by Emily Lowry
6
Hailey
Coffee was exactly what I needed to shake off the cold. Cradling the metronome under my arm, I met back up with Jordyn and we slipped into Chino’s — a tiny coffee shop towards the end of Main Street. A fireplace roared, the logs crackling as the flames danced across them. The windows were frosted over, giving the coffee shop the same vibe as a ski chalet. I ordered an extra-large mocha and sank into a lounge chair.
“I still can’t believe him,” I said. I took a sip of my coffee and let the caffeine and sugar jolt through my veins. I needed the pick-me-up; I was still totally frazzled from my run-in with Trey Carter. “Like, he came back in AND made me pay. Who does that?”
“Mmhmm.” Jordyn eyed me suspiciously as she drank her cappuccino. Foam clung to her lip. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. “Go on.”
“And then, he had the audacity to take his money and just walk off without saying a word! He could’ve told me he worked there. He could’ve handled it like an adult instead of trying to stare me down.”
Jordyn arched her eyebrows, a slight grin on her lips. “Maybe he enjoyed gazing into your eyes. I mean, who wouldn’t? I could stare into them all day.”
What? Trey Carter? No. No way. Trey Carter had turned down Madison, for crying out loud. Madison, who looked like she could be a long-lost Kardashian sister.
Despite my insistence that Jordyn was wrong, I felt a bit of heat creep into my cheeks. It was probably because I was in from the cold and drinking something warm. Yeah, that was it.
I took off my parka and hung it over the arm of the lounge chair. “Maybe he’s just a jerk.”
“Me thinks the lady doth protest too much,” Jordyn said in a sing-song voice. “You haven’t stopped talking about him for, oh, about an hour, now.”
“That’s not true,” I said, stealing a glance at the clock on the wall. Technically, I was right. I hadn’t been talking about Trey for an hour.
I’d been talking about Trey for two hours.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I snapped.
“Like what?” Jordyn asked, playing innocent. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that someone—”
“No.” I glared. “You are not allowed to say it. No one is allowed to say it. A, because the last thing I need is for Click to catch you saying something like that. And B, because IT’S NOT TRUE!”
Jordyn smirked and mimed zipping her lips. “Your secret’s safe with me, Hails.”
“There’s no secret,” I protested. “And even if there was, I’m telling you right now — it would absolutely never, not in a thousand years, happen. In fact, I refuse to date anyone, I am swearing off men for life!” I clutched my heart theatrically. “Anyway, he’s way too in love with himself and his good looks to have room for anyone else.”
Jordyn smiled like the Cheshire cat. “I’m sorry, did you say something about how good he looks?”
“I never — I meant — ugh. You’re the worst.” I crossed my arms, no longer able to keep the blush from my cheeks. So what if I thought he was good looking in a scandalous, bad-boy sort of way? So did everyone. And Trey Carter was decidedly not Prince Charming. He was the swashbuckling pirate who kissed you once before disappearing from your life forever.
Trey Carter and me? A cheerleader? Come on. He would want nothing to do with a girl like me. Nor would I want anything to do with someone like him.
Right?
I needed to put whatever notions Jordyn was stirring in her mind out of their misery. “Even if he did date — which he doesn’t — I wouldn’t be interested in someone with his nasty attitude. Plus, I don’t even want to date right now. I have to figure out my life. No point dragging some poor guy into my own little crisis.”
Adam’s cruel words echoed in my mind, each a blow to my confidence. Just a cheerleader. Just an achievement. Just a trophy. I had been a game to him. The correct accessory for a period of his life. And when I had pushed back against that notion, he had steamrolled me. Like I was nothing.
And I was worth more than that.
Wasn’t I?
7
Hailey
My piano was downstairs on what my friends called the Party Floor. It was an upright piano set in black and pushed near the back of the parlor area. There was a thin layer of dust on the keys. Apparently even the housekeepers weren’t giving it any attention.
I placed my antique metronome next to a book of sheet music and sat on the padded bench. I rested my fingers on the keys, but I didn’t play. How long had it been since I’d played actual music? Three years? Five? I still fiddled with it from time to time when I was bored, but never put in any real effort.
My step-dad’s voice echoed in my head. Cheerleading was my priority now, not music. We’d picked cheerleading.
My phone buzzed.
A blast from Click sent directly to me. Anonymous, as usual.
I opened the message.
A party.
When had there ever been an Evermore party I wasn’t invited to?
Adam. I narrowed my eyes. He was shutting me out of my social circle now.
I studied the Click blast intently. The party looked like it was mostly guys, but a few girls were there too. I recognized Madison and Becca in the background immediately, along with a few other girls from my squad. Even that little freshman social climber Kimberly was there. Traitors.
How many parties had I hosted for the entire football team and cheer squad, and this was how I would be repaid?
In the video, Adam stood on a table. His cheeks were red, his words slurred, and he swayed like he was sailing on rough seas. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Now that football season was over, he could do whatever he wanted without worrying about getting kicked off the team.
And Adam was used to doing, and getting, exactly what he wanted.
He raised his red cup and addressed the crowd. “And this one goes out to Queen Hailey. She thinks she’s so much better than everyone else. Thinks she’s so much better than me. But you want to know what I think? That she’ll never — NEVER! — do better than me.”
The words stung. It was like an icy hand reached into my chest and squeezed my heart. I’d never do better than the guy who I’d meant nothing to.
But worse than the words were the applause. Girls from my squad, clapping wholeheartedly, while the football team cheered like he’d just won an election. Maybe he had: the vote for who won the breakup.
“And here’s the Adam Zamos guarantee,” he shouted, almost accidentally stepping off the table. “Nobody, and I mean nobody, should have to put up with her pathetic whining. And that is why you are all banned from dating Hailey Danielson, team. Your captain has spoken. Stay away from that b—”
The crowd cheered again, drowning out the rest of Adam’s words. The message was loud and clear: If he couldn’t have me, no one could.
I turned off my phone.
8
Trey
Prohibition. It was the type of place that could only be found if you already knew where it was. There were no signs, no posters, no flashing lights or arrows. Just an icy staircase leading to a steel door. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it was access to the sewer.
The truth?
Evermore had a history. During prohibition, a gang of bootleggers dug tunnels beneath the town and used it to store kegs en route to Denver. While the council kept Main Street’s vintage vibe, they tried to wash over this part of our town’s history. It wasn’t kid-friendly, I supposed.
I descended the stairs, gripping the railing so I didn’t slip. Leo and DeAndre followed, their winter boots clanking against the metal grates. It was seven o’clock on a Saturday night, an hour or two before Prohibition would officially open. I banged on the steel door.
“Yeah?” a voice answered.
“Trey Carter.”
The door swung open. Haus stood on the other side, parka hood pulled over his bald head. He was German and claimed that his actual nam
e was unpronounceable by ‘silly Americans.’ So we called him Haus because he was the size of three people put together. If he was changing a tire, he was strong enough to unscrew a stuck lug nut with his bare hand. He didn’t need a jack, either. He’d just lift the car himself.
“Carter. You’re early.” His German accent was thick.
“I need to talk to the big boss.”
Haus grunted, motioned for us to come in, then closed the door. “Inside.”
Flickering lanterns hung from the arched ceiling. The tunnel curved then quickly reached a t-intersection. One part was collapsed, the other led to a thick oak door with steel bars.
“You sure about this, Trey?” DeAndre asked.
“Yeah, you know how hard it is to get a spot here,” Leo added.
I sighed. “What’s the name of our band?”
“Stonewash Sunrise,” Leo said.
“That’s right. So why am I the only one who has any stones?”
I entered Prohibition. Picture a 1920s Speakeasy and you’ll understand what Prohibition looked like: dim lighting, leather booths, a mirror behind the polished wooden bar. There was a large stage off to one side with speakers hanging from the ceiling. A worn dance floor stood in front of the stage. If you were an aspiring musician, you came to Prohibition.
“Looks like a couple of strays found their way in,” a voice purred.
It belonged to the big boss, Lucille Mancini. She was in her 70s and looked like she’d walked right out of a silent movie. Her presence? Powerful. When she walked in a room — any room — you noticed. Rumor has it that she had a granddaughter who went to Evermore, but no one knew who it was.
“You’re early, boys. Too early for the show, too young to get a drink. Shame.”
“You’re just the person I was looking for, Lucy,” I said, inclining my head respectfully. Leo and DeAndre did the same — though Leo inclined his head so much that he practically bowed. Not that I blamed him. For any musician, Lucy was the closest thing to royalty Evermore had.
She shoveled a few ice cubes into a tumbler and mixed herself a drink. “Can I get you boys anything? Soda? Candy? Maybe a bedtime story?”
“Haven’t seen you upside in a bit. Must be hard to get up all those stairs at your age,” I shot back.
Lucy howled. That was the thing about Lucy. If she teased you, she liked you. And anything she threw your way, she expected you to give back. If you didn’t, you were dismissed. She didn’t have enough years left to waste them on people who bored her. “So, Trey Carter. The cat comes back, and what does it want?”
“A chance to play on your stage,” I said. “Mick won’t sign us until he sees what we can do live.”
Lucy swished her drink, the ice cubes clinking off the glass. She took a sip and watched us closely. “You don’t have it.”
“It?” DeAndre asked.
“It,” Lucy confirmed.
“What’s It?” Leo fumbled.
“Poor boy. If you don’t know what It is, then you’ll never have It.” Lucy placed a napkin on the bar and set her tumbler on it. She held up three fingers and fixed her stare on us. “There are only three ways you get to play at Prohibition. One — Mountain Cat Music asks.”
Option one was out. Mountain Cat Music wouldn’t produce our album — that was the whole reason we were here. Bit of a catch-22.
She lowered a finger. “Two — enough people ask about you that it makes sense for me to let you play. The house needs a return, I don’t run a charity. You bring me that return, I let you play. And sorry, boys, but no one’s ever asked about Stonebash Moonset.”
“Stonewash—”
Lucy waved away my correction. “Three — you put up the scratch yourself. Two hundred double sawbucks will get you a short set.”
Four thousand dollars? Even if we pooled all our money together, we couldn’t afford to pay that. Not for one set. It was an impossible number; I was broke as it was.
Hailey Danielson shot through my mind. Wish I was spoiled enough to whip out daddy’s credit card whenever I had a problem.
If what Lucy was saying was correct, and Lucy only spoke gospel, that meant the only way we’d get to play at Prohibition was if we could drum up enough fan support… but how were we supposed to do that when no one was willing to give us a chance?
I kept my face carefully composed. “I’ll talk it over with my boys and get back to you.”
“You do that then. Come on back when you’ve talked it over and we’ll jaw. See if we can strike a deal. Have a good night, boys.”
We’d been dismissed.
I tipped Haus a five on the way out — a cheap way to grease the hinges so the door at Prohibition always stayed open — then we returned to our van.
“Either of you got four thousand you can lose?” I asked glumly.
Leo and DeAndre laughed, but the sound was dim.
I slammed my hand on the steering wheel. “These rich kids get everything handed to them. Hailey Danielson and all her little cronies. They just buy their way through life. Buy their way on stage. They’re all the same. Not willing to put in the sweat and earn anything.” I turned the ignition and my van sputtered to life.
DeAndre laughed. “Dude, you bring up that chick at the weirdest times.”
“I know her type.” I insisted stubbornly. “But it’s all good. Because we will get in there. Mick will see us. And he will beg to sign us.”
We would play that stage.
9
Hailey
I marched through the hallways of Evermore High. It was Monday, the first day back at school after Adam put me on blast on Click. Jordyn and I had a lengthy debate about whether I should confront him. On one hand, confronting him meant letting him know that even after our relationship was over, he could still hurt me. On the other, the odds were that he knew I had seen the Click blast. If I didn’t confront him, I’d look like a whimpering mess, possibly even lose the respect of my cheerleading squad.
Avoiding him entirely wasn’t an option — we had English together, a class he was repeating this semester.
A class I was currently late for.
Mr. Adebayo sat at his desk in the classroom's corner. A ring of coffee stained his white dress shirt. The rest of the class had already filed in, leaving only two empty desks. One beside Adam, where I normally sat. And the other beside the infuriating Trey Carter. I immediately regretted not arriving earlier and trying to steal someone else’s seat.
“Nice of you to join us. Take a seat, Ms. Danielson,” Mr. Adebayo said without looking up from his computer.
Did I have to take a seat, or could I run screaming out of the classroom? This was my worst nightmare — forced to choose between my ex-boyfriend and the school’s biggest rebel and jerk. What would Jordyn do? Sit by her ex to prove that she didn’t care, or avoid him?
I took a seat next to Trey, who had pulled his hood over his head, folded his arms, and was sleeping face down on his desk. At least if he slept through class, he wouldn’t bother me.
Mr. Adebayo stood in front of the class. “For this semester, we’ll be doing a project on Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. She originally published the classic under the name Ellis Bell, and it is her only finished novel. While it is now a classic, it was quite controversial when it came out.”
Mr. Adebayo gave us more background on the novel, but I was struggling to pay attention. Even being in the same room as Adam made my skin crawl. I wanted to take my binder, whip it across the room, and ding him right in the head. I didn’t do it, obviously. Nice girls didn’t do things like that. And that’s who I was supposed to be, wasn’t it?
“For example, Mr. Carter will be partnered with Ms. Danielson for the semester.” Mr. Adebayo’s words snapped me out of my daydream.
Trey, upon hearing his name, blearily raised his head and rubbed his eyes. He checked his surroundings, then set his head back down on the desk.
“Excuse me?” I said.
Mr. Adebayo looked at me
sternly. “For this semester’s project on Wuthering Heights, you’ll be partnered with the person in the row adjacent to you. In your case, Ms. Danielson, that’s Mr. Carter.”
“Semester project?” My voice squeaked. I sounded like a cartoon mouse.
“Were you not paying attention, Ms. Danielson?” Mr. Adebayo frowned. “The person you’re sitting beside will be your partner for the Wuthering Heights project. It will take you all semester and be worth a substantial portion of your final grade. Is there an issue?”
Is there an issue? Was he kidding? I would have to partner with Trey Carter for the entire semester on a project that actually mattered? Trey Carter, who was currently snoring? Of course there was an issue.
I opened my mouth to speak, but stopped. What could I say? The only other open spot in the class was with Adam, and there was no way I would partner with my ex-boyfriend. Not for something that mattered. Adam would actively try to sabotage the project, and plus, the thought of being near him made me feel physically ill. At least Trey would just be negligent. If he was negligent, I could work extra hard and carry us both to a B. Maybe a B+. That would be good enough.
I slumped in my seat and Mr. Adebayo went on about the project. It was no joke — he was looking for a co-written paper, a full presentation in front of the end of the class at the end of the semester, complete with an artistic performance that interpreted a theme from the book.
Just great.
“Wake up,” I whispered.
Trey snored again.
“Wake up.”
Still nothing.
“Wake. Up.” This time, I prodded him hard in the ribs.
“Humph.” He lifted his head and glared. “What?”
Ugh, why did he have to be so unbelievably gorgeous? He was all dark hair, dark eyes, designer stubble, and beautiful bone structure. Like a male model, but more rugged. Not that I cared — the guy was a total moron.