Chapter 1a Introducing

Sometimes people ask me what my name means. Usually I say something about jewelry. But really, my mom did a lot of drugs- it's just a stupid name she picked when she was probably high, Jemma. Jemma Jane Elliot. Her name was Susan Elliot. I don't really want to talk about her.

Someone once told me that with a name like Jemma, they expected me to be prettier. Well, I can't help that. I'm not ugly or anything, I'm just not that fascinating, either. Straight, brown hair, brown eyes. I'm a little short, but I'm not chubby, either. One thing I like about myself are my eyebrows, I take a lot of work to keep them in a nice shape, but not make them thin lines. I don't wear much make-up, only some mascara. Okay, I use a lot of mascara- I like to make it look like I have long eyelashes.

I'm really lucky, I should be messed up because my mom took so many drugs. For some reason, I'm healthy and normal. I'm sixteen, but I'm behind a grade in school, because I missed so much school when my mom moved us around all the time. I lived with her until I was twelve, and I came to live with my aunt, Beth.

Beth is my mom's younger sister. But they're totally different. Beth is clean and takes care of her family. She's always saying that family has to take care of each other. Which is ironic, because it seems that she's the only one caring for her family; nobody helps her out. She has two kids, Rae, who's eight and Ben, who just turned six. Their dads aren't in their lives at all. Beth doesn't talk about it, but I think maybe she wants it that way. She would probably say that she doesn't want anything to do with those bastards again. I don't even know their names, it's just Bastard 1 and Bastard 2. She had Rae when she was nineteen... so that makes her 27 now. She seems older than that, though. She works with a temp agency. She used to work part-time, but now that Ben is in Kindergarten, she can work full-time. She just got a full-time position that lasts for a few months.

She gets money from me, too. Because I live with her, the government sends her a little money, but it's not much and she's got expenses. Rae's and Ben's dads don't help out, but she works hard and makes it happen, some how. I've lived with Beth for four years now. She's great. She lets me do pretty much whatever I want. And she took me in right away, I had a place to live with her.

I know my dad. I know there's some cliché that if you're mom's a druggie or you've got a different living situation you must not know your dad. No, I know my dad. He did some time in jail just after I was born, so my mom moved on. But he keeps in touch with me; he calls a few times a month. I can't ever call him back, the phone is always disconnected or it's a different number. We meet up, go to the park together. He's a nice guy. Not much of a dad, but at least he tries to stay in touch with me. Whenever I see him he gives me a few bucks, tells me to get clothes or cds. I don't expect that much from him, but if I didn't get his phone calls, I think I would miss him. He's a big guy, with a beard, looks tough, but he's really a softie. I'm his only kid, I think he's scared I'll get in trouble, too. Whenever we talk on the phone, just before he says 'good bye' he tells me 'stick straight', which is his way of saying, stay good, or something.
Beth has a boyfriend, James. He works out of the city a lot- a truck driver. He comes every week or so, plays with Rae and Ben. They like him and he's a good guy. He brings toys, so they think he's Santa Claus. Beth's been with him for two years or so now. And I know she thinks about having a life with him, sometimes she talks to me about it late at night when Rae and Ben are asleep. She's scared, though. She got messed up by Bastard 1 and Bastard 2.

My boyfriend's name is Andrew, or Drew. We've been together for about a year now. He's eighteen and graduated last year. He works as a manager of a sandwich shop. He lives on his own in this tiny little apartment with one room for the kitchen and bedroom and then the smallest bathroom ever. He's actually a pretty good cook, he makes me spaghetti and this chicken thing. Last year we were in high school together. He was this dorky kid who never took gym class and needed it to graduate. So he's this tall senior in with a class of younger kids. We were tennis partners. I know- so romantic, right?
We used to go on cheap dates, like to the dollar movie theatre or for burgers. Now, he's really busy working, so on the weekends he'll cook me dinner and I'll clean up his apartment for him as a date.

I'm not into sports, that's why Drew and I hit it off; we both sucked at tennis. We laughed at each other and tried to sit together on the sidelines as much as possible.

I like music. I wanted to be in band, or learn to play guitar, I would love to play guitar. But you've got to have extra money for instruments. Instead, I just really like listening to music. Now, instead of writing 'death poems' like in my emo phase, I write songs. But I never let anyone read them, not even Drew.

I'm actually pretty good at math, but no so much in English. Or in Spanish. The only time I like Spanish class is around some Latin-American holiday, when we don't do anything in class except eat tacos and break a pinata. I only have to take Spanish until the end of this school year, then I can take an art class or fashions or something.

I see my school counselor once a week. His name is Randy Roberts, he's a black man with a black beard, small round glasses and short dread locks that makes him look like teens could 'relate', or something. Usually, we don't talk about my life- by my choice. We talk movies, TV shows, that kind of thing. I don't mind meeting with him; it gets me out of class and he always buys me a soda.

“Bien Jemma.” Mr. Roe calls me in Spanish. He hands me a pass, to see Randy Roberts. I've requested to meet with my counselor at this time, just so I can get out of Spanish class. I take my time walking slowly down the hallway, stopping by the bathroom and water fountain before going into his office.

Randy always has music playing, usually jazz. And his office smells like cologne. And there are posters of famous people, like Martin Luther King, Jr., Ghandi and others on the walls.

“Good afternoon, Jemma.” He greets me with a smile. He's always actually happy, never faking it.

“Hi.” I take a seat on the comfy leather chair and drop my bag beside me on the floor.

“How are you?”

“Life is good.” I smile, but don't put much effort in it.

Randy smiles and studies my face, I watch his eyes slightly squint and move around to look for some message in my forehead or nose. We do some small talk about a television show we both watch. Then he asks about Drew.

“We're good.” My quick reply might have told too much.

“How serious are you two? You've been dating for a long time for kids your age. And he's not in high school anymore.”

Kids? Ugh... I hate that term. I shrug my shoulders.

“How does he feel about you?”

None of your business. I don't answer. Maybe Randy will change the subject.

“Well, then how do you feel about him? Do you love him?”

“Yes.” I respond, louder than I intended.

“Explain.” Randy invited, he never demanded.

I don't want to answer this. But then again, I also don't want Randy to analyse my non-answer as an answer. I'd better say something. I look up at the ceiling to gather the words into sentences. “Talking to him makes my day better. It's like... okay, corny- but he's my sunlight when it's cloudy.” I felt really silly to use that phrasing. Maybe I heard that once in a song.

Randy nods in a way that reminded me he was listening.

“He makes me feel really special. Like I matter.”

Randy nods again and looks intently at my face. I like that Randy never takes notes while we talk, I wouldn't come if I felt like I was in therapy or something. Usually this just feels like a nosy adult who knows too much about my life.

“Anyone or anything else in your life make you feel like that?” Randy inquires.

“I don't want to talk about Drew.” I state, stopping any further questions.

Randy didn't push it. “How are things at home?”

I don't really understand the question. Things are fine. I couldn't complain, and besides, things are looking up now that Beth has a somewhat steady job. “Good.”

“Jemma, I have some concerns.”

“Okay?”

“Well, you have been doing less and less homework as school goes on. I'm beginning to worry about your success academically. Can you identify any possible reasons for this?”

“I'm lazy.”

Randy pauses and does his little head-tilt, then shakes his head. “No. You're not.”

“I'm not reaching my potential?” I look for some cliché.

Randy smiles. “Maybe you're distracted.”

“Drew? Is that what you were getting at?” I was angry, my body posture immediately shifted and I raised up in the chair, sat up a little straighter.

Randy looks a bit hurt. “Jemma... I didn't mean that.” His voice stayed calm and soft. “Actually, I think that your relationship with Andrew is a very positive one for you. I was not insinuating anything in that area. What about at home?”
I put on a grumpy face. “I would just rather watch television, okay?”

Randy sighed. “Well, something needs to be done. I'm going to send a form home with you that your aunt needs to sign. She's going to check over your homework to determine that you've completed it each evening. You'll need to turn this into me.”

“Whatever.”

“Jemma.” Randy softened his serious face. He passes a sheet of paper across the desk. “If this doesn't start to change, each one of your teachers is going to get involved.”

I take the paper and shove it in my backpack.

“You're not in trouble. We just want to see you succeed and are willing to do what it takes to help you.”

“Well, thanks. Is my time up?”