Friended

by Kilby Blades

  They opened up with a slow, easy version of Times Like These that told the crowd just the kind of show this would be. No mega-amps or drums from the band; no screaming or loud applause from the crowd—just gut-wrenching, goose-bumping, soul-filling music.

  As it turned out, it wasn't a typical set list—they chose the ones that worked well for a subdued vibe. As the show went on, and they played through Ain't It The Life, February Stars, and Hero, I stopped being so worried about Roxy catching me staring and got pulled into the songs. I'd been to dozens of shows before—always obsessing over having the best seats and getting the best view of the band—but for the first time, it became the most perfect thing in the world to just close my eyes and feel the music.

  The times I did have my eyes open, I looked not at the band, but at her. Through Razor, Disenchanted Lullaby, and a gorgeous version of Long Road to Ruin, the most sublime energy flowed inside and around me, and at some point, I realized it wasn't me or the music creating the energy—it was us.

  What are you doing to me, Roxy?

  We didn't speak a word as they played—didn't touch our drinks, but rather sat still with our hands clasped tightly. At times, she closed her eyes or looked at the stage, but sometimes she looked at me like she could peer right into my soul. At those times, I could see her—I mean really see her, too—and my girl was fucking beautiful.

  I'm falling in love with you.

  The realization overwhelmed me, and my eyes fell shut. Few things had ever felt so dangerous, but nothing had felt so right.

  I had no concept of how many songs had passed when I heard the opening chords of Everlong. I opened my eyes, then, and she was looking at me, and when Dave started singing, I heard the words as if for the first time.

  I neither could nor wanted to stop myself from leaning in closer. I whimpered inaudibly as our foreheads touched. My eyes closed as I trailed the end of my nose over the length of hers. My fingers traveled up her arm and neck to caress her slender jaw as I whispered her name against her lips.

  Please, love me back, I prayed, breathless, before I caught her lips in a desperate kiss.

  Fourteen

  This is Love

  I can't believe life's so complex,

  when I just want to sit here

  and watch you undress.

  -PJ Harvey, This is Love

  Roxy

  "Jag," I whispered breathily onto his lips as he pulled back from a searing kiss. I felt drunk as I lifted heavy lids to his smoldering green eyes, a thrill coursing through me as he fixed me with a predatory leer.

  “Roxx,” he said in a voice that didn't sound like his.

  Being with him like this was surreal.

  "Roxx…" I heard it again. This time, it was accompanied by a brisk nudge on my shoulder, and it didn't come from Jagger’s mouth.

  Not yet, Dave! I thought indignantly, I'll get to you in a minute…

  "Time to shake a leg, kid. I know you got in late last night, but I need to make sure you get up for school."

  The best moment of my life fell away as I blinked my eyes awake to find my dad standing above me. I groaned in angry disappointment and threw a stray pillow over my head—I'd pay money to get back into that dream.

  "I gotta head out, but coffee's downstairs," came his muffled voice from just beyond the pillow.

  I nodded my response, knowing he wouldn't expect more. I was not a morning person.

  My limbs were heavy and numb. I felt like I had barely slept, so it took awhile for me to get my bearings. When I registered the sound of the engine of his truck humming into the distance, I was still only marginally awake. I pushed the pillow off of my head, reopened my eyes, and pulled myself up so that I was propped on one arm. Yawning as I ran my fingers through my hair, I spotted something across the room.

  His iPod.

  And then it all came flying back—Ft. Bragg. The concert. The kiss.

  I was up in an instant, all grogginess gone as I practically leapt across the room to my desk. I fingered the special-edition black Nano, smoothing my fingers tentatively over where his name was carved in neat font across the back.

  Last night happened.

  It wasn't a dream.

  I think Jagger and I might be dating.

  Then I was grinning, and squealing, and feeling fan-fucking-tastic as I started getting ready for school. Twenty minutes later, I was rocking out hard, my speakers blasting as I belted PJ Harvey into my hairbrush.

  "I can't believe life's so complex, when I just want to sit here and watch you undress! I can't believe life's so complex, when I just want to sit here and watch you undress! This is love, this is love that I'm feelin'. This is love this is love, that—"

  The music stopped abruptly, but I was on a roll.

  "—I'm feelin'. Yeah love, yeah, love."

  The lack of music finally registered and I opened my eyes.

  "—that I'm feelin'…"

  My voice trailed off as I took in Zoë where she stood, dumbstruck, at my bedroom door. Yesterday I would have been embarrassed, but today I burst into a fit of giggles at being caught, at the look on Zoë's face, at the residual ride from the Jagger high. It must have been contagious because she started laughing along with me and soon we were breathless on the floor.

  "I already knew your date went well," she said, wiping a tear from her eye, "but I had no idea it went that well! Tell me everything!"

  And since her catching me like this completely pulled the cat’s last limbs from the bag, I did. She hadn't bought it on Friday when I tried to convince the both of us that Jagger had invited me to the concert as a friend. She’d ignored me on Saturday when I’d forbidden her to raid my closet for my hottest pair of skinny jeans. On Sunday, she’d lured me to her house under the guise of telling me about her own first date with Gunther, a story she said she could only recount while doing my hair. Things had gone too far to keep pretending, and I wasn't fooling her anyway. It felt good to let her in.

  "He was the perfect gentleman," I gushed. Without telling Jagger’s secrets, I told her how we'd talked—really talked—about family and feelings and life. I told her about the modest little pizza place, him keeping me warm in line, the intense gazes and tender touches, and the kiss.

  "Oooh, I knew it!" Zoë clapped happily. "See, Roxy? People aren't always what they seem. I knew Jagger was different."

  "I guess," I returned pensively, hoping she was right as I rose to my feet and helped her off the floor.

  She plopped onto my bed as I put my hairbrush to its intended use.

  "So, what did Jagger say to Gunther, exactly?" I asked.

  I'll admit it. I was dying to know.

  "Nothing. Gunther’s very discreet about Jagger," she said, a twinge of disappointment in her voice. "Believe me, I've tried."

  “But you said you already knew our date went well. If Gunther didn't tell you, how could you know that?"

  "From Jagger."

  WTF?

  "You talk to Jagger now? Between the hours of one and…" I glanced at my watch. “….eight in the morning?”

  Her smile widened as she rolled her eyes.

  “Rox-xy,” she intoned with amused impatience, "I thought you were, like, addicted to Instagram! Didn't you see his update this morning?"

  The surprised pause barely lasted a second. I wasted no time tossing my brush onto my desk and diving onto my bed to pull my charging phone off of the bedside table. My heart did a roundoff double back-handspring when I read what he had written. The picture showed a smiling, brown-skinned kid with curly hair, sporting huge green headphones, with his hands up in a posture that made it clear he was dancing. The kid had a dimple and his hans were up and his eyes were closed in enjoyment.

  @Moves_like_jagga: Listening to my happy song.

  Fifteen

  Baba O'Reilly

  Sally, take my hand.

  We'll travel south ‘cross land.

  Put out the fire

  and don't look past my s
houlder.

  The exodus is here.

  The happy ones are near.

  Let's get together

  before we get much older.

  -The Who, Baba O’Riley

  Jagger

  The only guitar I played was of the air variety, and I was riffing the hell out of my song. I hit play on my computer when I got out of the shower, humming along as I began to get dressed. As the lead guitar kicked in and the tension built and the drums went kind of wild, I jumped onto my bed, wearing no more than socked feet and jeans and laid into the song.

  There are many, many things I love about The Who, but nothing more than Baba O'Reilly. It's the kind of song that gets you from the very first listen and holds you right there. Roger Daltrey started singing the lyrics and I got so into my air guitar that my damp hair fell into my eyes. I was humming along with gusto and getting hopped up on adrenaline, and I barely halted my wild dancing in time for the Pete Townshend part.

  Don't cry. Don't raise your eye. It's only teenage wasteland.

  Did I mention I play the air drums, too? Well, I do.

  "Sally, take my hand. We'll travel south cross land. Put out the fire, and don't look past my shoulder."

  That's not Roger Daltrey's voice…

  I looked up toward the doorway to find my father rocking his own little air guitar and singing along. I hadn't even heard him come in. He continued singing in earnest. He was kind of dorky, like I imagine most dads are, but at least he had a good voice.

  "The exodus is here! The happy ones are near. Let's get together, before we get much older."

  I laughed and kicked my feet out from under me, bouncing a little on my behind as I landed on my bed, and took in the vision of my dad letting loose. He was hamming it up so bad we were both cracking up before the song even ended. He strode over to me and clapped my back as he sat down on the bed.

  "You're awfully chipper for someone who got home at one in the morning. I take it you had fun at the concert?"

  I would normally save such details for Gunther and Deck but I was bursting to tell someone.

  "The music, the venue, just everything, Dad…it was almost spiritual. It was, like, the best night of my life."

  The way my dad looked at me then made me feel that he could read my mind.

  "And Roxy? She liked the Food Fighters, too?" he baited.

  I suppressed a laugh. My dad wasn’t the music aficionado that me and my mom were.

  "Uh, dad—I think it's Foo Fighters," I corrected kindly. "And, yes, Roxy loved them. She insisted I send her thanks along to Dr. Sturman for passing on the tickets."

  He continued cautiously. Dare I say…hopefully?

  "Roxy. That's a pretty name. She sounds like a nice girl."

  "She is a nice girl," I smiled goofily. "Definitely a keeper."

  My dad just laughed.

  "Well, bring her around any time, son. Your mother and I would love to meet your girlfriend."

  The words sent a thrill through my body.

  My girlfriend.

  I'd never had, or wanted, a girlfriend before, but after last night I knew I wanted something more with Roxy.

  "She's not my girlfriend yet, Dad."

  But I wanted her to be, and I had no clue how to make that happen. My lack of viable role models was a problem. Annika had initiated things with Declan so he'd be no help, and, for obvious reasons, I couldn't take a leaf out of Gunther’s book. In movies, people kissed once and after that they were just together. Could it happen like that in real life?

  "Then you'll just have to woo her until she begs for the distinction," my dad concluded.

  Woo her, I repeated in my mind.

  I had to woo Roxy into falling in love.

  Roxy

  "Morning, ladies," Gunther drawled, while grinning pointedly at Zoë as the two of us approached his car.

  "Morning, Roxy," Jagger said softly, practically ignoring Zoë as he sported his own smile and I walked to his side.

  "Hey, Jag," I replied, my voice suddenly shy, despite my very recent exuberance.

  "I brought you this." He extended his hand, which held a Java Hut cup. "And this," he said, reaching for a small paper bag that sat atop his car.

  My smile widened and I bit my lip as I took the proffered goods. The warmth from his fingers as they brushed against mine spread throughout my hands.

  "I figured you'd be tired from being up so late," he explained, shrugging as if going miles out of the way for coffee on the other side of town wasn't a big deal.

  To boot, inside the bag was a toasted bagel with cream cheese. Java Hut didn't toast.

  "You got them to toast it?" I asked, eyebrow raised, "How'd you swing that?"

  He shrugged again and pulled a second cup of coffee from the roof of his car. "I just asked nicely."

  Right.

  I shook my head as he sipped his coffee and I took a bite of my bagel.

  "Is it good?" he asked a few seconds later.

  I just had to laugh.

  "You know, your obsession with me eating is borderline manic," I quipped. "I eat every day. Like, a lot."

  He shot me a crooked smirk, and something lit in his eyes. It reminded me of the night before, and I blushed.

  "Prove it," he challenged.

  “Prove that I eat?”

  "Sit with me at lunch."

  And so another morning was spent paying no attention to my classes as I daydreamed about Jagger. I wondered what he thought our status was, and how he knew I liked medium cream and heavy sugar. At least this week there were a few things I was sure of. At least I knew how he kissed. My mind drifted back to the night before…

  The music had transformed him. That had been easy enough to see. He'd been dropping his defenses all night, but from the opening notes of the set, he’d visibly relaxed. His lips had melted into a serene smile. His thumb had stroked gently across the back of my hand. And his eyes—normally so sharp and attentive—had lulled closed in intermittent surrender.

  You are beautiful.

  I’d thought it over and over, marveling first at his pretty face until I’d admitted there was so much more. As the music had swirled around us, I’d considered all I'd learned of him that night: what had been taken from him, where he’d learned to fend for himself, how he’d survived. I knew now that beneath that hard candy shell was a kid who had overcome bad circumstances to become a kind, sharp, witty, and decent human being. My mantra changed.

  You are extraordinary.

  The music had kept playing, spiraling me deeper into my trance; and when our eyes had locked and we’d gazed unabashedly, all was right. What I’d seen in his eyes—respect, adoration, understanding—hadn’t scared me. The promise of intimacy with him had only drawn me in. This man had touched me and looked at me and reached me like no one ever had, like I'd never even wanted anyone else to do.

  Come with me.

  And when he’d leaned in, so slowly, to share my breath, to caress my face and neck, he’d whispered something against my lips, like a secret. I had never been kissed like he kissed me then, as if he consumed me with every tug of his lips and sweep of his tongue. He’d been thorough and slow, but chillingly intense. I’d shuddered, my head weaving a bit after we’d pulled apart, our foreheads meeting again as we’d caught our breath. And, when he’d kissed me again, I was whole. I’d prayed, then, for continuation, for a future that stretched beyond that night, that kiss, that song.

  Never stop, Jag. Please, never stop.

  Jagger

  French with Madame Smith was less than engaging on the best of days, but today, je m'en fous. I wasn't a model student, but at least I paid attention in class. That is, until I got involved with Roxy Vega.

  I couldn't stop—didn't want to stop—reliving the most fantastic night of my life…the deepest connection, the most breathtaking kiss, and the most delicious promise for more. We'd gotten back to her place so late, but neither of us was tired. I would have driven another hundred miles for mor
e time hearing her soft voice, more stories about her life, and the feeling of holding her hand. As we pulled up to Roxy’s house at 12:45AM, the lights were on downstairs. She rolled her eyes.

  "He waited up." The front curtains rustled as she said the words.

  I’d been afraid of this. Afraid that the watchful eye of her father would block me from what I wanted to do. I’d wanted to walk her to her door and give her a long, proper kiss and tell her I hoped she'd let me take her out again soon. Since that had been out of the question, I’d had to resort to Plan B: a subtler signal of my intentions.

  "Can I borrow your iPod?"

  Her eyebrows had risen. I must've really caught her off guard. Shutting down the part of myself that wanted to figure out whether there was some other obvious or appropriate thing I was supposed to say in this moment, I’d forged ahead with my plan.

  "Roxy," I chuckled in a way I hope concealed my nerves, "I was going to let you borrow mine. You keep trying to get at it, so I figured…"

  I’d shrugged as she pieced it together, looking surprised, then smug.

  "'Bout time you lent me yours. I was hours away from kidnapping it. There was gonna be a ransom note and everything."

  I’d laughed then, for real.

  "Whatever, Vega. Just trade me now and we'll give them back next time."

  "Next time?"

  "You know…" I’d replied hopefully, not so much a statement as a question. "Next time we go out?"

  She’d nodded and given me one of those bit-lip smiles, and I’d resisted the urge to kiss her while she’d fished for her silver Nano. I’d worn a shit-eating grin as I’d helped her from the car, walked her to her front door, and given her a regrettably brief hug.

  "Good night, Roxy." I’d kissed her forehead.

  "Good night, Jagger," she’d said sweetly.