Jennifer
Six hours earlier
My aunt sat behind a mahogany desk, looking stern as ever, with her perfectly coiffed hair and prim demeanor.
I tried to keep my composure as I sat across from her, but I could feel my heart pounding in my chest.
"So, Jennifer," she began, her voice dripping with disdain. "I hear you've been causing quite the commotion around here."
I shrugged my shoulders defiantly. "I'm just trying to survive here, Aunt Agatha. It's not like I'm robbing banks or anything."
She raised an eyebrow. "Your definition of fun seems to include tattoos, underage drinking, and general delinquency. That’s what you’ve come from, right?"
I bit my lip, knowing she had a point. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I'll try to be better."
She leaned forward, her eyes boring into mine. "You better, young lady. Otherwise, you'll be out of here faster than you can say 'I'm sorry.'"
I fidgeted in my seat, feeling the weight of her disapproval. "So, what's my punishment?"
Aunt Agatha leaned back in her chair, a smug smile on her face.
"You're going to be on dorm duty. Starting tonight, you'll be responsible for making sure all the boys are in their rooms by eight o'clock. And if you can't handle that, you can go back to your life in that miserable little neighborhood and rot there."
I bristled at her condescension. "I can handle it just fine, Aunt Agatha. I'm not some delicate flower, you know."
She raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Well, we'll see. And just to make sure you take this seriously, I'll be checking in on you."
I groaned, knowing this was going to be a long and embarrassing punishment. "Fine. Whatever. I'll do it."
The Present Moment
This day had been the absolute worst, and I spoke as someone with years of experience in having pretty shitty days.
My aunt made me feel like I was a sack of rotten potatoes left out in the sun for too long.
Gym class had been a reprieve. I’d been able to let out my anger, and the short leotards were made for my skin. Yes, they showed my tattoos.
But I was fine with that. My fellow classmates, however, didn’t make it any easier for me.
Daniel was already waiting for me.
The dude was like a foot taller than me and twice as wide, but I wasn't about to let him push me around.
So, we were in the middle of doing some jumping jacks when Daniel started making fun of my form.
"Hey Jennifer, I didn't know you were auditioning for the role of a flamingo," he snickered.
I could feel my face getting red, but I didn't want to let him get the best of me. "Oh, I'm sorry, Daniel. I didn't know you were auditioning for the role of an elephant," I shot back.
There were sniggers here and there, and even the teacher had to stifle a chuckle. Daniel just stood there with his mouth hanging open, clearly not used to being outwitted by a girl half his size.
But that wasn't even the best part.
See, I'd always been pretty athletic, and that day, we were doing the beep test—you know, the one where we’d have to run back and forth between two points and the beeps get faster and faster?
Well, let's just say, I absolutely crushed it. Daniel was huffing and puffing by the time we hit level ten, but I was still going strong.
After class, the teacher pulled me aside and told me he was really impressed with my performance. He even suggested I try out for the track team.
Once class ended, I made my way to my aunt’s private quarters. My aunt was a meanie, but she’d made this one exception for me. I didn’t have to share the bathrooms with the boys.
And I knew this was a huge thing, because the last, the very last, problem I needed was learning to pee in one of those shoot-in-me contraptions.
I sighed as the warm water of the shower jet sprayed over me. Turning the knobs, I alternated between hot and cold until I was completely drenched.
Stepping out, I took a few seconds to look at my aunt’s room. No one knew I was up here. It was a pretty little space, wooden floors and all.
She had a set of french windows to the north end, overlooking the school gardens and the pristine mountains beyond. I could imagine writing poetry in a room like this.
Pity she only hung out here to plan different ways to terrorize her students.
I walked in front of the mirror and allowed the towel to fall from my wet body.
The full-length mirror reflected my youthful skin, a curious contrast with all the stories I’d woven on it, given the subdued settings I found myself in.
I stared at my feet, wet and slightly flushed from the recent hot-water bath. I marveled at how each tattoo glowed. I felt so alive and fresh.
Warmth and happiness crept over me, something that I had not experienced since I came to this school.
I realized that in all this time, I hadn’t taken a second to stop and ponder why I was here. This was supposed to be a safe space, a sanctuary where I could hide while I perfected my craft.
Memories of my first ever ink experience came back to me. I looked down at my wrist, where there was a small anchor and semicolon intertwined into one whole.
Fresh out of eighth grade and all of fourteen, I’d had it done, face down on the floor of a lonely little parlor, so I wouldn’t feel any pain when the sirens sounded in my mind.
The anchor was a promise to never lose sight of who I was.
The semi-colon was a reminder.
I stood sideways, covering my bare bosom with my hands.
The black flower motif snaked upward from my waist toward my right collarbone.
It blossomed into a flower there, but you can also think it’s a butterfly, ready to flutter away but lingering back on that last-minute pause—a moment’s indecision, to mull over whether to move away in search of another flower and another place.
Didn’t we all stagger back at several such points in life, looking for deeper connections?
I admired the glistening tattoo, done in black ink, and then outside, past the garden and the brook, to the far-away snow-topped mountain, which I was told was a part of the Adirondacks.
For a moment, I wondered if I were not representing nature in my artwork through bold and stable yet abstract lines. I thought my art was beautiful.
Any day, I would give myself more credit than I would my aunt’s silk-stockinged juvenile wards.
After all these days away, I felt a sudden urge to talk to Jack and Taylor. I decided to call them on Facetime.
We had a while before lunch, and I intended to use every second of my break to the best of my abilities.
It only made sense, given I’d be wandering the halls at night like a ghost and spending the rest of the day in classes and detention.
This was my sole reprieve.
Lunch in this school was an affair.
We all ate together at the school cafeteria, although we could carry food outside in the adjoining area, where there were some benches and tables to enjoy the sun and fresh air.
Everything about this place was funky, except, of course, for the grossly archaic outlook. I’d never been part of something so outdatded, and I’d seen my fair share of crap.
Take now, for instance. I turned to the dress my aunt had chosen for me. She straight-up told me she could not take another minute of me parading around in ripped jeans or short skirts.
I groaned at what she’d deemed a more suitable fit instead. It was a monstrosity, a knee-length polka-dotted white frock with a ruffled neck and puffed sleeves.
Well, if this was a long-drawn war, I had to pick and choose the little battles along the way. I didn’t fancy going to meet her one more time because I had some opinions on her sense of dressing.
I combed my hair and stared at my face in the mirror.
My eyes were shaped like almonds, and they talked, or so my mother once said. My arched eyebrows danced as I tried to talk with my eyes, and my lips quivered in a mock smile, bringing out the dimples in my heart-shaped face.
Not bad, I thought. I was almost pretty, although my parents and my aunt believed the many eccentricities of my skin and thoughts made me an odd little changeling. They didn’t want me to grow up into a punk.
For my parents, it was more of a worry. For my aunt, she just didn’t like losing competitions. So she saw me as her next challenge to conquer, and she had to win, no matter what the cost.
I sighed. They couldn’t understand that each piercing, each curve of black upon my alabaster skin—they all reflected something.
They had stories, and if I couldn’t make my body a canvas for my art, what was the point of existing?
For instance, this nose piercing—I did it as my first act of rebellion. My mom would not have any of it.
“That’s dreadful!” She had screamed, “Who do you think you are? We have not raised you up shabbily. How did you develop all these miserable ideas? No decent girls get their noses or lips pierced. Do you hear me, Jennifer?”
I never said anything to her. The next week, I walked into Julia’s parlor and got my eyebrows and nose pierced. It pained, but wasn’t it mixed with a feeling of letting off my steam?
I felt unyoked from my parents' “wishes and expectations” concerning me and my “poor choices” that seemingly brought them down in society.
Sometimes, I wondered, what were they trying to scale? I mean, if I considered these rich kids here as standards of societal excellence, then, well, mercy me, I would like to stay Jennifer Jameson all my life.
I did not realize that I was unconsciously typing Jack’s name on Facetime. I tapped the video button, and within seconds, Jack was there, his face radiant with his bright, clownish smile.
“Hey, kiddo,” he said, “How ya doin’?”
“Heck, how are you, Jack?” My voice rose involuntarily at the sight of a friendly face after so long.
“Good, good.”
“Wait, let me call Taylor, too.”
“Taylor? Isn’t she holidaying in the Andes?”
“Oh, she’ll have time for me.” I typed her name impatiently. “I can’t believe how long it’s been!”
I tapped Taylor’s name, and then, she, too, was on the video.
I lay on my aunt’s bed, intent on using my study hall hour well.
“Hey, Jenny, how are you, gal? You are looking good? But why are you in that lousy frock?” Taylor came online and immediately started laughing at me. “Whose idea was this?”
“You don't like it?” I said, rubbing my hands over my frock rather consciously.
“It’s not you.” She shrugged her shoulders.
I sighed and knit my brows into a ferocious little scowl as I crumpled the ends of the dress. “They’re trying to change everything about me, guys. Agatha has made my life hell from day one.”
“I can see that. You are a t-shirt and ripped jeans person, Jenny. It’s unlike you to doll up in a dress like that.”
“Yeah, I think this school is destroying my spirit, Taylor.”
“I can see that. You look like something out of someone else’s book. I’m sorry this is happening, Jenny.”
“Tell us more,” Jack asked, concerned.
I had always been the odd one out at every school I went to—and I’d been to seven of them.
No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't seem to fit in with any of the popular crowds. It was always the same: I would sit alone at lunch, go unnoticed in group projects, and be picked last in Gym class.
It was a lonely existence.
But all of that changed when I met Taylor.
She was the first person to really see me, to really talk to me, and to really accept me for who I was.
We hit it off immediately and became fast friends. I couldn't believe my luck—I had finally found my person.
One day, as we were walking home from school, we heard shouting and jeering coming from the other side of the tracks.
We knew what that meant: there were bullies up ahead. We hesitated for a moment, but then decided to keep walking. We weren't going to let them scare us.
As we got closer, we could see a group of kids surrounding someone. As we got closer, we realized that it was a boy from our school.
He was smaller than the others and looked terrified. Without hesitation, Taylor and I ran over to him, pushing the bullies aside.
"Leave him alone!" Taylor shouted.
"Yeah, why don't you pick on someone your own size?" I added, my fists clenched in anger.
The bullies hesitated for a moment, sizing us up. But then, one of them stepped forward.
"What are you gonna do about it?" he sneered.
I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. This was it. We were going to have to fight. But then, something unexpected happened. The boy we had rescued stepped forward to stand with us.
"Leave us alone," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "Else I’m going to tell Principal about you tomorrow."
The bullies muttered among themselves until the biggest boy stepped forward. “You think you can get away with shit just because you’re his son, don’t you?”
Holy heck.
We were all stunned into silence. We had thought we were helping him, but he didn't see it that way. Instead, he turned around to protect us.
“I sure can. So get lost before I think it’s needed.” He held up his phone. “I’ve been recording everything.”
The bullies had scampered immediately. And I? I’d made two friends. Two people who’d stand with me through thick and thin.
"Hey, guys?" I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper. I smiled through the tears. "I'm really glad I have you two."
“Talk to us, love,” Taylor said in a gentle voice.
“My parents want me to learn manners and some culture from these super-rich kids and posh school. I don’t see how. I mean, they may be rich and all that, but they are so shallow, you know what I mean?’
“We know,” they replied in unison.
“On top of that, Agatha is intent upon bringing out the best version of me. It’s like I’m an obstacle she has to beat, no matter what the cost.”
“What is her idea of your best version, Jenny?” Jack asked.
I thought for a minute and shrugged. “All I know is that it’s something I have never been or could never be. She wants me to give up my passion for art.”
“You mean your tattooing? No! That’s your—that’s your soul.”
Taylor was my sister from another mother, but she understood me better than my own mother ever could.
Both she and Jack knew how tattooing was a part of my soul and how, one day, I aspired to be a great blackwork tattoo artist. I wanted to open my parlor someday.
Jack and Taylor totally supported this, and they understood anyway. Jack was heavily into Metal Fusion, and someday, he aspired to become a famous DJ.
Taylor Luck was a talented rapper. She was a breakdancer, gyrating and power moving her body in three dimensions like it was nobody’s business. There’s a reason why we gelled so well together.
Our likeness for art forms that are expressive, soul-searching, and at the same time liberating, had cemented our friendship into a whole that would just last.
“I don’t know, man!” I groaned. “They are such prigs. They think what I do is uncivilized, like some dark art.”
“But it’s not,” Jack exclaimed. “They are symbols of healing, love, and I believe, embellishments of the soul.”
“Exactly,” I agreed.
“They are expressive, like words. And they show our minds beautifully, don’t you think?” I sighed. “But would these people understand that?”
Tears fell down my cheeks.
“They think it’s mutilating and repressive. They consider me deficient and trashy because I sport them, love them, and believe in them.” I was panicking. I knew my face was flushed.
Words poured out of my mouth: “I cannot bear to stay here one more minute. My life is a mess.”
“Calm down, Jenny,” they both said.
“Take heart, find a boyfriend, maybe,” Taylor finally replied.
Seriously?
“Are you for real right now?” I asked.
“I am, get yourself a boyfriend. After all, you are surrounded by boys, aren’t you?” She laughed.
“That is not the same as having a boyfriend.”
I was suddenly keenly aware of Nate and his eyes, the way he sometimes looked at me as I said, “Is that all you people could manage to say? I mean get a boyfriend?” I raised my brows.
At the back of my mind, I was thinking of how Nate was childish. He was a rich fool.
“You just got there,” said Jack. “I mean, give yourself some time. Things will change. After all, you are a newcomer. And, Jenny, you can be toffee-nosed, but you are a mighty good artist.”
Jack paused for a second before continuing.
“I am sure, you will convince those boys and that aunt of yours about your art in time. And with the connection those blokes have, it could mean something for your career. Have patience, and as Taylor said, get yourself a boyfriend.”
The bell sounded, telling me I had to run down to lunch.
“Ugh. I got to go. Guys, I’ll call tonight.”
They both signed off, blowing hundreds of hugs and kisses in my direction.
I came out of my aunt’s quarters.
Maybe, Taylor and Jack were right. It was hard for me to think there was anything of substance here. Indeed, from what I’d seen, they were all brawn and no brains.
But what if something fueled the teenage angst of these rich kids?
What if there was more to Nate than what he just showed to the rest of us.
I’d always been perceptive, but living on nails would do that to you. You had to be careful enough to step between them every second. One false move, and you’d get pricked.
From what I’d seen, the people who put up the rockiest of fronts did it because they were hiding something.
I didn’t know what Nate could possibly have to keep as secrets though, unless he was a young Bluebeard with a room for all his captives.
But I’d seen something else in the depths of the blue in his eyes. Something I couldn’t put my finger on. It was a lot like the look I’d had before I came to understand my life was tied to ink on skin.
It reminded me of a lost lamb, someone who was swimming in the darkness because he didn’t know life could be any different.
I sighed and sat down in the loneliest part of the cafeteria, ignoring the sniggers and snide comments along the way.
The orange chicken was bomb, though. Most cafeteria orange chicken dishes were far too sweet for my taste, but this had a tartness—a head mix of citrus, salt, and just the perfect umami sweet temper.
I tried a spoonful of the fried rice. The grains had just enough give. I sighed in relief.
At least, the food would help me survive.
And, as I’d read in my favorite classic of all time:
Tomorrow was another day.
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