At Least They're Committed

Jet rolls the cigarette between his middle finger and thumb like he did nasal waste when he was young. He holds it to his pale, full lips one more time and inhales before crushing it against the painted white, brick wall of his high school. Or what is his high school for that moment. First day of school, at least for him, first semester “back” in town with his transient parents, hotel managers who uprooted Jet and his six brothers and sisters every few months. Or maybe they’ll make a year.

Mr. Draper’s world history class is full of sophomores. More indignation: he’s a senior. Some of his scores, or maybe it was the classes he took, they just didn’t count. All eyes upon him as he’s introduced to the class, he stares at his desk. Acknowledging nobody.

She sits behind him and sniffs. Smoker. Gross. So this was what all the excitement was about? Being a relative newcomer herself, the buzz about Beau’s return had been swelling for weeks. But this isn’t Beau. This is his older brother, Jet. And if Beau were beautiful — which she’d have yet to see — Jet was not. His bowl-cut style, the mocha brown hair seemed to blend in with the slight olive of his skin; that coupled with wolfen blue eyes, he is freakish. Creepy. She instantly loathes him because she knows right off she will love him.

Foolish, foolish girl! She’s too obvious and even if he had cared for her the delight his friends take in mocking her sideways glances toward him wouldn’t allow it. Cute enough, but no guy, especially THIS guy, wants someone whose eyes so openly want him.

Beau, he wasn’t really all that. At least he wasn’t handsome. Charismatic? Yeah, sure. Why not. No matter. The family lives close enough, walking distance, in a charcoal, peeling four bedroom rental with seven children. The carpet was once off-white and beige shag, and the smell of Marlboros goes much further back than what Jet’s mom brings into it. The girl knows that because she and her best friend Jennifer ride past the house, bumping into and chatting it up with Beau, straightening, laughing and flipping their hair while pretending not to see Jet, and making friends with the family’s two young daughters. Close enough to be invited into the house; to sincerely care about the girls’ welfare, helping them learn to ride bikes, running with the smallest on their shoulders.

Jet’s a clever boy. He teases the girl in part because it empowers him, in part because he wants to keep her close — he studies her, he doesn’t understand how she can love him and, when it comes down to it, doesn’t respect her because of it. He says to his youngest sister, in all confidence that the information will be passed on, that he likes the girl. Thinks of asking her out. Then he rubs the soft, blond hair on his chin and wonders aloud, “Do you think she likes roses?”

Jet’s youngest sister, she can’t keep anything to herself! And no more than a day or two later the girl gets out of the back seat of her parents’ car, home, and Mom and Dad emerge from the front. Returning from the grocery store. Right away she sees the long, slender box leaning against the front door. Her heart leaps — maybe, just maybe if you love someone enough he’ll come around; maybe, just maybe he’ll love you back.

But the roses are for someone else. Her big sister from the sister’s boyfriend.

Hope is a dozen roses on the doorstep. Hope is for someone else.