Soulmates

Chapter 68

Jaz sat, scrolling through job listings in the area, when she realized it didn't matter if she got a job. They would pay her with a paycheck. She'd need a bank account and couldn't have one unless it was a joint account with a parent.

    If she was kicked out, they could take away her money. If she ran, they could take away her money.

    She had no escape.

    Jaz ignored her sinking stomach and focused on the positive. She got away for the night. Rehearsals lasted until 7, and Jaz could stay as long as she cleaned the stage and helped the cast and crew when they asked. It wasn't her favorite, but she found herself engaged in conversation as her broom glided against the polished stage. She danced and sang along with the cast as they finished warm-ups. It was a fun sound to blend. It was a weird mesh of Calypso's popish vocal fry, Austin's soulful trombone, Jaz's inability to refrain from adding Arabic trills, Sadie's punk wide but simultaneously narrow vowels, Drew's crystal clear falsetto, and Shel's sultry and emotional belt. One of Sadie's friends--Jaz believed his name was Leo, correct?--was doing a mini salsa with Shel as she sang. Eventually, Walt was pulled in too, and a new riveting bass was added to the sound. He picked up a broom and helped as Leo left the group to continue whatever work he was doing.

    It was weird and fun and fantastic and welcoming and... Holy shit. For the first time in years, Jaz felt safe. She barely knew anyone besides Sadie and maybe Walt from the very few times they conversed, and yet they already felt more like a family than her actual family did.

    The thought came to her with complete and dreadfully unconditional clarity. It was terrifying, so she shoved it down. Put a pin in it, just like she always did. If the feeling was still there, write a poem, then ignore it. Emotions like this were not worth her time. Or was she just terrified of what else would come out?

    No. No, no, no nononono. She wasn't doing this today. The same way she didn't do it every other day. What was so terrifying? If there was nothing to worry about, it wouldn't be a problem, now would it? It's tempting, isn't it? There is no need to beat around the bush; Jaz knew it was tempting. It's compelling and captivating, and irresistible. It will all come crashing down sooner or later, Jasmine. It would be better to have it happen on your own accord, no? Come on, you've already ripped up your poems about your parents.

    That was true. She'd done that last night when she went down this rabbit hole. It was terrible, and Jaz knew her parents were bad. But they aren't that bad. Jaz was just dramatic. But if that were the case, why would she have ripped it up? Why would she have cried until all her mascara lay smeared on her cheeks and her eyes were red and puffy, and her voice was hoarse? Why was she so scared?

    Jaz tightened her grip on the broom as she traveled to the back of the stage and hummed to gold rush. What to think about? Oh, the Eagles T-shirt. Jaz loved the Eagles! Goddamn, aren't the Eagles fucking amazing? They're 100% making it to the playoffs, all thanks to Jalen Hurts, and they're saying he got even better this year. The season should be great. What's not to love about the Eagles and the games. It would be so fun to watch the games, just like every other year, where her father would yell at her to change the channel, claiming the team sucked ass and Jaz was a fool to think any different. And how when Jaz would poke fun at the Bears when they continuously lost, she'd be berated and sent to her room. Ah, yes. What fun that would be.

    Someone touched her, and Jaz jumped, snapped back into the slightest mercy that whatever god was listening gave her. It was a black girl with blond braids.

    "Hey, you're Jaz, right? I'm Annabeth. Sadie told me you were looking for a job at my mom's institution, but she doesn't hire anyone with ADHD, dyslexia, mental illness, the works. Uh, but I do have two brothers. They're... I actually don't know how old they are. I think they're, like, 6 or 7. They're in first grade. This is my stepmom's number. If you decide to call her, I'm sure you can become a paid sitter." Annabeth handed her a sticky note and smiled as she left.