Bottled Blue

When I got off the phone with Jett, I felt sad. Even though I didn’t act like it, sometimes hating him wasn’t easy. He made me laugh, and when he was nice, there was always a bit of doubt in my heart. Like maybe I was just being—well—a bitch. Then he’d ruin it by mentioning my panties or making a stupid dickish comment. But that was the thing, though. His comments weren’t really that dickish. He was either just messing around or trying to cheer me up. Like the comment about my underwear. And the awkward apology made me think it had been one of those things blurted in the moment and not meant maliciously.

I suppose it had always been like that. I’d just been on the defense from the start. I thought he was just being an asshole, and I didn’t realize what he was actually saying.

Why was I overanalyzing it? I got what I wanted. He was out of my life now except for school and homework. He promised he’d leave me alone, which I wanted. Right? I took the phone back downstairs to hang it up in the foyer. My mom stepped into the room, still wearing her work clothes.

“What’s going on?” she asked. I shook my head.

“Nothing. He was just apologizing to me.”

“For what?” She crossed her arms and leaned in the archway.

“He sort of got mad at me today. He said I hate everything. I don’t. But I guess I say it a lot. I feel kind of bad about it.”

“Why?”

“Well, he was right. And he’s always been nice to me. I mean—he snapped at me at school once, but I think we just tend to get under each other’s skin. But he’s not mean on purpose. Not like I am. Today I fell down, and he helped me back up and bought me tea. And we hung out in the music room together. He played piano for me. It was just—pleasant. And I don’t know….”

“You might like him?”

“No. Not like that! I just feel bad for being—well, a bitch. And yet he was the one who apologized to me. And all he did was get mad that I was being a bitch.”

“So maybe you should apologize too.”

“I mean—I kind of did. But then he promised he’d stop trying to be my friend, and it made me feel bad.”

“Do you want to be friends with him?”

“No.” She gave me a condescending look. Like I was lying. “I don’t!”

“Okay, okay. I believe you.” Her tone suggested she didn’t. And it really annoyed me.

“Okay, well, I’m going back to my room. Thanks for the pep talk.”

“Uh-huh.”

The next day at school, I saw Jett once at lunch when he was sitting with Katie and all her friends and the twins. Then I didn’t see him again until Biology, when he came in late with a piece of tissue shoved up his nostril. He sat down beside me and didn’t say anything. I watched him poke at his nose and groan.

“Are you okay?” I whispered. He glanced at me.

“I’m fine.”

“What happened?”

“An altercation.”

“I figured that out. Let me see it.”

“What?” I gave him the same look he gave me the day before when I got a piece of glass stuck in my back. He sighed and turned to me. I gently pulled the tissue out of his nose, revealing the blood. I pushed his chin up to examine him.

“I don’t think it’s broken,” I noted.

“It’s not.”

“I think it stopped bleeding too. Here, I have a wet wipe.” I reached into my bag and handed one out to him. My mom said I was a bit of a germaphobe. He cleaned off his face and nodded toward me.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Everything okay?” Mr. Louis asked. I nodded.

“Fine,” Jett said.

After class, I got my stuff together and headed out into the hall to get to my next class. Jett sidled up beside me.

“You’re not allowed to do that, you know?” he said. His hands were in his pockets. And even though his nose was a little red, there was no sign that he’d been hit in the face. No bruises or swelling that I could see. And no one said anything about a fight breaking out. Those kinds of things usually spread quickly.

“Do what?”

“Be nice to me.”

“I’m allowed to be nice.”

“Not if you want me to leave you alone.”

“I just kind of feel bad, okay?”

“For what?”

“For being so negative all the time. For being kind of a jerk yesterday.”

“Don’t mention it. So are we on good terms now, or are you just feeling generous?” I sighed and glared up at him. But I knew he was just messing with me again.

“It’s comments like that that make me want to slap you.” He grinned back because now he realized I was doing the same thing.

“I’ll see you in your bedroom later.” Then he spun around and trotted ahead of me. Still keeping his eyes on me, he did a little dance and sang in a high-pitched voice, “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Shut up and go away,” I said. He ran off, and I turned the corner, trying not to let my smile escape. It did anyway.