#EDIT: fixed a few coloring issue driving me crazy

[kad00dle]

another day at the agency

[cruisinforarubberman]

I Don’t Want To Understand

A late day 2 fic for Bluepulse week. I know the prompt was pride, which I’m assuming was meant for LGBTQIA+ pride, but I thought I’d take an alternate approach since it was only listed as ‘pride’ and not ‘gay pride’ or something like it. Hopefully you still like it. Especially since it ended up being three times as long as I planned it. The one for today is gonna be mega short to compensate XD

EDIT: It has been brought to my attention that the subject matter of this fic has not been written in a way that was completely appropriate or an accurate portrayal of real life circumstances. It’s clear that I have lot to learn when it comes to these matters, and I sincerely apologize to anyone I may have offended. However I intend to leave the fic the way it is as a reminder to myself and to others not to write something, even a drabble written in the spur of the moment, without thinking through it more. Everything we experience in life is an opportunity to learn, and I intend to do so from this point on.

Day 2: Pride

-----

Of all the unintentionally annoying habits that Bart had when he was impatient, bored, or stressed, pacing was the quietest and least likely to annoy others. It was what he was doing right then up in the Watchtower, several other heroes of his and Jaime's age group around him waiting and feeling just as anxious. It had been a solid forty-five minutes since they were told what had happened, but there weren't any specific details that they'd been given. It was making Bart crazy.

He tugged on the hem of his baseball tee as he glanced again at the warp pad that would soon bring his Blue back to him. How was he expected to just stand there in his civvies and wait to find out why this had happened? At least the others had taken the earlier hint and had stopped trying to talk him out of his worry. Bart appreciated it, but it just hadn't worked. So now they waited, Bart the only one dressed casually because he had been called up at the last minute to avoid him running off to find Jaime.

It just...it wasn't like this kind of thing happened to them all the time. Especially not to his Blue, his Jaime. Jaime was too good for this kind of thing. What kind of idiot wou--

Bart's thoughts and his pacing came to a sudden halt as the warp pad lit up and two figures materialized into being. One clearly smaller than the shadow like being next to him. Batman and an armored up Blue Beetle stepped down to meet the others. Jaime looked fine, not even stiff or tense in any way.

Bart was instantly relieved at the sight of him.

Batman began to speak to the group around them. “The situation has been--”

“Blue!” Bart rushed over into Jaime's open arms, as usual a bit to casual in regards to the hold Batman had on other heroes. Jaime's arms had raised up to hold him the second he saw Bart standing there waiting for him, which was the second before the speedster had been in his arms. Bart's arms had slid beneath his so he could bring his hands up to rest on Jaime's back, specifically where the blue scarab rested. “You're okay!”

Jaime smiled slightly in response to the words muffled into his chest, squeezing Bart to him in a firm hug while his face and head armored down. “Hey, chiquito.” He whispered to his boyfriend as he affectionately nuzzled ruddy-brown hair.

“As I was saying,” Batman continued after giving the two an expressionless glance, “the situation has been dealt with. There will be no need for further action, from any of you.” He turned his gaze to Bart. “Am I clear?”

“Yeah.” Bart said lightly, relief still coloring his words as he continued to hold onto Blue as if he were about to vanish.

“Good. If, and I do mean if, Blue Beetle wants to elaborate on what has happened he's free to at any time. However, if he doesn't, don't pester him.” With that he turned back to the warp pad and stepped onto it again.

“Gracias. For everything, really.” Jaime said as he turned to look back at the Bat, Bart still in his arms.

He was given a nod and nothing else. “Robin, I expect you back at the Cave within the hour.”

“Yes, sir!”

With that, the warp pad activated and Batman was gone from the room. It was another two, possibly three, seconds before Jaime was asked several controlled but clearly curious and worried questions. Including one disbelieving comment of, “I still can't believe Blue knows Batman personally!”

Among them was Superboy. “What the heck happened, Blue?”

At this Bart even took a step back to glance at his boyfriend.

“I was arrested.” Came the simple reply.

“Yeah we know that part, but why?” Asked Beast Boy.

“And in your civilian identity, no less.” Miss Martian added.

With his arm still around Bart's waist, Jaime began walking further into the Watchtower, everyone following naturally until they reached a lounge of some sort. Once everybody settled in on the various pieces of furniture, Jaime finally answered the question.

But not without giving a slight roll of the eyes as he did so. “You know how it is. A teenage kid who isn't white driving a nice car in a nicer neighborhood? It was bound to happen.”

There was quiet after that comment. A few were shocked, others suddenly understanding and clearly displeased, and one or two confused faces. Bart's was one of them, looking up at his boyfriend from where the two stood side by side in front of the others with no hint of comprehension on his face.

Jaime hadn't noticed Bart, too distracted by the reactions of the others.

“Let me explain a little bit more. You see, my mom is an E.R. nurse. One of the doctors at the hospital where she works was having some serious car issues; he was leaking antifreeze and overheating, it was a big mess. Anyway my mom, being nice like she always is, offered to ask my dad, who's a mechanic, to take a look at it. My dad's auto shop has the best prices and service in our area, so Dr. Tanner accepted my parent's offer and Dad's been fixing the car for the last few days.

“When it was all done and ready to be returned, Dr. Tanner told my dad he was willing to pay extra if someone could drop the car off at his house. I was in the shop when my dad got the call so I offered to do it.

“I should also point out that I've known Dr. Tanner my whole life, he and Mom have worked together for years, his son goes to my school and everything. So he knew that I was the one bringing the car over and he was happy about it. He always says I'm a good kid and stuff like that so he was sure I wasn't gonna mess around. I was gonna bring it straight to his house and then go home on my skateboard. No big deal.

“So I'm driving his car through his neighborhood, his house is just a block away from where I am when all of a sudden I hear police sirens. I can see the lights in the rear view mirror so I pull over. I've never been pulled over before today but Dad taught me what I was supposed to do if I ever was, so I do exactly what he taught me. I kept my hands on the wheel until the officer came over and told me to lower the window, which I did. I gave him my license when he asked, but I didn't have registration for the car on hand because I don't own the car so why would I have that? The very next thing he does is ask who the car belongs to, and I fill him in on the story.

“I could see from the moment I started talking that he didn't believe a word I was saying, but I knew better than to talk back to a cop. Next thing I know, he's telling me to get out of the car. I mean yeah I wanted to protest but,” Jaime sighed, “that only would have made it worse. It got worse anyway...”

“What did they do to you?” Artemis asked, tensing as if she already knew the answer.

Jaime pulled Bart back against his side with one arm, as if he needed the affection right then. Bart was more than happy to hug him again.

“I guess the officer's partner saw me roll my eyes when I got out 'cause the next thing I hear is, 'Knock of the attitude, punk.' So by that point I'm annoyed and offended but I put my hands up and was just waiting for them to run a plate check and call Dr. Tanner to confirm my story, but one of those jerks knocked me down with their nightstick and next thing I know I'm handcuffed in the back of their car and on the way to the police station. They messed up my shoulder a bit and royally pissed off Scarab. He's still not happy, by the way.”

{No I am not, Jaime Reyes. You should have allowed me to vaporize them and eliminate their incompetent existences from the face of this planet.}

“Hush.” Jaime said with a surprising amount of patience as he glanced backed at Khaji Da.

“Is your shoulder okay?” Wonder Girl asked.

“Oh yeah, Scarab fixed me up hours ago.”

“Hours ago?!” Bart asked with a bit of horror. “How long were you arrested?!”

“Bart I'm fine, I promise. It just took a while for my parents to get down there because they both wanted to come get me and to do that they had to leave work. Dios, I still feel bad about it.”

“So once they got there and explained the officers let you go, right?” asked Batgirl with her arms crossed in annoyance.

“Well...” Jaime hesitated, fidgeting and looking away from the crowd. “Not exactly. I mean it's all kind of a blur for me. I know both my parents were yelling at the officers after a certain point, but I don't know exactly why. What I do remember is being brought out to the front desk after a while because Dr. Tanner himself came down to the police station.”

Jaime's voice brightened. “You guys should've seen it, it was awesome. He let them have it, told them off for jumping the gun and arresting me prematurely without a lawyer present, and for not double checking their facts. Told them all it would've taken was a quick phone call to sort everything out and they wouldn't have embarrassed themselves like they did. I swear they were so ashamed they couldn't even look at me as I walked out. They dropped all the charges!”

At that a cheer went up among the group of teen heroes. Even a bit of applause.

“Serves them right!”

“That's what they get for being bigoted jerks!”

“You go, Blue!”

“I'm glad they got put in their place!”

Robin came over a clapped Jaime on the shoulder. “So what did B do to help?”

“He just wanted to make sure that they didn't secretly sneak anything onto my record, and he said that he made sure our complaints got through to their supervisor and even the Mayor of El Paso.”

Happy and cheerful chatter began to fill the lounge. It seemed as if everyone was glad that the situation worked itself out and that Blue wasn't gonna be in any further trouble. There was even talk of a celebration of some kind.

That is, until a voice broke through. “Wait...wait...hey!”

Silence descended after Bart's exclamation rang out. Everyone could see that he had wormed his way out from under Jaime's arm, because he was now standing to the side of his boyfriend and looking up at him with utter confusion on his face.

“Chiquito?” Jaime asked, his brows furrowing.

“I don't get it.” Bart said, “You're all acting like something good happened but I just don't understand. Why were you arrested?”

It was silent yet again as they all stood looking between Bart and Jaime, only now it was far more tense then it had been at any point before this. The two boyfriends were only looking at each other.

“Bart...I'm Mexican-American.”

The speedster's face took on a slight look of annoyance, clearly not happy that Jaime thought he was so dense that he wouldn't remember or know something as obvious as that.

Jaime continued before Bart could respond. “The officers that arrested me were both white, Caucasian. They were both older guys, too.” He explained.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Bart asked, clearly still confused.

“You...oh. Oh, Bart...amorcito.” Jaime's face suddenly looked so sad. Which in turn made Bart feel sad, too. “Baby...listen, you...you wouldn't know about this kind of thing because...”

Jaime didn't have to elaborate on that thought, they all knew that Bart came from a very different future with very different rules. With that realization sinking in so many of them turned sympathetic faces onto the still so young speedster.

Jaime sighed. He reached out to grasp Bart's hands in his own, Bart allowing Jaime to pull him closer. “Bart, a few decades ago there were laws put into place. Laws that let people of any color have all the same rights as white people. Before those laws...people like me and my family were treated unfairly. Very, unfairly.”

Bart's brow furrowed. “But there are laws against that kind of thing now? They don't do things like that anymore?”

“They're not supposed to, but some still do...”

“That...that's horrible!”

“I know.”

“S-So you're saying that the only reason they pulled you over, the only reason they arrested you, was because you were a different color than them?!”

“A different color, a different race, but yes. It's called racial profiling. Police officers have been known to do that kind of thing a lot.”

“Why?! Why would they do that?! What makes them think it's okay to treat you like some kind of criminal just because you're skin is darker than mine?!”

“I-I don't know why, Bart. I guess they just think that white people are better than people that are different from them.”

“That's not true! Thinking like that is-is so...moded!”

“I know, I know.” Jaime tugged Bart into an embrace. “I know.”

For a few moments Bart stood tense and shocked in Jaime's arms before melting against his chest. He only reached up to grip Jaime's waist when he felt a hand softly stroking through his hair.

“...it isn't fair. They don't even know you or how great you are or everything you do to keep them and the whole world safe...”

Jaime could only close his eyes and focus on the feeling of holding the boy he loved as close to him as he could. “I'm sorry, chiquito. I'm sorry you ever had to find out about this. I'm sorry that this kind of thing still exists after everything the world's already been through. Is there anything else you need me to explain...? Anything else you need to understand?”

Bart shook his head hard, though he still remained pressed to Jaime's chest as he quietly spoke. “I don't understand it. I don't want to understand it. I don't ever want to 'understand' it. No one should. It's moded. It's awful. I didn't come back so that I could watch people treat each other like this. We gotta fix it, Blue. We have to.”

He sounded so sad, so heartbroken. It made Beast Boy walk over and pat at Bart's back. It made the others gently chime in with assurances like “it'll be okay” and “we'll find a way to change their minds” and “not everyone is like that, at least”. They echoed Bart's feelings, wanting what he wanted; to make people realize that they all were equal, even to the heroes that they idolized.

Jaime's heart broke a little bit from knowing Bart's pain. Yet...yet he felt something. Something deep inside that grew stronger from hearing Bart's words.

{Jaime Reyes, my scans indicate that the emotion you are experiencing is what you Earthlings refer to as 'pride'.}

Pride. Yes, that was it. Jaime was proud of Bart. He was proud that coming into the past and being surrounded by this world and it's ideals hadn't changed who the speedster was. Proud that Bart was so offended by the people corrupting his new world that he felt the need to do something to change it. Bart would do it too, Jaime knew that without a doubt in his mind.

Jaime was so, so proud.

[hollywoodx4]

Sticking with the Schuylers (44)

I’m posting this from the bus to NY (!!!) sorry this one took so long, but I’m much happier with the direction this turned out than it’s precious draft so take that as you will.

[Edit: I finally fixed the formatting-sorry about that nightmare!]

1  2  3  4   5   6   7   8   9   10   1112   I  13  14   15   16   17   18A  18B   18CI 19   20   21   22   23   24   25  26   27  28   29   I  30  31  32 33 34 3536 37  38  39 40  41  42 I  43

Tagging: @linsnavi @butlinislin @oosnavi @adothoe

The hot compression of a faux leather skirt has begun to take its toll on Eliza, who stretches her calves in hopes of a burst of relief. It maneuvers the wave of her muscles with a crinkling protest, a lacy top clinging to her physique with a hold she hasn’t quite gotten used to. The slight chill of the air flows through the room and soothes the mugginess of backstage.

“Are you dying yet?” Peggy’s voice, loud and playful, carries across the room with ease. The issue of leather unencumbers her although she has been outfitted in a jumpsuit crafted entirely from the material. She holds a drumstick in each hand, twirling them between her fingers with ease before tapping them against an extra amp. The rhythm is familiar, a song they had crafted together, and Eliza hums the tune while she adjusts her fishnets.

“The crowd is huge tonight.” Angelica’s mass of well-tamed curls pokes out from behind the curtain; the muffled sounds of their opening act receiving mass amounts of applause is a comfort. Angelica hadn’t been too sure about hiring some boy band to back them, but The Rev Squad seems to be getting the praise Eliza had imagined upon convincing her sisters to hire the band.

Eliza adjusts the strap of her electric guitar over her shoulder, her grin wild and untamed as their opening act clamors off the stage. They’re still on an evident high from the crowd’s love, whooping and hollering. Their confidence clashes with the anxiety that still radiates from the Schuyler sisters, the juxtaposition evident. The boys are a mess of sweat and flyaway hairs, water splashing from opened bottles onto their reddened faces. Angelica lets out a hint of a smile before looking away, getting into her own headspace with deep breaths and a few words muttered under confident breaths. Peggy joins their fight, running and hiding with three opened bottles of water around a corner.

Eliza, like her eldest sister, finds herself far too occupied to engage in their games. However instead of moving for a silent confidence boost, her eyes are trained on the last band member to exit the stage. The Rev Squad stylist has dressed each of its members in a suit of varying colors. There’s Lafayette, in a full red ensemble to match the unwavering flame of pride in his eyes. Herc is in bright blue, with a t-shirt underneath (presumably to stop the sweating their last round of outfits had brought him, which he’d gently and apologetically complained about just once). It matches the sweatband he prefers to wear around his head and throw out to the audience each night as their fanbase has grown. John, in his bowtie and gingham, fits the roll of the ‘nice boy’ perfectly. But it’s the simplest of the suits that has Eliza’s heart racing, practically jumping through her lace bodice.

She and the band’s resident bad boy (which she continually attempts to convince to her father is just an unfit label) hadn’t been seeing each other for long. Hell, she’d only met him when The Rev Squad first came to tour rehearsals up in California. The electricity had been too much to deny, and they’d hit it off as soon as she’d stepped into his rehearsal and he’d lost the words to his entire solo. The energy between them had lasted through Los Angeles, and Tulsa, and Tampa…and tonight, playing a sold out crowd in Central Park, those feelings were only heightened.

Eliza’s hands find the bare skin at the bend of his elbows, where he’d rolled up the sleeves of his suit. Her fingers grasp at the material, her lips diving forward to find his before he can take the steps to meet her. It’s a silly thing, this suit, and the way just two black buttons coax the fabric to hug his body in a way that makes her want to pull it off. He seems to want the same thing, the way one stage-sweat misted cheek presses against her collarbone, finding the best position to trail his lips where he knows it’ll drive her crazy. And then, he stops; a poorly aimed pool of water hits Alexander’s back, droplets of water coasting over his shoulders to mist the top of Eliza’s head.

The sudden mist is enough to jolt her awake, brushing at her face and casting a quizzical glance at her hands when they come up completely dry. The dream had been so lucid that even the space on either side of her hips is still fuzzy with the static energy of Alexander’s touch. Closing her eyes, Eliza wills herself to drift back into the world she had so unwillingly left, the tune of an unknown song stuck in an elevator music aesthetic in the background of her mind. She rolls over, a contented hum leaving her system carried on a golden glow of happiness. Her nose meets the feeling of bare flesh and an aroma of dark roast coffee. The lucid feelings of hands on her waist had been real, although Alexander’s arms are fully wrapped around her waist instead of just resting there. His eyes are still closed; they move rapidly underneath a thick blanket of eyelashes in a rare moment of peace. For a moment Eliza watches him-lets herself get caught in the way his relaxation fills the air around them. Her own eyes flutter between open and shut, a hazy side-effect of her ear against his breathing and his beating heart.

“Okay, I have to ask; what the hell were you dreaming about? I mean I know I’m a sleep-talker but you were sleep-singing…”

She shakes her head, the stray tendrils of her hair tumbling down her shoulder along with the lightness of her laughter.

“Can you roll the sleeves of your suit on Monday?” He moves himself away from her with a bemused expression so that he can catch her eyes, the drowsiness a welcome compliment to her upturned lips and reddened cheeks. Alexander chuckles. “What? It was a really good dream.”

She draws out her words with the low musings of a purr, running her fingers along his arm.

“I’m really glad you stayed.” It’s almost inaudible; she murmurs the words after she’s settled back into his chest, her stomach in combat between fluttering and flipping. The tender press of his lip against her forehead invites a wave of tranquility, transporting Eliza back to a time where she had been able to wake up like this every day. She catches the moment; drinking in the heat of his legs against her cold toes, his hurried heartbeat, and his laughter shaking the pillow of his chest. These are the feelings she had been reminiscing about. These are the things that turn her paintings gold and coat them in billowing air in gentle strokes of her paintbrush.

The temporary air serenity is shattered by the slam of her bedroom door against the wall, and for a moment Eliza has a flash of memory; their first time, her hot tears, his hands paving the way to a warm trail her mind turned into embers that stung her body. But this isn’t that time, this isn’t Christmas…that much is evident by Peggy’s yelp of surprise and the lurid click of the door being shut almost as soon as it had been opened.

“Let us know when you’re decent, please. This is important.” Eliza can practically hear Angelica’s eyes rolling in her head, her clear and decisive timbre allowing an impatience to drip from each syllable. She smooths down her camisole and pulls on a pair of shorts, shoulders lifted in a halfhearted shrug.

“Again; why did you give them a key?” Alexander stretches out over the bed when Eliza gets up, groaning before hauling himself up as well. He yawns, a break in the drowsy annoyance he had been displaying, and Eliza rewards him with a kiss and a run of her thumb along his jawline.

“We can come back to bed after, I’m sure it’s nothing. I mean, technically you don’t even have to get up at all.”

“Yes you do, Alex, you’ll want to hear this too.” His curiosity is piqued upon hearing his own sister’s voice, even though she wears more of a bitter tone he’d grown much too accustomed to dealing with. When he opens the door, when his eyes meet the sight of Peggy, Emily, and Angelica with identically crossed arms, he wishes John hadn’t introduced them at all. While Eliza throws herself into the mix he hangs back, intimidated by the wall of frantic conversation that erupts simultaneously, over-stimulating the flow of the room. Angelica’s shouting, Peggy waving her arms while speaking. Emily is shushing them all, spinning on her heel to give Eliza’s sisters an instructional glare as she holds a magazine out to his girlfriend.

He rushes forward as he feels the change in her demeanor; the way she grows silent and her lips thin into a line with a slight downward dip. Her posture sinks, her eyebrows furrowing as she clutches at the booklet with fervent intensity. And then, she drops it completely. Her voice is silent but her lips form one word; unbelievable.

“I mean I was going to come over here and yell at you about this but then I had to ask for your address, and by the time I got it and your sisters were done interrogating me my PR education kicked in and I realized that this is just a bunch of bullshit.” Emily shakes her head, her own copy of the tabloid rolled in her hands like a weapon. She bats it against her opened palm, a distraction. Peggy chimes in as she plops herself on the table, running a hand through her curls.

“I saw it on my way to Maria’s and I think I might’ve forgotten to pay the man at the pharmacy but I don’t even care, I called Ange as soon as I read it.”

The room stands in hesitant silence; the girls wait for Eliza to speak-to react, to say something more than the five syllable word that had never come out. She is immobile. Once she’s read the article the first time Eliza’s eyes fog over, the letters on the page blurring and dancing. They create an image where only the offensive words are sharp enough to read, stabbing in pin-pricks that coat her body in discomfort. She can just barely make out Angelica’s voice, muted by the ringing in her ears. Her heart has begun a sprinting pace, pulsing against her chest and pushing her down to the couch. She clutches the magazine with white knuckles until her muscles lose control; it flutters to the ground in a flurry of turning pages that breaks the silence with the cut of a knife.

Alex slips the magazine from Eliza’s hands, replacing its emotional weight with the winding of his fingers through hers. She draws in a sharp, staccato breath of air before holding it in for a moment. Her throat convulses with the fight of tears that threaten to spill from her eyes but she holds them there. Eliza concentrates on the warmth of Alex’s hand; the way her sisters have positioned themselves around her. She isn’t sure if it is for her own comfort or Alexander’s-he’s visibly tensed since opening the magazine-but it comforts her nonetheless.

…

“How are you feeling?” The question comes in the same tone it always has; genuine, yet slightly mundane. Lisa begins all of their sessions like this, after the meditation and the breathing and the necessary time it takes to prepare for the emotional turmoil she’s signed up for once a week. This week feels different; the meditation was longer. Lisa had let her linger in her own thoughts, the room filled with the trickling of her fountain and her soft and easy breaths. She knows she has to leave this state soon; to do the work she’s come here to do. She’s sure that Lisa has seen the article; has it marked somewhere in her legal pad in her broad, slanted handwriting. She’s sure that the topic is written in a lot of places at this point.

She’s spoken about this more than any trashy tabloid deserves.

There is no one word to describe the way her heart has been jumping around in her chest. A sentence cannot place the pin-pricks, or the headaches, or the nausea. She’s never felt less like herself than in this moment; even when she had been with James, even when she had been living in the hell he had crafted for her…although Eliza is still living in it-that much is certain.

“Do you want to talk about this first or lead up to it?” Eliza likes when Lisa gives her choices; she’s able to sit for a moment, to mull them over in her mind although she’s already made it up. She needs to talk about this article. She needs to thread the thick line that connects her past to this moment, weaves it intricately through her heart and into everything she’s been feeling since she read the words surrounding her name. What Eliza wants is to hide. This is too much. She’d felt so safe, so connected to the present that for once it had felt as though she had a normal chance at a relationship and a life outside of him.

He has excellent timing.

She taps her foot on the ground, a decision made by the way Lisa stares back at her. Her hazel eyes, set behind thin-rimmed cranberry glasses, search her for an answer in a mirror of a mind reader. Eliza doesn’t even have to speak her wishes out loud-that’s something she’s grown to love about Lisa. The middle-aged woman flips the magazine over, setting it backward on the table so that Eliza is looking at an ad for a double stacked hamburger instead of her own face.

“How are things with Alexander?” Good. She starts with the topic she feels will be easiest, the one that’s always elicited more positive responses than negative. And Eliza does smile, although it’s once of twitching hesitance instead of glowing peace. Her shoulders raise and collapse, and she picks at the hem of her dress.

“It’s weird not having him around. He’s very understanding, but I know that he felt a little put out by it all.”

“You’re not as happy as you have been in the past.” Eliza shrugs again, reaching forward to grab a package of putty from the coffee table. She stretches it as far as it will go, the sound of crackling air bubbles a familiar relief. When it has reached its limit, when it has been stretched too thin, she folds it back in on itself and repeats the process. Her body responds to the tense and release of the putty with an understanding taught by experience. Tense and release; the stress has stretched her so thin.

“We had a fight the other day.”

“About?”

“It was my fault, really. And I guess it wasn’t even really a fight so much as it was me overreacting. I didn’t see him all week-he wasn’t returning my calls, he was being flighty. And we all went to John’s for game night on Friday, and he was there, and it just set something off. I was just so upset that I hadn’t seen him so I invited him over after and we talked and he felt really bad about it all. He just got caught up in his work. And I mean, I was really overreacting,”

“-I’m going to stop you right there.” Lisa’s lips are scrunched to one corner of her mouth. She pauses in her writing, tapping her pen over her legal pad with unease. “Your language is very self-directed. During this story, you’ve said your name much more than Alexander’s. You’ve blamed yourself rather than seeing your own side of the story.”

“It was my fault, though. I can’t blame Alexander for working as much as he is. He’s trying to make a name for himself. He has a lot of goals, I can’t hold him back from that.”

“There it is. I want you to think about what you’ve just said for a minute, out of context, and we’ll come back to this.” She flips the page of her notepad, her pen jumping rapidly along the page before pausing completely. Lisa’s eyes move just above the rim of her glasses. “You and James fought a lot, too. Verbally?”

“Yeah.” Stretch and release. The putty pops in her hands. She rolls it between her fingers, soft and pliable. “We fought so much that I can’t even remember what our arguments were about. The…the bad nights always started with a verbal argument.”

There never seemed to be just one thing that set James off more than another; one night Eliza was too shy, the other she was a flirt, or a tease. Names were spit at her through darkened eyes and a posture that loomed over her own small frame. He had a way of making her feel dwarfed, as if her stature and her femininity and her disposition were a curse instead of a blessing. She had folded herself from the tension of the putty so many times that she had completely rearranged who she was to fit him. She hadn’t been Eliza back then, only a shell of herself. Then, she had been Eliza who belongs to James.

“I’m just wondering if maybe this language you’ve been using has been healthy…I want you to understand that this pattern of blaming yourself for every problem in your relationships is self-destructive behavior.”

“It’s not like that with Alex.” She sits forward in her seat, the putty still in her hands and her eyes narrowing subconsciously in a sudden feeling of offense. “He’s nothing like James. You told me I have to start letting go of people and being so clingy, didn’t you?”

“Eliza, let’s take a step back for a minute.”

“No, I want to talk about this.” Her heart is racing now, angered and tired and pulsing heavy against the cage of her chest. If this weren’t her heart, if this were a fist or a foot banging so forcefully on her, Eliza could imagine the stormy ocean of blues and blacks that would have already begun to form there.

“Ok, then. We’ll talk. About the article. You’ve read it?”

“Yeah. A few times.”

“And…”

“I don’t know.” Eliza is perched on the edge of her chair. Her posture is upright and dainty, although tainted with the draw of her shoulders to her cheeks and the tightness of her knuckles. The putty cracks in her hands. She doesn’t want to talk anymore.

She doesn’t speak. For a long time Eliza concentrates on the rhythm of her breathing and the trickling of the fountain because if she lets herself falter, even for just a moment, she’s sure that the inevitable collapse will happen. She longs for the safety of her bed, for Alexander’s sleepy smile and his need to order Chinese instead of pizza. The need for things to be different doesn’t solve anything, only fills her gut with unsettled breathing and the soft heat of anxiety, almost a familiar comfort at this point.

Eliza stares down at the photograph of the double cheeseburger, her foot tapping to the rhythm of an unknown, uneasy song. She’s been to the restaurant before-knows that their veggie burgers are nothing more than thin, overworked patties and wilted lettuce with too many unnecessary toppings. The photograph, however, makes her stomach turn in desire. There are perfectly crafted patties, thick and misted with beautiful dew-dropped juices. The bun is golden, almost glowing. She can almost hear the snap of the lettuce and onion just staring at the ad. But this is merely a façade, a photograph taken multiple times under the best light and with all of the circumstances ideal. There were things like photoshop, and professionals. This burger had everyone on its side. This burger had the advantage.

They’ve used the worst paparazzi photo of her on the magazine’s front cover. Her hair is a mess from the wind, mouth half opened in the midst of a word. Her name-her father’s name-is printed in bold letters next to James’s, just as it had always been. Just as it always will be.

She doesn’t want to feel the twinge of her heart upon seeing his picture again; she’d blocked him from all of her social media, completely shut him out. She avoided the newsstands like the plague, straying far away from any possibility of running into her past again. Now, she faces it head-on. The heat of Lisa’s eyes on her-watching her, waiting for her-burns heavy as s thick and consuming guilt crashes against her with a tsunami weight.

She doesn’t want to talk about it.

Lisa does.

“You’re stuck.” It’s nothing more than an observation, a smooth tone taking note of the way Eliza’s knuckles have relaxed to hold the magazine on her lap. It could be the way she rests it there, unopened. It could be the way her heart seems to have stopped altogether, although she’s sure Lisa isn’t able to tell, no matter how good she is. Maybe it’s the way her lips stick to one another, magnetized by the words she can barely manage to think let alone speak out loud.

“How does it feel to see his picture again?” Eliza feels like all she has done in these past few weeks is cry; for herself, for Alexander, for her future…the way her tears begin to trail down her cheek.

“It feels awful.” It’s the most substantial sentence she’s uttered all session, with downcast eyes and a wavering voice. She’s allowed time to think; to breathe, and to process the words running around in her mind. “I hate him for what he’s done to me. I hate that I can’t have a normal relationship with Alexander, who clearly deserves better than someone who can’t give him what he wants-what we both want.”

“And that’s a valid thing. It’s okay to feel things, Eliza.”

“I don’t want to. I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m tired of waking up and being this shell of someone I don’t even know. I don’t want to fight with Alexander anymore. I don’t want him to feel like he’s not trying hard enough. I’m tired of being stuck.”

“There’s something else…all of this fighting, you keep coming back to it. Is there a possibility that you’re hinged on this one small fight for a reason?”

Eliza shakes her head. Her heart resumes its erratic pulsing. Her chest hurts. Her heart hurts. She knows what is about to be said before Lisa can find a way to craft the words eloquently, in a way that will be the least offensive to a clearly fragile Eliza. There is no need to skirt the subject at this point; it has been the trademark thought in her mind from the day she had seen the magazine-had seen her photo next to James’s.

“I’m wondering if this fighting is your subconscious way of punishing yourself, or trying to push Alexander away.”

She doesn’t move from her perch on the couch. The fountain continues to trickle. The putty is still in her hands. Her breath hitches in her throat.

“It’s perfectly normal…if you still have feelings for James, somewhere deep inside…this is a completely understandable thing, Eliza.”

“Can we talk about this next time?”

“You were with him for a substantial amount of time. It’s not human to be able to will that all away.”

Eliza pushes herself off of the couch, her shaking hands launching herself and sending her stumbling. She catches herself just before hitting the coffee table, standing before ripping her purse off of the coffee table. Somewhere, in an incoherent plane of existence, Lisa’s soothing tone is still moving along professionally crafted sentences, her pen a continuous attachment to her yellow legal pad. Even as Eliza knocks down the coat hook with her fumbling hands, even as she murmurs rapidly-paced apologies through her choking breath, Lisa continues to speak. She rises to meet Eliza at the door, watching her hastened pace careen down the hallway.

“Talk to Alexander, tell him how you feel. He can help you, Eliza.”

It takes her three tries to close her shaking hand around the doorknob.

In the silence of the musty hallway, Eliza sinks down to the carpet and holds her head, numb and heavy, in her hands.

In this public level of privacy, Eliza cries until the janitor comes to close the architect’s office next door.

A CHANGE OF HEART? Schuyler and Reynolds reunited

Elizabeth Schuyler is making headlines again-this time for her newly rekindled relationship with old flame and political hopeful James Reynolds!

“She’s always loved him,” our snitch spills “it was only a matter of time before she came to her senses.”

The 20 year old senator’s daughter has been seeing fellow Columbia classmate 23 year old Alexander Hamilton, a fact backed by both her Instagram and Twitter accounts, which boast plenty of photos of the ponytail clad future lawyer. But our source, close to both Reynolds and Schuyler, has falsified these statements.

“[Hamilton] is nothing more than a family friend. She has been seeing him to appease his dream of a green card.”

It seems that Phillip Schuyler’s dreams of supporting the nation’s immigrants have spread to his middle daughter. But we’ve busted this front, and we wish #Jeliza the best in their rekindled romance.

Want more? We’ve compiled a list of our favorite James and Eliza moments throughout the years!

How do you feel about this rekindled romance?

[ecoorganic]

Donovan Mitchell Is Ready to Make A Change

The Utah Jazz star is using his platform to shed light on social justice and racism.

When the NBA was planning to return to the court to resume the season after the coronavirus suspension, one of the pressing topics was how would Adam Silver and Co. continue to

shed light on issues such as police brutality and systemic racism. Players were concerned that the season would become a distraction that takes away from the current social justice movement. So far the league has tried its best to keep its word by kneeling on the sideline during the pregame national anthem. Coaches, players and referees have worn Black Lives Matter shirts on top of their warmups, and players have been wearing NBA-approved social justice messages on the back of their jerseys.

Most importantly, players have been using the bubble as a platform to be vocal about change and the ongoing issues this country faces. One of the most vocal players in the bubble has been Utah Jazz star Donovan Mitchell. During the first game of the restart, Mitchell wore a bulletproof vest that featured the name of numerous people who were killed because of police brutality. He has also been using his interview time to seek justice and urge people to not forget about the police killing of Breonna Taylor. He also wore a custom version of his new signature sneaker, the Adidas D.O.N Issue 2 on opening night to honor Taylor. Mitchell created a short film, Ready for Change that showcases his commitment to bring these issues to the light.

“Basketball has given me so much and it has allowed me to pursue a dream I had since I was a kid. With that being said, it has also given me a platform,” says Mitchell. “When I speak, I don’t just speak for Donovan Mitchell. I speak for the African Americans and minorities in general because I need to use my platform to address certain things that kids might not have the same voices.”

Sports Illustrated spoke to Mitchell about his film, facing racism, creating change and what’s next in his future. 

The following interview has been lightly edited for clarity and brevity.

Jarrel Harris: Why was it important to make the ‘Ready for Change’ film? What are you trying to showcase to the world?

Donovan Mitchell: I think the biggest thing for me, and obviously it's in the title, 'Ready for Change,' I think this is a big moment not just for myself, but with a lot of my fellow athletes just to create change, to spark change. I think that starts with doing what guys like myself have been doing, speaking out on issues, bringing stuff to the front lines that people can see what's been done, showcasing what’s been done and giving our stories, being able to preach our message.

I think working with Adidas, we were able to do that, especially through my shoe and also as a brand and myself as a whole. The NBA as a league has been doing a great job of it. I think you have to understand that the only way change is going to come is by having those uncomfortable conversations. It’s not going to be an easy one for myself. It’s not going to be an easy one for my fellow white counterparts, white people in general. I think the conversation just needs to be had because we’ve been crying for change for so many years. This is a time where we need to act on it and honestly, it’s not even just African Americans, it’s really white people as well, being able to understand and accept that there is social injustice and systemic racism as well.

JH: While the goal in Orlando is to win a championship, how important is to you not to forget about movements like Black Lives Matter and those we lost? How can we keep this energy going?

DM:  What I think has been great and what the league has done well is that guys have been able to create a platform where they could speak and continue to do it in interviews during postgame and halftime, and showcase messages on the floor. I think that's going to make it really easy for guys to kind of go out there and hoop and then also have the message kind of be right in front of everybody's face for them to see and not let the message really die. A lot of these things go on for a good month and then go away. I think this hasn’t allowed the media to kind of push it away. We have to continue to voice and create a change while also being competitors and fulfilling our roles as basketball players.

JH: As a young African American man, I have dealt with racism and had uncomfortable moments with police. Have you ever had that experience?

DM: I've actually been in a car where I've been pulled over in college and I was told the only reason why you're not getting a ticket or anything was because, I love your college coach. There was a tweet I saw where somebody said, did you ever wear your college gear as a form of protection? I saw that and that really hit home for me because I wore it everywhere. Especially being in a state like Kentucky, where obviously it’s not as diverse. It’s pretty diverse in the city of Louisville but outside of that, not really much. I was like man I never really thought about that.

Even when I first got to Utah, which is like 2.5% African American and it’s like I am with the Jazz. It’s okay. Don’t be afraid of me. I think that right there in itself is insane to me. I've been pulled over in Utah because of the car I drive and the neighborhood I drive in. The cop took my license and his whole mood changed. He picked on things wrong with my car. So for me when I see these things like the George Floyd murder, it gives you moments to reflect because in the moment you’re not really thinking about it. I was fortunate enough to get out of that situation. It really allowed me to open my eyes and realize things that become normal and second nature to African American men and women that aren't right and what we shouldn’t be fearing every day.

JH: Adidas is big on change and community. How was it working with the brand on this project?

DM: I think it was huge. I’m really blessed that we were able to work on this together. I think for me and for us as a whole, I think the biggest thing is just continuing to spark and create that change. Whether it’s through athletes, through branding messages, through giving back to the community. There's several things that we have done and we’ll continue to do in the community. I don't want to give it all away right now, but I think that it is huge being able to address these problems. Now it’s how do we fix it? How do we continue to show that this isn't right? When you have large corporations, they can be worried about certain things, but we we're like no. We were big on showing what we stand for. This is what we do, and we need to find a way to solve it.

JH: Congrats on your second signature sneaker. Take me behind the process with this one?

DM: We obviously had the D.O.N. Issue #1, which was a great success. I am extremely blessed to be in this position. So with the D.O.N 2, we had more time to figure out what I liked or didn’t like and think about things we could fix. I think the biggest thing that we see in this one is the colorways are insane. I am big on colors and we partnered with Crayola and partnered with Marvel again. I am just excited to be able to give back and really continue to sell it at the same price point. I want to make it accessible to everyone and have kids wear eight different colors if they want to. I think that is something growing up I always wanted and to be able to give that back to kids is truly incredible.

JH: How has your personal brand evolved over the past few years? Did you ever envision something like this for yourself?

DM: No, I didn’t. I have to be honest with you, I've been truly blessed with this opportunity. It’s not just with Adidas, but with Body Armor, New Era, Stance, but there's so many companies that I've been able to work with and be able to partner with.

So I think my brand as a whole has definitely gone in the right direction. It can only go one or two ways. You can either be satisfied with it or continue to build. I'm looking to continue to build and continue to become better. Most importantly, I think the biggest thing is being able to continue to work on the court, because all of this is great, I'm blessed to have all this, but it can be taken away without performing. I fell in love with the game of basketball and that's really where my head is at with that.

JH: What is next for your future? What do you ultimately want?

DM: Honestly, I feel like a championship is the ultimate goal. I love being able to partner with all these different brands, I love being able to have my own shoe. I could have 15 shoes, but I want to win. You grow up seeing the parade. You grow up seeing everybody say, I want to go to Disney World. That's what you want. You know, that's the goal of basketball. And like I said, everything else will kind of fall into place with that as long as you take care of what's most important.

As far as the world, it's a lot you know. I think the biggest thing that we, as a country and as a world need to figure out is understanding that we're all equal. And it sounds crazy to have to say that in 2020, that people still don't think that that's the case, but it is. We need to get to a point where people realize that they had a certain head start in things and opportunities that are open to them compared to a kid growing up in the projects that didn't have things because he just didn't have that visual, the education that you need to learn. I went to public school for about three or four years and I learned in the third and fourth grade, that it was way different from when I went to private school. I think that needs to change because that's really where it starts.

It starts in kindergarten, in first grade, and second grade, being able to at an early age, be taught, it's going to sound funny, but like how to cook, how to manage your time, how to go about your day. I think I was taught all that at an early age, so when I left for college and left to become an adult, it was easier for me.

I think that is the benefit of having that type of stuff. So for me, I think we need to get to a point where education is way more important than it is right now to the world, because that's ultimately what fuels a lot of what's going on. Because you have kids who grow up who haven't been to a different state until they are 18- or 19-years-old, let alone understand how to even go about going about taxes.

There's just a gap and a disadvantage. Ultimately my biggest thing is education and everything else will kind of hopefully fall into place. 

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