Jesse's Girl
Page 3
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Jesse shakes his head at me, then goes to give Dr. Salter a side hug. “Hey, Uncle Bob.”
Dr. Salter pats Jesse’s floppy hair and takes in his freckled face. “I’m looking forward to the show, son.”
“Thanks for coming,” Jesse says quietly.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Dr. Salter says. “Where’re your mom and dad? Will they be here soon?”
“They blew me off again. What else is new?”
Until a couple of years ago, my dad was a truck driver and often missed my performances because he was on the road, so I understand how Jesse feels. But my parents have always been supportive. It shocks me that his parents aren’t at every show.
While Jesse speaks in a low voice only Dr. Salter can hear, I decide to check my phone. My best guy friend, Dave, texted: I need a play-by-play of how hot Jesse is. Do we think he’s bi?
I also received a text from my bandmate, Nate. His reads: Hannah told me where you are. Did you really sell out and go to a Jesse Scott show?
Groan. I love hooking up with Nate, but jeez. Why are guys so dramatic?
“What’s the girl doing here?” Jesse asks.
“Remember I told you about shadow day?” his manager asks.
“Remind me,” Jesse replies through a big bite of burger.
“You agreed to meet with Maya. She’s pretty talented on guitar,” Dr. Salter says.
Jesse stares at me, chewing. “So you play, huh?”
I ignore him. When he realizes I’m giving him the cold shoulder, he turns to Dr. Salter. “Seriously? I’m missing the Braves for this?”
My principal gives me the glare he reserves for kids who cut class. “I’d like you to consider letting her shadow you, Jess.”
Jesse just shrugs.
I should’ve known this would be a bust. Shadow day assignments always are. Students never get paired with professionals who can actually teach them something. Last year, Rory Whitfield said he wanted to be a movie director and ended up at the infant portrait area at Sears.
Dr. Salter says, “You should’ve seen her play guitar in the school talent show last spring. She’s amazing.”
“Did you win?” Jesse asks me.
I shake my head, cringing at the memory. Why did Dr. Salter have to bring that up? After my band declared the school talent show “lame,” I decided to perform on my own, adding a hard edge to one of my favorite songs, “Bohemian Rhapsody,” and had a great time rocking out. That is, until I started to sing, and my voice cracked under the pressure. Kids at school called me the siren for weeks. People have always said I have a great voice, but when all eyes are on me, something usually goes wrong—like the time I fainted during a solo.
I wish their eyes had somewhere else to focus. That’s why I prefer being part of a band.
Jesse takes another bite of his burger and gives me a bored stare, and I feel like the pickle he turned his nose up at. What a letdown. I figured People took personality into account when developing their beautiful people list. Apparently not.
You’d think Jesse would be as sweet as his songs.
Okay, okay. I’ll admit it—even though my musical tastes have evolved, Jesse wrote this one song, “Second Chance,” that I’ve loved since middle school. When Dave, my first crush and now best friend, wasn’t interested in dating me because he was too busy liking other boys (I didn’t know that at the time), “Second Chance” helped heal my broken heart.
So it kind of sucks meeting the real Jesse. I’ve seen more life out of mannequins. Granted, I haven’t smiled at him, but he was incredibly rude after I helped with his ketchup. I had really been looking forward to this opportunity, but he’s nothing more than a beautiful voice and a hot body with a cool tattoo.
Dr. Salter must sense our meeting is going downhill real fast. “Jess, you really should see Maya on guitar.”
“Hmph.”
Spoiled ass. Two can play. “My Martin’s much cooler than your Gibson,” I say, even though it’s a total lie.
Instead of taking another bite, Jesse turns his head toward me, wide-eyed. “Shut up. My archtop is the best guitar there is.”
I gesture at it. “What year is it? A ’67?”
Jesse nods.
I can’t help but ask, “A Super 4? Like Elvis had?”
“Right…” A smile forms on his face, but a second later, he winces.
“So is it okay, Jess?” Dr. Salter asks. “Can Maya shadow you?”
Jesse studies me. “Mom and Dad’ll love that I’m hanging out with a sexy punk girl. So whatever you need, Uncle Bob.”
Dr. Salter pats Jesse’s floppy hair and takes in his freckled face. “I’m looking forward to the show, son.”
“Thanks for coming,” Jesse says quietly.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Dr. Salter says. “Where’re your mom and dad? Will they be here soon?”
“They blew me off again. What else is new?”
Until a couple of years ago, my dad was a truck driver and often missed my performances because he was on the road, so I understand how Jesse feels. But my parents have always been supportive. It shocks me that his parents aren’t at every show.
While Jesse speaks in a low voice only Dr. Salter can hear, I decide to check my phone. My best guy friend, Dave, texted: I need a play-by-play of how hot Jesse is. Do we think he’s bi?
I also received a text from my bandmate, Nate. His reads: Hannah told me where you are. Did you really sell out and go to a Jesse Scott show?
Groan. I love hooking up with Nate, but jeez. Why are guys so dramatic?
“What’s the girl doing here?” Jesse asks.
“Remember I told you about shadow day?” his manager asks.
“Remind me,” Jesse replies through a big bite of burger.
“You agreed to meet with Maya. She’s pretty talented on guitar,” Dr. Salter says.
Jesse stares at me, chewing. “So you play, huh?”
I ignore him. When he realizes I’m giving him the cold shoulder, he turns to Dr. Salter. “Seriously? I’m missing the Braves for this?”
My principal gives me the glare he reserves for kids who cut class. “I’d like you to consider letting her shadow you, Jess.”
Jesse just shrugs.
I should’ve known this would be a bust. Shadow day assignments always are. Students never get paired with professionals who can actually teach them something. Last year, Rory Whitfield said he wanted to be a movie director and ended up at the infant portrait area at Sears.
Dr. Salter says, “You should’ve seen her play guitar in the school talent show last spring. She’s amazing.”
“Did you win?” Jesse asks me.
I shake my head, cringing at the memory. Why did Dr. Salter have to bring that up? After my band declared the school talent show “lame,” I decided to perform on my own, adding a hard edge to one of my favorite songs, “Bohemian Rhapsody,” and had a great time rocking out. That is, until I started to sing, and my voice cracked under the pressure. Kids at school called me the siren for weeks. People have always said I have a great voice, but when all eyes are on me, something usually goes wrong—like the time I fainted during a solo.
I wish their eyes had somewhere else to focus. That’s why I prefer being part of a band.
Jesse takes another bite of his burger and gives me a bored stare, and I feel like the pickle he turned his nose up at. What a letdown. I figured People took personality into account when developing their beautiful people list. Apparently not.
You’d think Jesse would be as sweet as his songs.
Okay, okay. I’ll admit it—even though my musical tastes have evolved, Jesse wrote this one song, “Second Chance,” that I’ve loved since middle school. When Dave, my first crush and now best friend, wasn’t interested in dating me because he was too busy liking other boys (I didn’t know that at the time), “Second Chance” helped heal my broken heart.
So it kind of sucks meeting the real Jesse. I’ve seen more life out of mannequins. Granted, I haven’t smiled at him, but he was incredibly rude after I helped with his ketchup. I had really been looking forward to this opportunity, but he’s nothing more than a beautiful voice and a hot body with a cool tattoo.
Dr. Salter must sense our meeting is going downhill real fast. “Jess, you really should see Maya on guitar.”
“Hmph.”
Spoiled ass. Two can play. “My Martin’s much cooler than your Gibson,” I say, even though it’s a total lie.
Instead of taking another bite, Jesse turns his head toward me, wide-eyed. “Shut up. My archtop is the best guitar there is.”
I gesture at it. “What year is it? A ’67?”
Jesse nods.
I can’t help but ask, “A Super 4? Like Elvis had?”
“Right…” A smile forms on his face, but a second later, he winces.
“So is it okay, Jess?” Dr. Salter asks. “Can Maya shadow you?”
Jesse studies me. “Mom and Dad’ll love that I’m hanging out with a sexy punk girl. So whatever you need, Uncle Bob.”
