head and laughed. "It's a tie." He held up his hands in defense.

I rolled my eyes. "Can you get on with this? I have to go to work." Their news was not something I wanted to hear over and over again. I'd rather go back in time and erase everything. Maybe I'd start with Simon's existence. He frowned at me but I paid no attention, fighting to keep in my anger and the desire to stand up and tell everyone what I'd seen. The low-down dirty dog.

My stomach grumbled and I glanced at the coffee table. As always, Grandma had snacks laid out on her expensive china. She didn't like fancy things going to waste and used the china at every opportunity. She had the same metabolism as me and believed in eating carbs. I grabbed a homemade cinnamon bun off a plate and shoved a chunk in my mouth as I plunked myself in the La-Z-Boy chair off to the side of the couches.

Simon stared at me, tugging on his earlobe. "How's it going, Jaz?" he asked, tilting his head. "Everything all right?"

I pointed to my full mouth, chewing slowly. He'd have to get used to silence and snarky answers. Our friends.h.i.+p was so over.

"She's at the top of her cla.s.s with most of her grades," Grandma bragged. "And still a musical genius. Always on her guitar and writing new songs."

I shoved more cinnamon bun in my mouth and kept chewing. I could add I was still pretty much socially inept to even things out.

"Beauty and brains," Mom said, smiling at me a little too hard.

"Good thing she takes after her grandma," Grandma said.

Mom snorted. "Well. On that fitting note. We have a surprise for you." Mom leaned forward and picked her purse up off the floor. She unzipped it and pulled out a small, blue velvet box and thrust it into Grandma's hand.

Simon leaned forward, watching them with his huge paw-like hand reaching up to cover his mouth. His lips were turned up in a smile, and I wanted to s.n.a.t.c.h it off his face. What right did he have to look excited?

"What's this?" Grandma asked, glancing at Simon and then back at my mom.

Mom leaned back against the couch. "Open it."

I shoved more cinnamon bun in my mouth.

Grandma squealed when she looked inside the box. "This isn't jewelry." She pulled out a pregnancy test with a bright blue positive sign in the square in the middle.

I stuck my tongue out, disgusted. "Gross. She peed on that thing."

Grandma chuckled. "I'm going to be a grandma!" She squealed and wrapped her arms around Mom. For the first time in years I witnessed them hugging. Grandma broke away and turned to me, her eyes moist with tears. "Did you know about this? I can't believe you kept a secret! You're terrible at secrets."

"I am not." I glared at Simon, but he was grinning so I looked back at Grandma.

Grandma put the pregnancy test back in the box and brought it to her chest. "You'll be a big sister." She was cuddling the pee stick.

"Lucky me." I looked down and noticed a tiny hole in the big toe of my sock.

"Jaz." I glanced up. Grandma's eyebrows were knit together tight. "That was rude." She turned to Simon. "So when is the big day?"

"h.e.l.lo? We're not getting married," Mom said.

"I meant the due date," Grandma said and swatted at her knee. "When have you ever done things in the right order?"

Mom laughed, and the three of them all started talking at the same time.

"Hey Jaz, the baby's due two days after my twenty-eighth birthday. How cool a present is that?" Simon called to me. "I phoned my dad with the news, and he's flying across the pond a few months after the baby's born."

As if I should still care. Simon's dad moved to England years ago when he split with Simon's mom. I knew Simon would be pumped about seeing him again, but I hardened my heart, trying not to think about our long talks about absent fathers. I didn't want to care about Simon or his life anymore.

I imagined myself standing up and pointing an accusing finger at Simon. Not cool at all, you two-timing freak. How far did you go after I saw you making out with Lacey? Did you get her pregnant too?

I pictured Grandma smas.h.i.+ng her good china on Simon's head. I swallowed the permanent wedge in my throat and added an image of my mom collapsing on the floor in a ladylike faint to my fantasy. But then I imagined her grabbing her stomach. Losing the baby.

"Jasmine?" Grandma said.

I glanced up.

"This is great news, isn't it?" Grandma spoke in a soft voice that told me she suspected something.

"Clearly much happier than it was seventeen years ago when she made the same announcement," I said and stood, almost knocking the plate of cinnamon buns off the table with my knee. "I have to get going." If I stayed another moment, I'd burst into tears. Or spill the secret. And I didn't want to do either.

"Jasmine," Mom and Grandma said at the same time with equal unhappiness in their voices. I had the urge to yell, "Jinx. You owe me a beer," at them.

"Where do you have to go right now?" The wrinkles on Grandma's face deepened as she stared up at me. "This is a celebration."

I started coughing and couldn't stop.

When I got myself under control, I saw a look pa.s.s between Simon and Mom as if they felt sorry for me. As if I was acting like a jerk because I was jealous of their baby or something. As if I was the one doing something wrong.

"I have to work." True. Even if it wasn't for an hour.

I ran from the living room and raced upstairs to change into my work stuff and grab my guitar. I hurried back down with my guitar case slung over my shoulder.

"Can I use Grandpa's car to go to work?" I called to Grandma in the living room. I didn't drive it often because I was afraid of getting in an accident and ruining our only connection to him. Funny that Grandpa had been gone so long, but it was still his car. It always would be. It even had the faint smell of him lingering in the cloth seats.

"Why're you taking your guitar to work?" Grandma yelled.

"I'll be jamming after work. At Lacey's," I lied. That was the last place I'd go, but I'd find somewhere to play.

"Fine. Drive carefully."

I went to the front door to grab the key off the hook where Grandma kept it.

"She's the one acting like a baby," I heard Grandma say as the door banged behind me. "But she'll get used to the idea. It'll grow on her."

I had the urge to sit down on the front lawn and cry. Simon had gotten drunk and made out with my best friend while my pregnant mom waited at home.

But I was the one who got to be the bad guy. And keep his secret.

chapter three.

I rushed through the parking lot of Grinds, wiping my clammy hands on my pants. I only had two minutes to spare before my s.h.i.+ft started. I'd gone for a long drive to try to clear my messed-up thoughts. Hurrying inside, I slipped through the employee entrance and clocked in.

A long line of impatient customers swirled around the cafe. Lacey looked up from the cash register, her eyes staring right into mine, before turning back to a woman in line. I blew out a breath of relief that she was too busy to talk, pulled my blue ap.r.o.n off a hook, and joined Amber in the Pit. I didn't deal with customers most s.h.i.+fts. Amber knew that wasn't my forte.

"Thank goodness you're here. It's crazy." Amber squirted caramel in a decorative flower pattern on top of a mug of foam. "Some convention across the street. They all want their coffee yesterday."

Lacey called out coffee orders while Amber and I slipped into a busy but comfortable groove. The rush lasted for almost an hour. As soon as it ended, Amber said she was heading into the office to do paperwork.

"How come you hired Jackson Morgan?" I asked as Amber pulled off her ap.r.o.n and smoothed out her whiskey-colored hair. I kind of hoped she'd tell me more about him. How he ended up working at Grinds. What his favorite color was. If he was into girls like me.

"You have a problem with him?" She folded her ap.r.o.n into a square.

My cheeks burned. "No, of course not. He just doesn't seem, I don't know, like the coffee-shop type." I rubbed at my guitar charm and glanced out into the cafe.

"There is no type, honey. Do you know how hard it is to get part-time workers these days? Unless he's not doing his job or he's stealing from me, he's more than welcome to work here. He's a good kid."

"That's probably not what his parole officer says," I mumbled, and my cheeks flamed again. By trying to hide my interest, I sounded like a jerk.

"Hey." Amber smacked my arm lightly. "You of all people don't strike me as the judgmental type." She gave me a dirty look before slipping out of the work area and heading for her office at the back of the shop.

I made a face at her back but avoided looking toward the cash register, where I felt Lacey's presence in the pit of my stomach. I kept busy fetching milk from the cooler, filling steel carafes, topping up mixes, and cleaning up spills.

Inevitably Lacey sauntered over to the Pit and stood still, just staring at me. I ignored her.

"So, how's it going?" she finally asked.

"Fine." I wished there was a mute b.u.t.ton I could press to keep her from saying more.

"You going to stay mad at me forever?" she asked.

I scrubbed the counter like I was sanding Grandma's old furniture. From the corner of my eye, I saw Lacey jut her hip out. She blew a bubble with her gum and breathed out until it popped.

"I'm sorry. I mean...about what happened," she said. "We were both really drunk."

I scrubbed harder, concentrating on the counter and not making eye contact with her. "You weren't too drunk to know it was Simon."

She s.h.i.+fted from one foot to another. "I know. I'm sorry. I don't know how it happened."

I willed her not to say anything more. The less I knew, the better.

"This is really awkward," she said.

"You could say that." A surge of anger hit me, and I glanced straight at her. "How could you do that? Simon, Lacey. It was Simon."

"I was drunk, Jaz. It was stupid."

"Drunk is always your excuse."

Lacey didn't speak for a moment. "Ouch," she finally said and lifted a hand and studied her nails. "I didn't mean to get that drunk. I feel terrible."