Jordan
RORY AND BECKETT were so cute together. Back when the girls and I started our plans for Beckett to fall for Rory, part of me thought he would be just like every other popular, rich high school guy. The kind who only looked at girls on the surface and only wanted the physical stuff out of a relationship. But then again, I’d dated a college guy, and he’d ripped my heart to shreds just as thoroughly as any high school guy could.
I had worried Beckett wouldn’t take a second look past Rory’s size and into her heart like I thought my ex had done for me. Even though Rory kept it to herself, I knew she had a good heart. I had seen all the sweet things she did when she thought no one was looking—like picking up stray pieces of trash in the hallway or helping if someone dropped their books.
As Ginger, Zara, Callie, and I walked away from the AV room, I could still hear the music playing softly. The plan was to work on homework here while they had their “homecoming dance” and then do the teardown. Luckily, I had the night free from helping Mom with her new custodial service—JJ Cleaning.
It was sweet of her to name the company after the two of us—Jacinda and Jordan Junco—but to me, it was just another reminder of how out of place I was at Emerson Academy. Sure, the school uniforms were designed to make us appear the same, but no one saw how many nights Mom and I had to eat ramen at home to make up for the exorbitant cost of clothes through the special distributor the school had chosen. Not to mention all the work we did just to make ends meet and pay back medical bills.
I knew I was lucky to have a scholarship that covered my tuition, but sometimes, it felt like wearing golden handcuffs while the rest of me was done up with drugstore beauty products.
Zara bumped my arm at our lockers. “Jordan?”
The way she said it made me feel like I’d missed my name being spoken a few times already.
“Sorry, yeah?” I said. “Yes, I mean.” I’d been trying to stay away from the Chicano way all my public-school friends talked. It just didn’t fit at Emerson Academy. I didn’t fit at Emerson Academy.
“Can you compare your trig assignment to mine?” she asked.
“Sure,” I answered. “I need to double-check my work anyway.”
“Me too,” Ginger added. “You’re so lucky you don’t have trig, Callie.” Callie didn’t argue.
After Zara grabbed her books, we walked together to my locker, and they waited while I retrieved my trig folder and textbook. I’d bought the book used, and it showed. I couldn’t help but eye Zara’s brand-new edition with envy.
We started back toward the gym, which was always left open for athletes who wanted to stay around and exercise and students who wanted to stay and do homework. Ad meliora, all the way, even if it meant zero sleep and presidential-level stress.
But I had no doubt the hard work was worth it. People who graduated from Emerson didn’t just go to Yale and disappear. There were presidents, diplomats, famous actors, producers—you name it. I wanted to be one of the successful people. The kind who lifted my entire family out of poverty, just like my mom was trying to do with her business.
Music poured through the closed door of the music room, enveloping our group with haunting and wistful violin notes.
I paused, and the other girls followed suit. The window to the music room was open, but whoever played was at the front, only our music teacher in the room with them. Her eyes were closed, listening.
“Who is it?” I asked.
Zara shrugged, and Ginger did the same.
We turned to Callie, since she was in the band. “My guess is Kai Rush,” she said. “He’s first chair violin for orchestra.”
My expression immediately soured. Of course the school’s one billionaire would also possess extraordinary musical talent. It wasn’t
enough to be ridiculously rich after having designed a world-famous app. No, he had to show everyone up with his music too.
That didn’t keep me from listening, though. From being entranced.
No, what did stop me was the shrill ringing of my phone that echoed from my pocket so loudly the music stopped within the room.
The four of us immediately ducked as I reached for my phone and swiped right. My mom had changed her ringtone in my settings again so I wouldn’t miss a call from her.
“Bueno, Mama?” I said, trying to hide my frustration.
“I just wanted to remind you we have a job tomorrow morning.” “I thought Camila was covering it?”
“Her son’s sick,” she said. “Make sure you don’t stay out too late. We need to start there at four.”
“Four A.M.?” I groaned. Wasn’t it possible to sleep in, just one morning?
“It’s a big job, and he only wants us working when he’s there.”
My eyes narrowed. “If he thinks we’ll steal, why is he even hiring us at all?”
The line was quiet for a moment, which only meant there was something she didn’t want to tell me.
“What, Mama?” I crouched and continued walking toward the gym so the music teacher and Mr. Billionaire wouldn’t overhear—or see—me through the classroom window.
She sighed. “It’s another student’s parent. He was referred to us from another client and—”
“No way—”
“—asked me on a trial basis!” she continued over me. “This job is enough to pay our rent and more each month. We have to take it.”
“Mama—”
“End of discussion. You can stay out as late as you need to, but if I have
—”
“—trouble waking you up, Jordan Maria Junco—”
“Oh hush,” she said, a smile returning to her voice. “Stay safe, sweetie.” Her lighter tone did nothing to help my mood. “I will.”
The line went silent, and I turned to my friends. They looked at me with
curious expressions.
“Extra shift,” I said, clipped, and pushed into the gym.
That was just the way it was. Some people got happily ever afters and private violin lessons and impromptu homecoming dances with the perfect guy…and me? I cleaned up afterward.
