Drumbeats into My Heart

58. Jordi Avoids Calls

My phone jangles again for the third time today, and I ignore it just like the previous two times.

"You realize that's your phone, right?" Dad shouts from where he sits at the computer. "You know, that little device that we pay for each month so that people can call you directly? See, when it makes noise like that—"

I emerge from my room, sighing. "It's just him again."

"Who? That Dustin guy? If you want, I can answer for you and tell him you're busy for the rest of your life."

"No, it's Seth."

"Seth?" He swivels in his chair to face me fully. "What happened to you two? He seemed like a decent kid to me. Polite anyway."

"He did something horrible to me, so I don't want to talk to him."

"Horrible?" All of Dad's humor vanishes as he bristles with protective intent. "What exactly did this fella do? I swear, if he hurt you in any way—"

"No," I'm quick to amend, "nothing like that. He just..." I frown at the memory. "Embarrassed me. A lot."

He leans forward. "I'm still pretty handy with a baseball bat. Just tell me where he lives."

I smile despite the unpleasant topic and shake my head. "I don't think it warrants violence. As much as I hate to admit it, his heart was in the right place."

"I see." Dad scratches his beard and leans back in his seat. "Want to talk about it?

"Not really."

"Give me a hint?"

I shake my head.

"Allude to some vague details that I can wildly misinterpret?"

A small laugh escapes my throat. Even when he has no idea what's going on, Dad still manages to make me feel better.

I pull a chair away from the dining table so I can sit closer to him. "Don't worry about it. I don't think we were right for each other anyway."

"In what way? He seemed to love the drum circle. That's a pretty cool thing to have in common."

"True," I concede. "But... he's like some kind of super-student. He thinks I'm dumb."

Dad's brows pull together. "Did he really say that?"

"No."

"Did he imply it?"

I can't look at my father anymore. He's making too much sense. "I don't know. Kind of? It's complicated, Dad."

He nods and sighs, eyes drifting to the framed family photo on the wall. "I know your mother was your confidant. She always knew just what to say."

I reach out to rub his shoulder. "You're doing great, Dad."

He pats my hand. "Sometimes I think I'm not doing enough... parenting." He pulls his gaze away from the photo and settles it back on me. "Are you still planning on dropping out of school?"

"Maybe."

"I wish you wouldn't. I've known you since you were a tiny poop machine. I know you have it in you."

"The poop?" I joke.

He laughs. "The determination. You just have to want it."

***

A couple days later, I inexplicably find myself at Lincoln High. It feels like I'm playing hooky from my job. Even though my drumming gigs aren't actual jobs, there's still that twinge of guilt for skipping out on something I should be doing to earn money.

I know Seth doesn't work on Tuesdays, so I chose today to come looking for this Mrs. Martinez teacher he's mentioned before. After asking around a bit, I eventually find the right classroom. To my dismay, class is already in session. The door is propped open, so I hover off to one side of it to observe.

Mrs. Martinez is quite short, which is an unfortunate trait for a high school teacher, but she bustles around the room with the authority of a drill sergeant, instructing the students on an in-class assignment. She glances up at me, seems to assess me in a matter of seconds, and then gazes meaningfully at an empty chair in the back of the room.

I comprehend and shuffle inside to perch on the chair, folding my hands in my lap.

I watch as students raise their hands into the air with questions about the assignment. Mrs. Martinez switches to a different mode. A softer version of the no-nonsense teacher, one who welcomes questions and answers with patience, even when the same question is asked three times.

The questions finally cease, and all I can hear are the scribbling of pencils. Mrs. Martinez finally approaches me with a polite smile. "How can I help you?"

My stomach flutters as nerves begin ordering me to get up and run. I take a deep breath and grip the sides of the chair. "Um, someone told me that you—" I glance around the room at the other students and lower my voice. "That you have a special test? For determining..." I swallow and lick my lips. This is more awkward than I ever imagined.

The teacher's perfunctory smile warms as she nods with understanding. At her stature, she's practically eye-level with me sitting on the chair. Regardless, she pulls up another chair and sits beside me. Like I'm an equal.

"Yes, you found the right place." Mrs. Martinez keeps her voice low. "Are you here for yourself?"

My hands loosen enough to start tapping against the bottom of the chair. "Y-yes."

"Well, you are very brave. Braver than most. Regardless of what the test results are, I commend you for finding me. I've discovered that, the older you are, the harder it is to admit you might have a learning disability."

I flinch at the word.

She leans forward, a gentle expression on her face. "You'll get used to it. I promise. It's not a bad word."

Coincidentally, voting is also not a bad word. ;)