On The Rebound (Steinbeck U #1) - L.A. Cotton Page 0,80
dropped down on the bench beside me, refusing to look at me.
“Good luck,” Maureen mouthed, and I grimaced.
Boy. This was going to be harder than I thought.
“How was your day today?” I tried to keep the tremor out of my voice. My body hummed with anticipation. I didn’t want to mess this up, but I felt like a fish out of water.
Jasmine barely replied, mumbling some half-hearted comment beneath her breath.
She was a pretty little thing. Easily five-six with white-blonde hair in short bangs around her face. She had bright bluish-green eyes, a smatter of freckles across her nose, and skin so pale it almost looked translucent. She reminded me of a pixie or some other ethereal creature like a fairy or nymph.
“You’re staring,” she hissed, and I inwardly cussed.
“I’m sorry. It’s just you have really pretty eyes.”
Slowly, she lifted her face to meet my soft gaze. The corner of her mouth kicked up a fraction. “You think my eyes are pretty?”
I did. They sparkled like the ocean as she gawked at me.
“They are.”
“I’m a freak,” she huffed indignantly, folding into herself. She radiated hostility, a fragile cyclone of pain and anger circling her. But there was something beneath the surface. Something I understood more than she realized.
Loneliness.
“I think most teenagers feel like that at some point. I know I did.”
She scoffed. “You felt like a freak when you were my age?” Her eyes narrowed at me. “I highly doubt that, Cantaloupe.”
“It’s true,” I said, ignoring her insult. “My brother was kind of a big deal growing up. You know, one of the popular kids. It wasn’t easy being in his shadow all the time.”
“Big whoop. At least you had a brother. I have—” Jasmine stopped herself, pressing her lips into a thin line. “This is all bullshit,” she mumbled. “I don’t want to be here.”
“Why don’t we go outside and check out some of the activities? It might be fun?” I got up, desperate for some fresh air.
Jasmine was hurting, that much was obvious, but I didn’t expect her to just open up to me after two minutes. When the people you loved—the people who were supposed to love you back—constantly let you down, the wall around your heart started to turn into a glacier. Cold and impenetrable. And before long, it would freeze everyone out.
I was lucky, I’d had my mom and Madison. But even their love and support hadn’t been able to undo the damage caused by my father and Callum. That gnawing feeling of never being good enough, of worthlessness, didn’t just vanish. Even now, I couldn’t allow myself to really reflect on everything without a huge pit carving through my stomach.
“Or we can sit here and talk some more,” I suggested.
Jasmine leaped up, scowling at me as she barged past me and took off for the door leading to the center’s huge yard. There was a basketball court and small patch of grass with a couple of benches. The wall had been decorated with spray art, another rainbow. It made me smile.
Mom would have loved this.
Forcing down the emptiness I felt whenever I thought about her, I turned my attention to Jasmine. She’d taken up residence at one of the tables. There was a bunch of art supplies: papers and crayons and markers. I grabbed some and began doodling, hoping to coax her into joining me. But Jasmine ignored me, watching the other kids play a game of kickball with one of the volunteers.
“You could join in, you know?” I suggested.
“Nah, they probably wouldn’t want me. I’m not very good at sports.”
“It’s just for fun, Jasmine. I’m sure they’d love to—”
“I said no.”
“Okay,” I conceded, smothering a small sigh. “What do you like to do?”
“This won’t work, you know.”
“What won’t work?” I asked, innocently.
“This, pretending you care. You’re only here to put something on your resume and make yourself look good.”
“Jasmine, that’s not—”
“Save it, Cantaloupe.” She got up. “You think you’re the first person to try to fix me? There’s been a long line of people who have already tried... and guess what? They all failed. So let’s not do this.” She stomped off toward the other side of the yard where a couple of kids were playing swing ball.
“How’s it going?” Maureen came over and sat down beside me.
“She’s...” I searched for the right words.
“Hurting,” she said softly. “Her pain is a shield. It’s going to take some patience and persistence to break through the armor she’s built.”