Bottled Blue

Luckily, Jett’s room was the first door at the top of the stairs. He’d left his door open, so I could see him moving around inside it when I got to the top of the staircase. He’d already changed into jeans and a t-shirt and was dumping the contents of his backpack out onto his bed. I tapped my knuckles on the doorjamb. He looked up and smiled.

“I knew you’d come around,” he said.

“I couldn’t figure out the remote, and your dad looked at me like I was a freak,” I explained.

“Well—I imagine he’s not accustomed to finding blue-haired chicks in the living room.”

“Did you really just call me a blue-haired chick?”

“Sorry. Is that offensive? Blue-haired lady. How’s that?”

“Shut up, asshole.” He just snickered.

“You can sit down if you want.” There was no way in hell I would sit on his bed. He noticed me hesitate. “I have a chair.” I stepped into the room and set my messenger bag down on the floor by his dresser. Then I took the chair that was pushed under his desk.

“So,” I said, tapping my fingers on my knees. “This is where Jett lives.”

“Lives, eats, sleeps,” he confirmed as he sifted through the pile of junk he’d dumped on his bed.

“Is this where the magic happens?” He let go of a bark of laughter.

“You’re kidding, right? My mom would never let any magic happen in this house.”

“Sounds boring.”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s lots of magic happening. Just not ours.”

“Gross. Your family seems so—normal.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“I don’t know. I guess I just always thought you had a spoiled rich boy thing going on. But your room is—actually really small.” He laughed.

“My parents don’t believe in spending money on things you don’t need. So they decided to spend their money on school and college funds.”

“Weirdly smart.”

“Again, sorry to disappoint.”

I actually wasn’t disappointed. Just kind of—humbled. I’d seen the band at the MTV movie awards once, and his mom had shown up in a gold dress that looked like it was actually made of real gold. His dad wore a suit that looked so expensive it probably cost more than both my parents’ cars. But they were just—people. Who lived in an average house and had normal kids.

I watched him shove everything back into his backpack after finding what he was looking for. It irked me that he didn’t try to organize the mess. I mean—I knew my bedroom looked like a mess, but I knew exactly where everything was. My bookcase was organized by subject, my clothes by color, and my junk by size so that all the big stuff was in the back and not blocking out the little stuff. I had everything figured out. Even my bag was organized and color-coded. Jett seemed to thrive in the chaos. Further proof that we could never be friends.

“So what kind of music do you like?” he asked, dropping his backpack onto the wood floor. He sat down on the bed to face me.

“Not Shoot the Gems, if that’s what you’re asking.” His dark eyebrows rose.

“No, that’s not what I was asking. I figured you didn’t like them from the start.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know. They reached their peak in the eighties. I didn’t take you for the type to listen to that kind of music.”

“I like older bands. Just like—Janis Joplin and stuff.”

“Sixties.”

“So?”

“So it’s a different vibe.”

“So, what do you think I listen to then?”

“You’re almost a cliché, Aasha. With your peacoats, blue hair, bohemian bedroom, and sixties music collection. Is Nirvana your favorite band too? Are you a vegetarian?” I wanted to hit him. Comments like this were the reason I still hated him.

“You have the same coat as me, stupid. I have blue hair because it’s my favorite color, and there’s no rule that says I can’t have blue hair. My bedroom is just pretty. I like pretty things and clutter. I only like a few bands from the sixties, and I only listen to Nirvana when my dad does. My favorite band is the Dandy Warhols, for your information.” His eyebrows rose again.

“You like the Dandy Warhols?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why not? They just make me happy.” He smiled.

“Interesting.”

“I’m not used to people knowing who they are, to be honest with you.” He shrugged.

“I know everyone. I think I’ve only heard like two songs, though. I don’t think I’ve ever actively searched them out.”

“I know exactly which songs too. Typical.”

“Enlighten me then, Blue.” I rolled my eyes and turned to his massive CD collection.

“Do you have a CD player?”

“My parents are musicians. Of course, I do.” He nodded toward where it was pushed against the wall.

“Okay, just checking.” I reached for my bag to get my CD player out. Then I popped it in and found the song I was looking for.

“This is my music, Kanellis,” I told him, rolling away from the desk. I sat back and tapped my fingers on my knees again. Jett leaned against his knees and listened attentively. He had his eyes on the floor, but I could see by his eyes that he was calculating every note in that music genius kind of way. I shut my eyes and sank into the seat. It was a beautiful song, and I couldn’t stop myself from tapping my feet on the floor.

When it finally finished, I opened my eyes and found him watching me. Then I was really self-conscious because I wasn’t sure how long he’d been watching me.

“So yeah,” I said, sitting up straight again and reaching to get my CD back. “Good band.” I saw him nod from the corner of my eye.

“Are you really a vegetarian?” he asked. I shook my head, glad he wasn’t going to ask more questions about my music. I could handle it if he hated it. But having him like it felt too personal and weird.

“No. I just don’t eat red meat and pork. But I’ll eat chicken.”

“Why don’t you eat red meat or pork?”

“Why do you care?”

“I’m just curious.”

“Because it tastes like metal, and I don’t like how chewy it is.” He smiled.

“Interesting.”

“Jett, Billie’s here!” a voice called up the stairs. I was assuming it was his mom.

“Ready to go?” he asked me.

“Do I have a choice?” He stood up and reached for his navy blue coat again. I hated how good it looked on him when he was wearing his actual clothes. It no longer looked like the calculated outfit of a pretentious rich boy like it did when he wore his school uniform. Instead, he just looked—effortlessly cool.

“Nope,” he said with a crooked smile.