Just Be Cool, Jenna Sakai Read online

  But he’d lost the right to know anything about my life when we broke up. Suddenly, my mind was filled with memories of last semester.

  Our first argument. We’d been talking about the Big Wave—the high school paper. Elliot had said Olivia Rose’s pieces weren’t as strong as David Wang’s and that he should have been the editor. I totally disagreed. Elliot said I was biased because I knew her. That had nothing to do with it. But he didn’t listen when I tried to tell him that.

  The arguing got worse when Ms. Fontes assigned us to work on articles together.

  Elliot insisted on putting his name first on the bylines.

  “It’s alphabetical,” he said. “Both ways. E before J. O before S.”

  “Yours was first for the first article we did,” I said. “And this one was my idea, so I think my name should be first.”

  Elliot grimaced. “Not like we need to specify whose idea it was, but this one was mine.”

  “It was not!”

  Elliot shook his head like I was a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Fine, you can put your name first. Geez, Jenna!”

  “Because it was my idea,” I pushed.

  Elliot didn’t respond. And I let it go, or so I’d thought.

  During our last newspaper club meeting before Christmas break, Ms. Fontes had praised us both on the article. She called it an original idea.

  We’d stayed after everyone else had gone home for the day to exchange gifts and hang out just the two of us before I had to leave for my dad’s.

  “You’re very smiley,” Elliot had said, taking my hand and squeezing.

  “It was nice that Ms. Fontes thought my idea was original.”

  Elliot dropped my hand. “Your idea? It was mine.”

  I was in too good a mood to let him bother me. “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I’m just glad Ms. Fontes liked it.”

  I turned to get Elliot’s present out of my bag.

  “What is your problem?” he asked.

  “What do you mean?” I replied slowly, my defenses rising at the edge in his voice.

  “You keep trying to claim credit!”

  “Because I deserve credit!”

  Elliot rolled his eyes. “Jenna, let’s face it. You’re smart. You’re talented. But you’re not going to get very far if you’re always this competitive.”

  I coughed back a laugh. “Competitive? With you? Not even! You’re the one stealing my ideas, my work!”

  “Oh, Jenna,” Elliot said in that condescending tone I was starting to really hate. Our voices were raised, and if anyone was out in the hall, they would definitely be able to hear us. Just like I’d heard every word my parents shouted at each other before the divorce.

  “You think you’re better than everyone else.”

  “Because I am!”

  I couldn’t believe he’d just said that.

  “All we do is fight,” Elliot said. “And obviously you don’t respect me.”

  “You don’t respect me!”

  Neither of us said anything for a long while. Elliot started packing his things up. “Maybe we shouldn’t be together, then.”

  “You’re right for once. Maybe we shouldn’t be together!”

  “Fine!” Elliot stood.

  “You’re leaving?” I asked.

  “What else is there to say?”

  I wrapped my arms around myself like a hug. “So, now what? We’re broken up?”

  Elliot was in the middle of turning toward the door, but he swung back toward me so fast he stumbled. “You’re breaking up with me?”

  “No, you’re breaking up with me!”

  “Oh, that’s just great, Jenna! You have to compete over this, too?” Elliot shook his head and stormed out of the room.

  I blinked myself back to the present. I was so much better off now that we’d broken up. Being alone wasn’t so bad. It meant not fighting over stupid things. Not giving away power.

  And not ever getting hurt.

  “There you are!”

  I jumped as Isabella came up behind me at the computer. She sat down in the empty seat next to me. I glanced at the library clock, surprised that an hour had flown by while I was researching and lost in my memories.

  “I’m glad I found you. I don’t have your number, so I couldn’t text you.”

  I smiled as we exchanged phone numbers.

  “How’s it going?” she asked, nodding at the computer screen.

  “I keep hitting dead ends.” In my research and my relationships. “How about you? What’s your new article about?”

  “That’s why I’m here,” she said, grinning. “You busy this evening?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to that youth open mic night I was telling you about. I’m writing about it. Want to come along?”

  Oh wow. Isabella and I had never hung out outside newspaper club. But Mom was working late. Keiko had her movie-night thing with the guys. I was tired of coming up empty for this article. Maybe my brain just needed a break.

  “Sure. Sounds good.”

  “Cool! It’s at Dune Street Roasting Company. It starts at five thirty. Do you need a ride?”

  I nodded. Mom wouldn’t be home in time for sure, and the coffee house was too far for me to walk, especially at night.

  “We’ll pick you up in an hour. Is that enough time?”

  “More than enough. Thanks!”

  I raced home to drop off my books, leave a note for my mom, and grab a hoodie, and before I knew it, Isabella’s mom was pulling up outside. When I climbed into the back seat of the Prius, Isabella turned and grinned at me. Her mother reached her hand between the seats.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jenna,” she said. She wore blue-and-yellow beaded earrings that swung as we shook hands. Her warm smile was identical to Isabella’s.

  “Thank you for the ride, Mrs. Baker,” I said, fastening my seat belt.

  “You’re welcome. I love meeting Isabella’s friends.”

  Mrs. Baker started driving and we talked about our favorite songs. It turned out Mrs. Baker and Isabella loved Hamilton, too. She turned on “My Shot,” and we sang together. And for the first time in a long time, listening to the soundtrack made me happy instead of just making me miss my dad.

  By the time she dropped us off at the coffee shop, there was already a line out the door.

  “Is this usual?” I asked.

  “No idea,” Isabella said. “But it has to be a good sign, right?”

  We got in line behind a group of giggly girls our age. I didn’t recognize them, but our school was huge.

  “Your mom is fun,” I said.

  “Thanks. I like her.” Isabella laughed.

  “So, how does this work? What kind of acts are there?” I asked, nodding to the coffee shop.

  “Any kid who wants to can sign up. Singers, poets, any kind of performance. I heard that last time three stand-up comics in a row totally bombed.”

  Ugh. That sounded painful. I hoped this would be at least semi-entertaining. But it was definitely better than sitting at home alone.

  “Hey, Jenna Sakai!” I spotted Olivia waving from near the front of the line.

  I grinned and waved back.

  “Who’s that?” Isabella asked.

  “Olivia Rose, the editor of the Big Wave at PV High.”

  “Isn’t she a senior?”

  I nodded. “She used to be my babysitter back when I was in the third grade.”

  “Nice connection, Jenna! Go talk to her!” Isabella nudged me.

  “Now?”

  “I’ll hold our places.”

  As I made my way up to the front, the middle school girls complained.

  “I’m not cutting,” I snapped. “I’m just saying hi to a friend.”

  “Hey, Jenna, long time no see!” Olivia was wearing a cute floral-print miniskirt with a black T-shirt. “This is my girlfriend, Marina.”

  “Hi,” Marina said. Her long brown hair was pulled up in a high ponytail.


  “Hi, Marina,” I said, smiling.

  “How have you been?” Olivia asked.

  “Good. I’m in the newspaper club.”

  “Excellent!”

  “I’ve been reading your articles for the Big Wave. They’re really great.”

  “Oh, another groupie,” Marina said, teasing Olivia.

  “Ha-ha,” Olivia said. She turned back to me. “Are you applying for the scholarship?”

  I nodded. “You?”

  “Sure am. I’m working on an article about the oil spill last month.”

  “Wow! That’s going to be intense and awesome,” I said. I was surprised Olivia was so willing to share. Not that I would steal it. It was nice that she was so trusting, at least with me. It made me feel safe with her. “I’m trying to work on finding out who made an anonymous donation for our cafeteria renovation.”

  “PV Middle got a new cafeteria?” Olivia asked.

  “Yeah! It’s totally fancy, like a food court, all upgraded. I want to find out the donor’s name and why they funded the cafeteria when they could have funded more important things.”

  Olivia nodded. “That is going to be an outstanding article.”

  “Yeah, but I’m stuck. I can’t figure out who the donor is.”

  “Don’t give up,” Olivia said as the doors to the coffee shop opened.

  “Thanks!” I made my way back to Isabella.

  “Good chat?” she asked when I rejoined her.

  I nodded. I wanted to be as good a writer as Olivia when I got to high school, and I totally wanted to be editor of the Big Wave. She had been the first junior to be made editor, and the first one to be editor for two years. I wanted to be the next. That meant working hard at my craft.

  By the time we got into the coffee shop, the place was packed with no open tables. There were chairs along the back and the sides of the shop. Isabella hurried toward two chairs, but they were snagged before we got there.

  “Jenna!”

  Olivia stood and pointed to two empty spots at her table.

  “Score!” Isabella said. “We’re right in front of the stage.”

  Score was right. I didn’t care about being close to the stage, but I did care about spending more time with Olivia.

  As Isabella got out her notebook and pen, I made introductions.

  “Also in newspaper club?” Olivia asked.

  Isabella nodded.

  “Isabella writes amazing articles about music and fashion,” I said.

  Marina pouted. “I’m the only nonwriter here.”

  “Aww, I still love you,” Olivia said. She turned to me. “Marina’s cousin is performing tonight. He’s a beat poet.”

  The lights dimmed, and the crowd quieted. A lanky man with a goatee stepped onto the makeshift stage, which was really just part of the coffeehouse floor marked off with blue tape and a microphone.

  “Welcome to the third youth open mic night! I see word is getting out. This is our biggest crowd yet! I’m Avi, the manager of Dune Street Roasting Company. All coffee drinks are buy one get one half off.”

  A few people got up to buy drinks.

  “We have a pretty full lineup today, so let’s get started. Our first act is the Lindstrom sisters.”

  A cheery song started to play over the speakers, and two teenagers leapt out onto the stage and started singing. They were pretty good. After that was Marina’s cousin, who was spectacular. He got a ton of applause. Then someone Olivia and Marina knew did a decent stand-up routine, followed by two mediocre high school bands.

  The lights brightened, and Avi came back onstage to announce a short intermission.

  I leaned over to Isabella. “You think anyone from our school will perform?”

  “I hope so.”

  “What’s your article’s focus?”

  Isabella tapped her pencil on the table. “I’m planning to write about youth open mic, but I’d love to feature one of the performances from our school.”

  “Fingers crossed, then,” I said.

  We smiled at each other.

  “Hey, Jenna, I just thought of something,” Olivia said.

  “What?”

  “My aunt is the superintendent of our school district.”

  “Cool.”

  Olivia waited a beat, a small smile playing on her face. The tips of my ears burned as realization struck. “Oh! Yeah?” I asked. “Do you think she’d tell you?”

  “I think so.”

  “But would you be able to tell me after?” I wasn’t sure how that worked.

  “As long as she doesn’t say ‘off the record,’ we’re good!”

  “Isn’t that kind of sneaky, though?” Marina asked.

  Olivia shrugged. “Got to get the facts to get the story,” she said, winking at me. “Give me your number, and I’ll text you if I find out anything.”

  When the lights dimmed again, I sat back, feeling full of hope and happiness. This was the best night ever! Not only was I hanging out with Isabella, but I got to spend the evening with Olivia, and she might be able to get what I needed for my article. And maybe she’d even write me a letter of recommendation for the high school paper or something. If that was even a thing.

  Isabella got her wish. The next act was a group of kids from our school’s drama club. They did a dramatic reading from last fall’s performance of Little Women. Isabella and I exchanged looks. They were good, but nothing to write home about.

  Three more acts later, Avi announced the last performance.

  “Those of you who have been to youth open mic night before will be happy to see our most popular act from last month return.”

  A burst of squeals came from the back. I spun in my chair and glared at the cluster of middle school girls I’d seen outside blushing furiously. Yeesh. At least it looked like this might be what Isabella needed for her article.

  “Let’s welcome back Rin Watanabe!”

  Cheers came from the back again as my brain froze. “Wait, what did he just say?” I asked out loud as Rin stepped out onto the stage, an acoustic guitar strapped to his back, where I was used to seeing a black backpack.

  Rin walked to the center of the stage and sat on a high stool. His black hair neatly swooped across his forehead instead of his usual tousled look. He wore a plain charcoal-gray T-shirt and dark jeans. My heart sped up. I shrank back in my chair like it would make me invisible. I didn’t want him to see me.

  Rin adjusted his guitar and strummed a chord. Another girl squealed quietly and was hushed by her giggling friends. Gah! This was ridiculous. It wasn’t as if Rin were some rock star.

  Then the world melted away as Rin started to sing. His voice was rich and melodious, reminding me a bit of his laughter. I stared at his hands as he strummed. I didn’t recognize the song, but it was folksy and smooth. He sang about lies and secrets and how they could shatter a heart. I could relate. The way Mom and Dad tried to keep me in the dark, the surprise of the divorce and Dad moving away, and how neither of them ever told me anything. Lies and secrets could shatter the heart if you let it. Good thing I was stronger than that.

  Rin transitioned into the bridge, doing some fancy finger work, and sang a line about forgiveness. If I were the swooning type, which I definitely was not, I could see getting swept away. I guess I could give those giggling girls a break.

  As his song wound to an end, I was relieved. Soon I would fade into the crowd and escape. I risked a glance at Rin’s face as he strummed the last chord, and our eyes met. My breath hitched, like I was on a roller coaster. He gave me a small smile, and Isabella’s head whipped to me so fast I felt air waft in front of my face.

  “You know him?”

  Rin stood, and the room burst into applause. The lights went up, and a gaggle of girls quickly swarmed him.

  I said a quick goodbye to Olivia and Marina, and grabbed Isabella’s arm, hustling her out the door.

  “Yeah, I know him,” I said finally. “But not as well as I thought I did.”

  Monday a
fter school, armed with questions Isabella wanted me to ask Rin, I walked into Leigh’s Stage Diner. As expected, Rin was already in my booth, wall of textbooks up and headphones on. I stopped at the counter.

  “Hello, Jenna,” Leigh said. “How are you?”

  “Good. Can you please let me pay for my own food?”

  Leigh smiled. “Aww, why not let Rin treat you? He seems to really want to.”

  Only because he wanted to prove he was better than me. I didn’t want to be beholden to Rin for anything. “I’d rather pay for myself.”

  “You got it.”

  That taken care of, I ordered my usual, paid up front, and waited until it was ready. Then I carried my food to the booth.

  Rin pulled off his headphones. “I guess you have to sing since Leigh isn’t serving.”

  “Ha! Not likely!”

  I sipped my strawberry shake, waiting for Rin to get back to drawing, but he just kept watching me. Ugh. I guess we were going to talk about it. Which I had to anyway since I promised Isabella.

  “My friend writes articles about music for newspaper club,” I started. “That’s why we were at the coffeehouse on Friday night.” I wanted to make it clear I did not know he’d be there. “You do that a lot?”

  “Open mic?” Rin shrugged. “Just twice.”

  “But you’ve done that before? Performed in front of a group?”

  He shrugged again.

  I’d memorized Isabella’s short list of questions. I was pretty sure a shrug wouldn’t be a satisfying response for her. “Do you write your own music?”

  “Yes.”

  “Really?” I blinked. “You wrote the song you played on Friday?”

  He shrugged.

  “So, you aren’t a fan of secrets and lies,” I prompted.

  He smiled. “You listened to the lyrics.”

  “Of course. Who doesn’t?” Words were important.

  Rin leaned forward. I couldn’t see his hands behind the wall of books, but I remembered very clearly what they looked like playing his guitar. “You seem very interested in me all of a sudden.”