“And what’d she say?”
“Said she needs things. School supplies and shit. New sneakers. Hers don’t fit.”
The thought of Talia, with her curly black hair and her crooked smile, walking around in shoes that didn’t fit was almost enough to make Jade bend. She remembered that when Talia was really small she had a pair of sneakers she loved, little pastel SKECHERS with light-up hearts along the sides. Talia had loved those shoes so much she wouldn’t even take them off to go to sleep. Jade remembered sharing a bed with Talia when she was wearing a Tinker Bell nightgown and the sneakers. Those were the days when Talia would start off in her own bed but sometime in the middle of the night she’d migrate to Jade’s bed, pressing her skinny little body against Jade’s back and issuing her warm breath into Jade’s neck.
She shook her head, ridding herself of the memory. Talia was safe where she was now, and Jade was 96 percent sure her uncle was lying. She’d call his bluff.
“Well, okay, then. Let’s go buy her some things. I can put school supplies and maybe a pair of sneakers on my credit card. Where’s your car?”
Her uncle shifted, wouldn’t meet her eyes. He kicked at the ground, shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and said, “Naw, Jade. You just give me the cash. I’ll do the shopping.”
Bluff called. By now more people were starting to cast surreptitious glances their way, sensing something off. A boy in a flannel shirt and a vest (the uniform of a BC student) approached and said, “Everything okay here?”
“Everything’s good, man. Just talking to my niece here.” Her uncle stepped between Flannel Boy and Jade, his back to FB.
“Yeah?” Flannel Boy stepped around the uncle and looked at Jade for confirmation. “This your uncle?”
Jade nodded mutely. She imagined Flannel Boy in some well-appointed two-parent home, gathered with flanneled siblings around a dinner table while one parent delivered a lesson on Why You Need to Intervene When You See a Girl in Trouble. Or maybe it wasn’t a parent at a dinner table—maybe it was a Boy Scout troop leader or the coach of a rich-person sport, like lacrosse or downhill skiing. Somebody intent on teaching the future leaders of America how to Do the Right Thing. And even though she knew that if it really came to blows Flannel Boy wouldn’t stand a chance—he probably wasn’t reared on street fighting, and she wouldn’t be surprised if her uncle had a switchblade or even a gun somewhere on his person—she still appreciated that he was trying.
“I told you already that’s my niece. Why you need to ask her too?”
FB held up his hands, palms out; his hands were saying,Hey hey hey, don’t overreact.To Jade he said, “You need me to get campus security?”
She started to shake her head, then she reconsidered, looked her uncle directly in his wicked, bloodshot eyes, and said, “Yes, please. I’d like you to call campus security.”
Her uncle whistled and said, “Ho-lee shit, princess. You kidding me with this?”
“No.” She folded her arms. “I’m not kidding even a little bit.” She turned to FB. “Thanks so much,” she said. “I think there’s a campus security phone right over there.” She pointed. She did not, in fact, know where the nearest campus security phone was.
“You think you’re better than me, princess. But you ain’t. You came from the same damn place.”
I may have come from the same place,she thought. But I am a million times better than you.
“I’ll go call,” said FB.
“Never mind,” said her uncle. “Don’t worry about it. I’m going. You can’t help your little cousin out, that’s okay, princess.” He turned and walked away. “Stuck-up little—” Something took the rest of his sentence, the wind or the night, but it was pretty clear what word came next.
“You okay?” FB was looking at her with a furrowed brow. He made Jade think of a shar-pei.
“Yeah.” She nodded, forced a smile. “Yeah, I’m okay.” It was important to act like this wasn’t a big deal, like her legs weren’t shaking, like her heart wasn’t beating so fast that the heartbeat felt almost visible, even bundled as she was against the cold. It was important to act like she belonged where she was.
“You sure? What if he comes back?”
“He won’t come back.”
The brow furrowed even more. “How do you know?”
“I just know,” she said. “That was the end of it.”
“I know it’s none of my business, but—the end of what?”
She couldn’t really explain it to Flannel Boy, nor, she was sure, did he actually want to hear. He didn’t have the context to understand that her two different worlds had just collided, right there in front of her dorm, and that her uncle walking away the way he was doing now: that was her past moving away from her future, she hoped for the last time.
Sophomore year Shelly and Mary Ann decided to room together. Jade became an RA and remained one for each of the remaining three years. And so college went by. From the outside, Jade learned to fit in. Hair: straighter and smoother. Clothing: more casual—anything other than sweats and you looked like you were trying too hard. Makeup: minimal, tasteful. Voice: modulated. In this way,while most people grow outward during their college years, Jade drew inward.
She played the part. Sometimes she even enjoyed the part. She never missed a class, a paper, an exam, an opportunity. She upheld the Jesuit traditions espoused by the school; she volunteered at food pantries, at fundraisers. She could handle herself in the bro culture of the business school; academically, she thrived. But underneath it all—or maybe more accurately, running through it, like a current through a river—was the deep, deep shame of not having.
She couldn’t believe how supported her fellow students were: by their parents, their extended family, even by their former teachers at their prestigious prep schools. Mary Ann, rolling her eyes because her mother was calling her again, was not the exception. Mary Ann was the rule, and Jade and other students like her, students in the shadows, were the exception.
