Chapter Eight

“People can be really mean,” Jackson says. “They’re so bored that they have to make someone else feel bad to make themselves feel better. They’re just rumors, but don’t worry, they’ll blow over.”

“Oh?” I try to sound lighthearted instead of desperate.

Jackson ducks his head, blushing. Actually blushing. “Let’s just say I have personal experience with the high school rumor mill. It never lasts.”

If he only knew how much I want to believe that.

The bell rings, and I wonder if we’ll be in trouble for being late.

“Want to see where I work?”

Now that catches my attention. “What do you mean?”

He grabs my hand and pulls me down the stairs to the left. Somehow I feel safe with him, this naive suburban boy who’s nothing like the kind of guys I’d ever go for. Nothing like Luis. Guess I can’t be too picky about the kinds of friends I make.

Is that what he is? A friend?

At the bottom of the staircase, there are even more chairs, rows and rows that lead right up to the stage. It’s old and dusty and in no way glamorous, but it’s kind of beautiful.

It reminds me of my old dreams. I used to love Broadway, and I can sing well enough. I wanted to be a star. Ask me what plan A was when I ran away and you might already know. Back before I found out what New York was really like for someone with nowhere to go. Before Luis pulled me from the gutter and saved me. Before I needed to be saved from Luis.

Jackson and I run down the aisle toward the stage, and for a second I feel like the old Anna. Young, unscarred, innocent. Like dreams are still real, still attainable. We run all the way to the stage, then around it, and end up backstage.

Random things are strewn everywhere. A rack of costumes, cardboard boxes stacked in the corner, strange plywood structures. A big ladder with a curly blond wig sitting on top.

I almost laugh.

“Isn’t it awesome?” he asks me, spinning around with his arms spread wide, like this is the most beautiful place on earth.

“This is where you work?”

He nods, smile still plastered on his face. “I don’t get paid or anything, but I make the props after school and during my free period.”

“You have a free period? Like no classes?”

He nods. “It’s technically an independent study.”

“And that’s right now? You don’t have a class to be in?”

“No, I do. My free period isn’t until fifth. I’ll probably have detention for skipping astronomy, but it was worth it.” His smile slips for the first time. Maybe he’s not so innocent after all. “I couldn’t leave you alone like that. You looked like you needed a friend.”

“Oh,” I say. Unsure of what to say to that sort of kindness. He’s willing to get into trouble just to help me? What’s in it for him? “Um, thanks,” I say.

He shrugs, then proceeds to show me some of the props he’s made and acquired. He goes into crazy detail about some of them—a trunk with a false bottom, a wooden cane that detaches into three pieces that he found in a thrift store.

I sit quietly and listen to him, let his words drown out everything else. After a while he runs out of things to talk about, and we sit in silence for a couple of seconds.

“What class do you have next?” Jackson asks.

I pull out the wrinkled schedule and don’t even bother unfolding it before handing it to him. He laughs as he pulls open the half ruined paper.

“Let’s see. You missed math with Mr. Gomez. Good thing, he’s rough. Next you have science with Mr. Schueller. Not too bad. Oh! You have art with me. I won’t be there today because Mr. Charles needs my help setting up the risers for the chorus event tonight. But I’ll totally be there most of the time.”

“Cool,” I say stupidly.

What will my life be like here? It’s not what I want, not by a long shot. But I guess I just have to deal. Will the rumors fade or get worse? Will I find a way to fit in here, or be an outcast for the rest of the year? Who knows.

I lie back and look up at the stage lights. They’re not on right now, only the regular ceiling lights, but I imagine what they look like, shining down on me. Jackson lies next to me and stares at the ceiling, like we’re thinking the same thing. Maybe we are.

“Do you have any dreams, Anna?” Jackson asks me.

I blink but try to hide my surprise. “I used to.”

He sits up. “Why not now?”

I shrug, still looking at the lights above me. “Dreams don’t come true, not for people like me.”

“What?” he says, like I’m a silly kid who said some random gibberish. “Dreams do come true, just sometimes not how you expect.”

I let out one short laugh. I used to believe the same thing. As much as I want to tell him he’s wrong, at least in this moment, part of me wants to believe his dreams could come true, even if it’s too late for mine.

“What are your dreams?” I ask him in a whisper.

He lies back down beside me. “I want to go to college and be a doctor, or be a film director. Or travel the world helping all kinds of people. I dream of all sorts of things.”

“Saving the world, one dewormed orphan at a time?” I ask him, amusement leaking into my voice. I’m not making fun of him. His dreams are all different, kind of beautiful, and impossible to fully accomplish. It’s a luxury to imagine futures that contradict each other. I can’t even come up with one that seems remotely plausible.

“Exactly. Simple vaccines can save lives in Africa and Haiti and places like that.”

“Those are good dreams,” I say.

“What about yours?”

“I don’t have any.” I want to laugh, but it’s not funny.

He shifts to his side and looks at me. “Liar.”

I turn to him, fake shock written on my face. “I am not.”

“Fine. What were your old dreams?”

I take in a deep breath. “I wanted to be famous.” He blinks, and I shrug. “It’s a stupid dream.”

He shakes his head and looks back up into the dull lights. “Not stupid, just overrated. You can do better than that.”

I can? “Like what?”

“I don’t know. You have to find your own dreams. If it’s really to be famous, then don’t do what all these other celebrities do.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t be fake. If you’re going to be famous, be famous for who you really are. For something you love doing.”

I say nothing. I don’t tell him that I did go for it. And I didn’t hide who I really was. That’s what caused all my problems.

I ran away to New York thinking I’d find a glamorous life in NYC, the land of dreams, or at least my dreams. Not that I expected to get onto a Broadway show right away or anything. I just thought as soon as I was away from home, people would see who I really was. They’d know I was supposed to be famous. They’d love me.

That was my dream then, my real dream.

I didn’t find it. I didn’t find it because it doesn’t exist. Someone’s always there to show you what you’re really worth. The second I left my parents, the man who tried to snatch me right off the train in Grand Central let me know what I was worth. Then Luis saved me, and he showed me what I was worth to him. And then the johns came, and they used their money to tell me how much I was worth, right down to the dollar.

We’re silent for what feels like forever, until finally the bell sounds and I jump.

Jackson takes my hand in his. I don’t like anyone touching me, not anymore. But it’s like earlier, when he pulled me out of my memories. Just being around him makes me feel calm. Safe.

“You okay getting to class?” he says.

“Yeah.” At least this time I know where I’m going, sort of.

I stand and take a deep breath. With any luck, the rumors are already over.

Chapter Nine

I take in a few deep breaths before I step into the one class I’ve actually been looking forward to—art. Drawing used to be one of my favorite things to do. Maybe it can be again.