Every Saturday night, Jasmine showed up to listen to my performance. Knowing she was there made me want to be better, to put on the best show I could, and every time I finished, she’d tell me it was the best show I’d ever had.

She didn’t know how much that meant to me.

Afterward, she always hurried off and she never really said where she was heading, which was fine. I already knew, since every Monday morning I’d overhear the popular kids talking about the party at Todd’s house.

I didn’t care, though, because at least she showed up to hear me.

“Hey, Jasmine,” I called out at the end of my performance one night. My adrenaline was still racing through my body from my best show to date, and I felt more confident than I ever had in my entire life. If I was ever going to ask her the question I’d wanted to ask for weeks, this was the time. It was now or never.

She turned around with a big smile on her face. “Yes, Elliott?”

“Do you…” I cleared my throat. “I mean, maybe next week, be-before my show…do you want to like, meet at my house and come down here together?” I asked, one hundred percent prepared for rejection. “We can get food?”

She kept smiling. “Is that a question?”

I snickered. “Maybe?”

She walked over to me and held her hand out. “Give me your cell phone.”

I complied, and she typed in her phone number then handed it back to me. “I’ve always wanted to go to Dat Dog.”

“Okay. Cool. So, it’s a date.” I panicked at my own words. “I mean, like, a friends date—like, friends. Just two friends eating wieners.” Nope. Just stop talking. “Okay, well…bye.”

She laughed. “I’ll see you at school, Elliott.”

And she did see me at school. She didn’t only see me, she talked to me in the hallways, almost as if she wasn’t embarrassed to be seen with me. She laughed with me too, which was nice, because laughing alone at things kind of took away the fun. The closer the weekend got, the more the nerves built up in my gut, and I was regretting asking her to hang out with me before my show. What would we talk about? How would I control my sweating? Was I supposed to buy her friendship flowers?

Were friendship flowers a thing?

“You’re telling me you have a girlfriend?” my friend Jason said into his headset as we played video games on Saturday afternoon. We’d been best friends since elementary school, and I missed him pretty much every day. His mom had moved to Nebraska after Jason’s dad cheated on her and he’d gone with her because he always chose his mom over his dad. He hated his dad more than words could say—we had that in common. Jason and I always played games over the weekend, since Mom didn’t let me play too many games during the school week, and it was a good way to catch up.

“No, a girl friend. She’s a girl who’s a friend.”

“Oh God,” he groaned. “I left you alone for a minute and you went and became cooler than me.”

“Not quite.”

“Is she hot?”

“Like, real hot.”

He groaned again. “That makes no sense, because you’re so ugly,” he joked.

I laughed. “So ugly, which is why she’s just a girl friend, not a girlfriend.”

“Well, it sounds like you like her. So, here’s what you do: when you see her tonight, tell her she looks hot. Chicks love being told they look hot. Oh, and order her a salad—chicks love lettuce.”

That was exactly what I wouldn’t do.

Jason knew less about girls than I did, which wasn’t much to begin with anyway. Everything I knew about girls, I’d learned from Katie, the biggest feminist in the world. She told me I had to respect women, because they deserved respect. She always told me Dad had never respected Mom, and that was why Mom had left him.

“Just be better than him, Eli. You don’t have to be the best man in the world, you just gotta do better than Dad.”

That wasn’t asking for too much.

“Does she have a chubby best friend for your chubby best friend?” Jason asked.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not even gonna answer that.”

“I’d like you to know that since I moved away, I’m down two pounds and four ounces. I’m getting slim as hell. I think hanging out with you and your mom’s cooking was making me fat.”

That was a possibility—Mom certainly liked butter.

“Anyway,” Jason said, changing the subject, because his mind was floaty. “after you tell her she’s hot, make sure you have condoms. You’ll need condoms.”

“What? No, I won’t. Anyway, I wouldn’t even know where to get condoms.”

“Just check your sister’s tampon box. That’s where my sister keeps hers,” he said matter-of-factly.

I cocked an eyebrow. “Why were you in your sister’s tampon box?”

“Safe sex first, questions later,” Jason told me, as if he were a sex professional. If there was anything I knew for certain, it was that Jason and I were both the last two virgins in the history of virgins. Him moving to Nebraska hadn’t changed that fact.

“We aren’t having sex!” I told him again. “She d-doesn’t like me like that.”

“Fine, but if you do want her to like you like that, you gotta smooth your way into her life. Oh! You know what you should do? Take her to your spot!”

“My spot?”

“You know, your spot, behind the bars, where you listen to the music.”

“What? No way. It’s dirty back there.”

“Or romantic, if you do it the right way. I’m just saying, buddy, it’s not every day a hot girl talks to guys like us. You gotta carpee damum the moment.”

“You mean carpe diem?”

“God, Elliott, I’m glad to see you stopped being such a nerd since I left.”

I heard Jason’s mom call him and he hurried away, saying he had to get dinner. I shut off my game and went to shower to get ready for my show and non-date.

When I finished my shower and got dressed, Mom smiled my way. “If I’d known you’d up your hygiene for a girl, I would’ve had you dating a long time ago.”

“We aren’t dating,” I groaned. “She’s just a friend. And I always showered before.”

“Always is a stretch,” she joked. “Soon enough you’ll be wanting cologne to impress her.”

Cologne…

Interesting.

I hurried to my neighbor’s house and started pounding on the door. When it opened, I looked at Uncle TJ, who was cleaning a trumpet. “Hey, Elliott, what’s up? Ready for your show tonight?”

“Cologne!” I barked at him, glancing at my watch, realizing I was running behind. Jasmine was probably getting on the bus any time now to head over to my house, and I wasn’t ready—physically or mentally.

“What?”

“I need cologne for tonight.”

Uncle TJ gave me a sheepish grin. “What’s her name?”

“What?”

“The girl?”

“There’s no girl,” I lied.

He just kept grinning.

“I’m seventy-five years old, son. I have lived many lifetimes, so trust me when I say, there’s always a girl.”

I shifted my feet around, not wanting to miss Jasmine arriving at my house. “So…?”

Uncle TJ laughed and stepped aside, letting me rush into his house. “First floor bathroom, second shelf. Take your pick.”

I sprayed a few different ones into the air to see what smelled best, but they all grossed me out, so I just picked one. If girls were into that stuff, I’d suffer the pain of the bad smells.

When I walked out, Uncle TJ fanned his hand in front of his nose. “You weren’t supposed to spray that much. Jesus! Come here, we gotta air you out.” He stood me in front of a fan and had me flap my arms up and down to try to take off some of the scent. “What’s her name?”

“There’s no—” I started, but then I noticed Uncle TJ’s raised eyebrow. He didn’t believe me. “Jasmine.”

“Jasmine.” He smirked. “Do you call her Jazz?”

“No.”

“You should.”

Maybe.

“So what’s the situation? Are you dating?”

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

Maybe.

“We’re just friends.”

“Has she heard you play your music?”

“Yeah, she comes out every Saturday to listen.”

His interest piqued. “Really? Oh, she likes you.”

I shook my head. “She just li-likes the music.”

Uncle TJ lowered his eyebrows, not believing me. “No woman can only fall in love with the music of jazz. She always quietly yearns for the musician behind the bars.”

I gave him a you’re-full-of-it stare, and he shrugged.

“Just saying. Do this: find out her favorite song, okay? Then bring it back to me, and we’ll take it from there.”

“What for?”

“You’ll see.” He shut off the fan and patted me on the back. “I think you’re all good to go now. Have a great show tonight.”

“Thanks.”

“And, buddy?” he called after me as I was almost outside the front door. “Take it slow. There’s no need to rush it. Let the harmony fall together the way it’s meant to. There’s nothing worse than a rushed note that could’ve been so perfect. Then, when you’re ready, call her beautiful, not hot, not sexy, but beautiful. They love to be called beautiful.”

Now that was the type of advice I was okay with receiving. Uncle TJ always knew what to say, even when I didn’t know I needed to hear it.

I waited on my front porch for Jasmine to show up. When she walked up to the house, I almost jumped out of my skin upon hearing a voice from inside.

“She’s cute!” Mom called from the living room window, peering out.

“Mom! Go away!” I whisper-shouted, and she shook her head.

“Okay, okay, but she’s so cute, Eli!” Mom replied before disappearing—at least she disappeared far enough to keep me from seeing her. If I knew my mom, she was finding some way to creep on the current situation.

“Hi,” I said to Jasmine as she walked up to me. She looked perfect, because she always looked perfect.

“Hey,” she replied, sliding her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. We stood there for a second, just staring at one another with the sun beating down on us. When she smiled, I smiled. When I smiled, she smiled.

And that’s about all we did.

“Um, we should get to the b-bus stop,” I stuttered, nodding in the direction of the bus. She smiled and nodded in agreement. We stood on the corner, waiting for the city bus to pull up, and we had no words to exchange. The discomfort may have been in my head, but I hated the silence. Then again, I didn’t have a clue what to say.

As the bus finally pulled up, I stepped to the side and nodded once, parting my lips, but no words came out. After you. After you.

Say after you!

Nothing.

My ears started burning, and my mind went searching for the words that seemed to be missing from my tongue. “Go!” I finally said, except I didn’t say it—I shouted it. I shouted the word at her, and I hated it the second it left my mouth. It sounded aggressive, but it wasn’t supposed to. The aggression came from my own problems, but the word flew out as if I were snapping at her.

She gave me a smile that looked like a frown, and walked onto the bus. I took a deep breath and slapped my hand against my forehead before walking on, too. I slid into the seat beside her. My eyes blinked closed and I squeezed them tight, filling my lungs with air.

“I didn’t mean to yell,” I said softly. “I’m sorry.” I hated myself in that moment, because I’d seen the flash of panic race across her face when I shouted.

“Was it because of your stuttering?” she asked.

I nodded. “I knew what I wanted to say, but it just wouldn’t come out right. So, I just blurted that out. I’m sorry.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“What does it feel like in your head when that happens?”

“It feels like standing in front of a freight train, unable to move.”

She turned away from me and stared out the window for a second before looking back my way. “I think your voice is beautiful.”

I chuckled. “There’s nothing b-bbe—” No, not again. Beautiful. That was always a hard one. I couldn’t remember a time I was actually able to get that word out. There were many words I avoided altogether, and beautiful was at the top of the list. I shut my eyes, embarrassment building up in my gut as I tried to spit out a word that wasn’t going to work. Sweat gathered on my forehead, and I clawed my fingernails into the palms of my hands.

Jasmine’s hand landed on my leg, making me open my eyes, and there she was, smiling my way. “Your voice is beautiful, Elliott,” she repeated.

I just smiled back, half convinced I was having a weird hallucination.

The past few weeks felt like a dream I was afraid to wake up from. Things like Jasmine didn’t happen to guys like me, not in reality.

Once we arrived, we grabbed a few hot dogs from Dat Dog and sat on one of the balconies, looking down on Frenchmen Street. The later it grew, the more the street came to life with people and music. I was shocked to see how fast and how much Jasmine ate.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” she moaned, stuffing fries into her mouth. “My mom would murder me if she knew I was eating this. How many calories do you think is in all this food?” I parted my lips, but she held up a finger to silence me. “Don’t ever tell a girl how many calories are in the food she’s already eaten.”

“Even if she asks?”

“Especially if she asks.” She tossed the last fry into her mouth.

“Jasmine?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do you hang out with me? I mean, I’m pretty much a loser.”

“Don’t worry, I am too.”

I rolled my eyes and rubbed my hand up and down my arm. “You’re not a loser, Jasmine. Everyone loves you.”

She frowned and shook her head. “How can everyone love me if they don’t even know who I am?”

I wasn’t certain what to say to that, so I just sat there studying her. That’s when I saw it in her eyes—the same kind of loneliness I felt daily. How could someone as beautiful as Jasmine ever feel alone?

“I know you look at me and probably think I have it easy, but I don’t. There’s a lot to me that people don’t know.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine, Elliott. No apologies needed. Now come on, I want to hear your music.”

We went down to the street, and as I began playing, she sat on the curb and never took her eyes off me. Whenever I paused, I saw her chin was resting in her hands and she was grinning. I wondered if she knew how nervous and happy she made me, how she made me confident and fearful all at once.

I wondered if she knew I’d dreamed of someone like her, and I wondered if she’d dreamed of someone like me, too.

After I finished, she stood up and clapped, shouting, “Encore!” over and over again. Then, she rushed over and pulled me into a hug. I loved when she hugged me because she knew she didn’t have to ask permission.

“So good,” she said earnestly. “So, so good.”

I glanced at my watch, checking the time before looking back at her. “Do you have to go ri-right now?”

She shrugged. “Why do you ask?”

“I just wanted to show you something I think you might like.”

“Lead the way.”

I led, and she followed. Every now and then I’d pinch myself, just to make sure I was awake. I took her down the alleyway, and I could see her getting nervous. “I promise you’re safe,” I told her. She walked closer to me, wrapping her arm around mine.

I didn’t complain.

We reached my spot, right in front of a dumpster that was closed, and I held my hands out. “Tada!” I said jokingly.

“What am I looking at exactly?” she questioned.

“No, it’s not something you see. It’s something you hear…something you feel.” I rubbed my hand on the back of my neck. Man, this is weird. I should not have listened to Jason’s terrible advice. “Normally I hop on top of the dumpster and sit, but I doubt a girl—” I didn’t finish my sentence because Jasmine leaped on top of the dumpster. I followed right after her. “I can’t get into the bars to listen to the music, but here, I’m able to hear everything.” We sat in the alleyway behind the bars, and I asked her to close her eyes. “Tell me what you hear.”

“Country music,” she whispered, making me smile.

“That’s from Mikey’s Tavern. What else?”

“Um, is that…Billie Holiday?”

“That’s coming from the rhythm and blues bar, Jo’s Catz.” I raised an eyebrow. “You can pick out Billie Holiday music?”

“My mom’s boyfriend is a musician, so my brain is pretty much a sea of music knowledge.”

“But you didn’t know ‘The Rose’ by Bette Midler?”

Her cheeks blushed over as she started swaying her feet back and forth on the edge of the dumpster. “I might have known that.”

“Why did you ask then?”

“Because…I wanted to talk to you and I didn’t know what to say. I get tongue-tied with you sometimes.”

“With me?”

She nodded. “You make me nervous.”

“Why?”

“Because when you look at me, you actually look me in the eyes. A lot of boys at school never look me in the eyes.”

“Sucks for them,” I told her. “Your eyes are really pretty.”

She blushed some more. “Thanks, Elliott.”

“Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

“I sing.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You do?”

“Yeah. I love soul music, but my mom thinks pop is the way for me to get famous. So, pop music it is.”

“I don’t get it?”

She laughed. “Is that a question?”

“Yes, kind of. I mean, i-if you like soul, why wouldn’t you sing soul music?”

She shifted around in her seat and shrugged. “My mom says soul music is for a certain type of person with a certain type of skin tone, and my skin doesn’t fit that description.”

“Tell that to Adele,” I told her.

She smiled. “Mama says Adele is one in a million, and I’m not. I can’t break down the same barriers Adele did.”

“No offense to your mom, but that’s the st-stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You don’t see music, you feel it. Music doesn’t see color. Music transcends all stereotypes. You’ll be the greatest soul singer known to mankind.”

She laughed. “You haven’t even heard me sing.”

“Then go ahead.” I waved my hand in front of us. “Sing.”

“Right now?” she asked, swallowing hard.

“Right now.”

“I’m nervous,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to watch me.”

“I’ll close my eyes.” That was the best way to feel music anyway.

“Promise you won’t peek?”

“I promise.”

I shut my eyes and waited for her to sing. When she began, it took everything inside of me to keep my eyes shut, but I kept my promise to her. She sang “Mercy Mercy Me” by Marvin Gaye, and I felt every word of it. Her voice was deep and smoky, powerful. She sounded even more beautiful than she looked. As my eyes stayed shut, I knew Jasmine was going to be a star. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Some people wanted to sing, but others were destined to do it. Jasmine Greene was designed to be a star. There was no reason she shouldn’t have been inside any of those bars performing her music.

There was no reason her music shouldn’t have been on the radio.

As she sang, all the other sounds around us were drowned out. Her voice made everything around us disappear.

Once she finished, I opened my eyes and saw her reddened cheeks. “How bad was I?” she asked, chewing on her thumbnail.

“I’m gonna hear you on the radio and be watching you on TV someday.”

She giggled and nudged me in the leg. “If I end up on TV, I want you to be in my band.”

“Deal.”

“What is jazz music to you?” she asked, crossing her arms. “What does it mean to you?”

“Jazz is…um, jazz is the reminder that when I’m alone, I’m not really alone.”

“That’s what soul music is to me,” she agreed. “It’s my best friend when everything else in the world is just an acquaintance.”

She glanced at her watch, and then shifted around. I could tell her mind was wandering away as unease built up in her movements.

“So…are you going to Todd’s party tonight?” I asked.

She sat up straight. “How did you know I was going to Todd’s?”

“I hear everyone talking about his parties on Mondays.”

“What do they say about me?” she asked, her voice more aggressive now.

“Uh, nothing, really. Just th-that you’re there and wasted.”

She shifted around in her seat, and embarrassment seeped into her eyes. “That’s all they say?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t drink a lot,” I told him.

“It’s okay if you do.”

“Yeah, but I don’t. It’s just…at those parties, I just need…” Her fingers combed through her hair, and she glanced back my way. “Do they still mess with you, Elliott? I noticed in the hallways they don’t seem to mess with you as much.”

I gave her a fake smile, and she saw right through it. “It’s fine,” I told her. “I don’t mind.”

She twisted her body more my way and shook her head. “They’re still messing with you?”

“Yeah, but I think they noticed it bothers you when they bother me, so…they do it when you’re not around. I can handle it.”

“No. No. God, I hate them. How bad has it been?”

“Just a few br-bruises.”

“Show me.”

I cringed. “But—”

Her hand landed on my forearm, and there was a sense of despair in her voice. “Please, Eli?”

She called me Eli; only Katie and Mom called me that.

I knew pulling up my shirt was going to shock her. I knew she’d have a hard time seeing what the guys did to me, but I knew it would bother her more not knowing. I untucked my shirt from my slacks and pulled it up, displaying the black and blue skin that was the result of Todd and his friends using me as a punching bag in the locker room after gym class.

“Elliott!” Jasmine cried, her hands flying to my side. She lightly touched the bruises, and I cringed a bit. “Oh my gosh. I can’t believe those lying assholes!” She jumped off the dumpster and started pacing. “You have to come with me tonight.”

“What?”

“You have to…I-I don’t know! You have to stand up to these jerks! I get it, you don’t want to fight back, but they aren’t going to stop because they think you won’t stand up to them.”

“I-I d-don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“No, we have to.” She grew more and more emotional as she paced. “There is nothing I can do to stop them from hurting you. I’ve tried everything, but maybe if you stand up to them—if we stand up to them, we can win. I know we can. You and I can be, like…the two musketeers. All for one and one for all, ya know?”

“I…”

“Please. I just…please.”

I didn’t know how to say no to her eyes. I didn’t know why the bullying bothered her more than it bothered me, but it did. There was no way I could say no to her as she sat on the verge of tears. I hopped off the dumpster and nodded once. “Okay. Let’s go.”