“The truth is, I’m feeling sad. All because of a guy I met. A guy I can’t stop thinking about.
“I want to tell you about him—about all the effing magnificent things that put me in awe of him. He’s strong on every level. He’s independent, knows who he is, doesn’t let anyone tell him what to do. He’s smart as hell. And he’s talented and doesn’t have an ego about it. And he’s kind. You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but he’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.
“I don’t know if we ever had a chance to be a couple. But I wanted more than he was willing to give, and he shut me down. I’ve asked myself what I could’ve done differently. Maybe I could’ve found a way to keep him in my life, just as friends. Well, screw that. I don’t want to hide how I feel or what I want. Sure, I took a risk and it didn’t work out for me. But it was worth a shot. Because this guy, I have to say, is freaking amazing.
“Let me tell you how it feels to miss this guy. It hurts. It’s like a canker that burns a hole in your mouth and won’t let you eat or drink. Like the headache that pounds away and makes you want to curl up into a little ball and shut out the world.
“I never understood what heartbreak is until now. I never even liked the expression—it’s cheesy, isn’t it? But I get it. Because something inside of me actually feels broken. And I can’t think of anything that could heal me but him.
“Okay, so I’ve made this into a pity party. Thanks for coming. If any of you are going through this, I want you to know that I understand. That I’m with you in this.
“Anyone have a suggestion for a song we could play? Something that matches what I’m feeling, and maybe what some of you are feeling?”
The phones were lighting up. I pressed on line one. “Hey there. You got a song idea for me?”
“I do. How about some Macklemore and Ryan Lewis?” The guy had a smooth, black voice. “‘Can’t Hold Us.’ You need some cheering up, honey.”
I laughed. “I love that idea. Instead of bringing us down, let’s bring us up.”
“You’ve got a beautiful voice, baby.” His own voice was playful. “It don’t matter if you’re skinny minny or big and beautiful. I’m here for you. I’ll make sure you’re never lonely.”
“You’re a sweetheart. Thanks for the cheer-up.”
“My pleasure.”
I put on the song, then took off the headphones for a minute. To my surprise, I felt lighter. It was a relief to talk about how I was feeling. Suddenly aware of myself, I glanced up and saw Caballero and Olive watching me with sympathetic smiles.
“It’s cool,” I mouthed.
The rest of the show was an emotional roller coaster of callers with breakup stories, getting-back-together stories, or new love stories. Afterward, I got hugs from Caballero and Olive, and went out to the parking lot. I half hoped to see X there, waiting by the car.
But there was no one.
OPEN
“WHO’S THE ASSCLOWN THAT BROKE your heart?” Alistair asked the next day.
That was the price of spilling your guts on the air. The people who cared about you brought it up. We were eating our lunches on the front lawn of the school, under a canopy of palm trees. It would’ve been idyllic if it weren’t for the noise and stink from the traffic going by.
I put down the last of my ham-and-cheese croissant and dusted off my hands. “Why do you want to know, Alistair? You’re gonna beat his ass?”
He pondered that. “Sure, I could inflict harm on his ass. We’re learning about proctology in advanced biology—the study of the colon, rectum, and anus. All I’ll need are some latex gloves and a headlight, and I’ll be on my way.”
We laughed. I didn’t think much could amuse me today, but Alistair’s deadpan humor had done the trick. Rory laughed so hard he snorted out a piece of food.
“Ew!” Adriana narrowly dodged the flying particle. “So who is he, Gabby? You never told us there was a guy.”
I caught the note of accusation. She was right; I’d never told them. And I still couldn’t tell them all the reasons why I’d kept X a secret.
“Yeah, about that. I didn’t want to mention it until we were actually a couple. We’d started hanging out, and I kept thinking it would go to the next level, but it never did.”
It wasn’t the best of explanations, but Adriana seemed to accept it. Caro’s response was to hold out a container full of teddy bear–shaped cookies. “They’re homemade. I hope you’re okay, Gabby. You sounded really depressed.”
I knew that was true. WKTU’s Twitter feed had blown up with well wishes. I’d probably overdone it. Oh, well.
I took a few bites of the chewy cookie. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. Yesterday was pretty heavy. I visited JC in the hospital.”
They went quiet.
“His mom said he wanted to see me, so I figured I’d go.”
“Tell me one thing,” Adriana said, lifting a finger. “Did he own up to being a complete jerk? Or did he use the drugs turned me into a douchebag defense?”
“He apologized. Didn’t blame the drugs, just blamed himself. He admitted that he had a hate-on for me after the breakup.”
“Glad to hear he admitted it,” Caro said. “When’s he coming back to school?”
“He’s not. His parents are going to send him somewhere else. It’s a good call. There are too many bad influences here.”
“In the form of Liam Murray,” Alistair said with a sneer. “JC will have to pick better friends in the future.”
I nodded. “It was Liam who got him into Blings in the first place. He even sells them at school.”
“Too bad they didn’t catch him in that raid a few weeks ago,” Alistair said. “You’d think the dogs would’ve sniffed them out.”
“Liam found the perfect hiding place. He keeps his stash in the boiler room. I’m sure the dogs didn’t go to the basement.”
“We should find the stash and destroy it,” Rory said eagerly. “Liam would totally freak!”
Alistair made a face. “I wouldn’t recommend destroying them. Blings are part of the lysergic acid family of psychedelic drugs. They’re highly flammable.”
Rory grinned. “Then I say we stick one of them up Liam’s ass and watch him blow. Wouldn’t you like that, after what he did to you?”
Alistair gave a grim nod. “Don’t tempt me.”
When I got home that afternoon, all I wanted to do was flop down on the couch and get lost in some mindless TV. But David was on the couch, his hand swallowed up by a huge bag of chips. “About your show last night.”
I groaned. Was this another case of Melody listening on his behalf? I really wasn’t in the mood to explain my deepest feelings to him. “What about it?” Instead of waiting for his reply, I went to the kitchen in search of a snack.
He followed me in, pulling a stool up to the island. “Melody and I were listening together. She gave me shit because I didn’t know you were dating anyone.”
I grabbed some yogurt from the fridge and tore off the top. “We weren’t dating, not actually. I’d been hoping . . .” I broke off. Was I really talking about this with my brother? This had to stop right now. “Don’t tell Mom and Dad.”
He looked offended. “Of course not. You can trust me. Anyway, the guy’s a dumbass if he doesn’t want you.”
Did my brother just say that? He’d done a convincing job of making me feel like a nuisance since birth. What had changed?
“Your show’s popular in my dorm, you know.” He crunched some more chips. “Some people don’t even believe you’re my sister.”
Did I detect some brotherly pride? I wondered if Melody was responsible for the change.
“So, how are things with Melody?”
He smiled. “Good. Really good.”
Wow. My brother was in love. Cocky David had met his match. I was proud of him.
We talked some more, about Melody and his pre-med program. When our parents got home an hour later, Mom brought in the mail and put it on the kitchen table.
“Something for you, Gabby. There’s no postmark.”
She handed me a scroll wrapped in newspaper, labeled with my name.
My eyes widened. Was it from X?
“Thanks.” Without saying more, I headed upstairs and shut myself in my room.
My fingers shook as I tore open the newspaper wrapping, careful not to damage what was inside. As I unfurled the drawing, I held my breath.
It was an incredible Miami streetscape drawn in black chalk. I sat down on the bed with it, examining the details. There were street kids huddled together under a bridge. A pimp held court on a street corner as two innocent-looking girls walked by. Cops were parked in their cruiser smoking cigarettes. A street artist in a knit cap looked down at a canvas. It was X.
I knew why he’d put himself in it. This was his world—dark, gritty Miami. It was nothing like the sunny, sheltered Miami where I’d grown up.
Then I spotted another detail. There was a girl on the ground floor of a glass building on Miracle Mile. She was sitting down, leaning into a microphone.
It was me.
Was this X’s way of reaching out? Of saying we weren’t done?
Then I saw it. The sketch wasn’t signed with the usual X. It was signed with an actual name. Jackson Marland.
Oh my God. His name. He was telling me his name.
Jackson Marland. That was the name that carried the baggage.
I took out my phone. The temptation to search the name was overwhelming. He must have known I would do it. He was allowing me to do it.
I typed in his name and scanned the results. The only Jackson Marlands I saw were an aspiring actor in LA, and a quirky teen from St. Louis. Definitely not him.
I searched Jackson Marland Miami. The name Darlene Marland came up several times. I clicked on a Miami Herald article from four years ago. And then I knew.
Miami Teen on Trial for Stabbing Mother’s Boyfriend
Alexander Horvat was in critical condition when he arrived at the hospital with stab wounds. His girlfriend, Darlene Marland, confirmed that it was her estranged son who’d attacked him.
There it was. The ugly secret he’d been hiding.
The trial had taken place the following year. When I saw the next headline, my heart sank.
Mother Testifies for Prosecution in Son’s Trial
The teen in the story, who wasn’t named because of his age, claimed to have stabbed his mother’s boyfriend in her defense. But his mother told the judge that her son had returned home after months on the streets, high and deranged, and had attacked her boyfriend without provocation. Alexander Horvat had a criminal record himself that included several counts of assault and drug possession. In the end, the teen was convicted of aggravated assault and sentenced to two years in juvenile detention.
I knew in my gut that even at sixteen, X would never have stabbed someone without provocation. That, I knew.
My eyes welled up. X was such a good person—a person who devoted himself to helping others. I’d seen the compassion in his eyes when we’d walked the streets in search of Bree. I’d seen the vulnerability in him when he told me he couldn’t be my boyfriend.
Now I knew why. He hadn’t wanted me to know about this. He probably thought that someone with my background wouldn’t be able to see past it.
But last night he must’ve heard my show and decided it was worth the risk.
I called him.
“Hey,” he said. I heard him exhale, maybe with relief.
The sound of his voice melted me. “It’s me. Can I come over?”
“Yeah, please.”
“Right now?”
“Right now.”
On the sidewalk, half an hour later, we stood in front of each other, the Miami sky as blue as his eyes.
“Jackson?”
“That’s me.” He searched my face, needing reassurance. So I chose the quickest way: I put my arms around his neck and kissed him.
His mouth opened against mine, startled, but hungry. He squeezed me so tight I could hardly breathe. “Gabby . . .”
Our tongues danced, our mouths slanted. I was practically wrapped around him, right there on the sidewalk. He took my hand and we went inside.
With the door closed behind us, he gathered me in his arms again. But this time we didn’t kiss; we just held each other.
“I looked you up. Read the news stories.”
“And you’re here.” His eyes were questioning.
“Of course I’m here. I’m glad I know your name. Jackson. It suits you.”
“Thanks. It’s not a bad name, I guess. Growing up, my mom used to call me Jackie. God, I hated that. It was always, ‘Jackie, pass me my booze. Jackie, find me my smokes.’” He scowled. “When they booked me at the police station, the cops took my fingerprints and had me sign my name. I signed an X. I thought, I’m sick of being Jackson. I’ll be X from now on. Probably sounds crazy.”
“No, it makes sense. Of course you’d want to be someone else after everything you’d been through.”
He eyed me steadily. “My version of what happened that night is different from the one you read in the papers. My version’s the truth.”
“You don’t have to go into it if it’s too painful.”
“No, it’s okay. I want to. The thing is, I came home that day for my mom. Had this dumb idea that I could convince her to get clean and ditch the loser, who was always kicking the shit out of us. Alex is the one who did this to me before I ran away.” He pointed to his broken nose. “Mom blamed me for talking back to him.”
He took a deep breath. “When I went home that day, Alex was there, high as usual. He told me to get the fuck outta there. Mom told him she wanted me to stay. That’s when he turned on her.” His jaw hardened. “I pulled him off her, but then he pinned me to the wall and was about to start pummeling me. I had a switchblade on me. I always carried it with me, for security.” He grunted. “The judge didn’t understand that I had to stab him a few times just to get him off me. That’s how high he was. He wasn’t feeling any pain.”
My chest ached. “And there was no one on your side?”
“I did have someone, my soccer coach. He knew all about the shit Mom and Alex had put me through. He told the judge how, even after I’d run away from home, I’d been going to school.”
“Wow. I’m surprised you found it in you to go, considering.”
“School was a safe place. There were rules. Not like at home. You never knew what to expect, day to day. You never knew what druggie would show up looking for a place to crash, or looking to get paid.” He shuddered. “I owe my coach for sticking up for me. My lawyer sucked. Told me plead no contest, to put it all down to being high that day. I wouldn’t do it. I wasn’t a user. I’d been surrounded by drugs my whole fucking life. When I was on the streets, I saw what drugs did to my friends. No, I wasn’t a user, and wasn’t gonna pretend to be. I told my lawyer I’d rather get locked up.”
“I’m glad you didn’t lie.” That was Jackson for you. Even with his freedom on the line, he wasn’t going to break, wasn’t going to compromise the truth.
“If I had, I’d have gone to a rehab and gotten out in a few months. But I don’t regret it. I met some guys there who became my band of brothers.”
“The Destinos?”
“Some of them, yeah. We stuck by each other. I never knew a brotherhood like that before. My older brothers never gave a shit about me and my little brother. Guess it’s what happens when you grow up fending for yourself. You don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself.”
“But that didn’t happen to you.” I knew from the way he talked about Kaden that he was looking out for him.
“You’re right, it didn’t. I don’t know why.” He shrugged. “In the end, juvie wasn’t that bad. I got the rest of my high school credits there. Didn’t need to worry about where I’d sleep every night. When you’re used to being on the street, that’s a big plus. The shitty part was not being able to look out for Kaden. Since Mom and
Alex were as fucked up as ever, social services finally stepped in and put him in foster care.”
“Is your mom still with Alex now?”
“No. He’s dead. Got shot by another drug dealer a couple years later.” He said it casually, like he felt neither satisfaction nor regret.
“Have you seen your mom since then?”
“Why would I? She was never a mom to me. A kid’s supposed to feel safe, right? A mom’s supposed to spend money on food for her kids, not on getting high. That woman is . . . diseased.” There was regret in his voice, as if there was still some part of him that didn’t want to accept it.
“The one thing I never understood was why, when social services wanted to take my brother and me away, she’d do whatever she could to keep us. I deluded myself into thinking it was because she loved us. Took me years to figure out she just wanted the welfare check.” He broke off suddenly. “So you’ll forgive me if I’ve got trust issues.” He attempted a smile. “I’m working on them.”
I smiled back. “You’ve made a lot of progress.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
“Good.” He hesitated. “I’ve been listening to your show, Gabby. Ever since I found out about it, I’ve been listening. Sometimes I just need to hear your voice.” He looked at me. “I heard you last night.”
My heart turned over. “I figured that’s what the drawing was about.”
“I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“Thank you.”
His mouth curved up. “I loved the part about the canker that won’t let you eat or drink.”
I smiled. “Got the point across, didn’t I?”
“And that caller who requested Macklemore—he was awesome.” We laughed, and then he was kissing me senseless.
I felt the tightness of his muscles, the incredible strength of him, and the need making his body tremble.
“God, Gabby,” he said, trying his best not to be rough as his hands went all over me.
A bell rang in my mind. The words of Miss Lisa came to me. Someone needs your help. Had it been Jackson all along? Had he needed me to open him up and teach him to trust?