Out of Tune

by Beth Reekles

So what else can I say, that they’ll believe is a truth?

  ‘Um . . . okay, that’s a toughie . . . Uh . . . Oh, okay! My biggest regret is that I never learned to play the piano. I always really wanted to be able to play.’ Then I lean forward and spin the bottle, and I ask Kelly (who picks truth) if she ever had a crush on someone a friend was dating.

  As the game continues, we begin to grow bored, and some people peel away, until sometime after ten we give up on the game altogether. I end up sitting talking to a few people, until I decide to slip away to the kitchen for a few minutes. It’s not that they’re all not nice people. They are surprisingly easy to talk to. It’s just that I don’t normally hang out with them, and I’ve never really spoken to any of them properly before, so I feel a bit awkward, like I might be intruding.

  And, you know, there’s the whole maybe they all secretly hate me but are pretending to get along with me for a big joke issue.

  Nobody is in the kitchen, at least.

  I pour myself a glass of cold water then sink onto a stool at the little breakfast bar, resting my elbows on the cool counter with my head in my hands. Maybe I’d be better off just going home.

  A hand on my shoulder makes me almost fall off the stool.

  ‘I swear one of these days, Todd, I am going to start to carry a frying pan around with me, and every time you sneak up on me, I’ll end up hitting you over the head.’

  He laughs. He’s loosened up a lot. ‘I did say your name. You didn’t hear?’

  ‘Obviously not.’

  ‘Lost in your own little world. Is my party really that bad?’

  I smile, shake my head slightly. ‘No, it’s a good party.’

  ‘Then why do you look like you’re far away?’

  A frown tugs at my eyebrows before I compose my expression. ‘I’m not far away. I’m right here, talking to you, aren’t I? I think all that beer’s gone to your head.’

  He shakes his head then. ‘That’s not what I meant.’ I pause, waiting to see if he’ll carry on. He says, ‘Your boyfriend not showing up?’

  ‘Not so far as I know. He’s busy.’

  Todd nods and then says. ‘So, you and Josh . . .’ I raise an eyebrow at him. Is this related to our vague conversation about what happened between me and Allie? ‘I mean, he sounds like an okay guy. But do you really have that much in common with him?’

  The question catches me off-guard.

  He waits.

  I think.

  ‘I didn’t think so. I’ve heard, uh, a fair bit about you two. I don’t know, I just thought he didn’t seem like the kind of guy I could picture you with.’

  I pull a face, curious. ‘Then what kind of guy would you picture me with?’

  He scratches the back of his neck and shifts from one foot to the other, then goes and gets himself a glass of water. ‘I just thought you’d be with someone smarter than him.’

  ‘Someone smarter,’ I repeat slowly.

  ‘Yeah. I’m just surprised.’

  ‘Josh isn’t stupid.’

  ‘I didn’t say that. I’m just saying he’s not the sharpest tool in the box.’

  ‘So what? I’ve been with him since April of sophomore year. I love him, and—’

  ‘All I’m saying is, from what I’ve heard and seen, I’d have thought you could do better.’

  I scowl. ‘What’s so bad about Josh? Please, tell me, Todd, don’t spare me the details.’

  Todd huffs and narrows his eyes, looking more than irritated and on his way to angry. ‘What, you don’t think he’s just a little bit too obnoxious at times? That he doesn’t put people down and throw his weight around? And the way he talks about you, like you’re—’

  ‘You’ve been here about a month, Todd, and you don’t even talk to Josh. Do you really think you’re in the best position to talk about him? You don’t know him.’

  Todd scoffs and gives me a smirk, his expression almost pitying in the way it’s so condescending. ‘Oh, come on, Ashley, like you don’t know the sort of things he goes around saying about you?’

  I waver. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  And honestly, I don’t know that I do want him to tell me. What if it’s lies and rumors blown out of proportion? What if it’s not, and it’s all true?

  I gave up a lot to be with Josh.

  ‘Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t. Maybe you are as shallow and vapid as he says you are.’

  My stomach churns. ‘You’re lying. He wouldn’t say something like that about me.’

  The smirk Todd gives me is so self-righteous and so high-and-mighty that I want to slap the look right off his face. ‘Sure he wouldn’t. Because we all know what a great guy Josh Parker is, don’t we? All that stuff he says about you, I don’t know what he sees in you. I mean,’ he scoffs, ‘everybody knows what he doesn’t see in you.’

  The last comment is punctuated with an arch of his eyebrows and his eyes skim over me critically. I clench my jaw so tightly it hurts, and feel my cheeks burning. Todd’s making stuff up now, he has to be. He’s drunk and for some reason he’s lying.

  I can’t bring myself to believe that any of what he’s saying is true.

  Josh doesn’t say I’m vapid and shallow. He knows I get good grades at school. And what Todd’s insinuating . . . I can only assume he’s talking about how I haven’t had sex with Josh yet.

  But how does he know that? It’s between me and Josh . . . and sure, our friends know, but what’s it got to do with Todd, or anybody else?

  I shake my head. No, I won’t ask him. I’m walking away. Josh loves me; he wouldn’t say things like that about me.

  ‘I’m sorry I ever asked. Maybe when you’ve sobered up you’ll stop being so arrogant you’ll talk to me a little more reasonably. And you think Josh is the obnoxious one? Like you’re so much better than him. Jesus, Todd, it’s . . .’ I’m still shaking my head as I stand up. ‘Never mind. I’m out of here.’

  ‘You’re leaving?’ He seems genuinely shocked.

  ‘It’s not like anybody wants me here anyway. And I’m not having this conversation with you.’

  ‘You just don’t want to listen, do you? Maybe you are as shallow as he says you are. Maybe you know what he says about you, and you don’t care. Everyone thinks he’s only interested in you for one thing and he’s just waiting around to get it, but maybe it works both ways. Maybe you’re only interested in being popular.’

  ‘I’ll see you Monday,’ I say, not turning to face him and making my way to the door. I find my shoes in the hall and push my feet into them. I pull the front door behind me in an attempt to close it but I don’t hear it shut; instead, there are soft footsteps, and I know that Todd is following me.

  ‘When are you going to stop being so stupid and realize he’s no good for you?’ he calls after me. That makes me stop.

  I twist sharply to glare at him.

  ‘What the hell is that even supposed to mean?’

  ‘You know exactly what it’s supposed to mean.’ He stands up straighter, looking me dead in the eye.

  ‘And you think that you’re better for me, is that it?’ I snap. ‘Is that what this is about?’

  Todd’s jaw clenches, then he smirks. ‘Don’t flatter yourself.’

  I feel heat creeping over my entire face, not just my cheeks, and I whip around and storm back to my house, slamming the front door closed behind me. I don’t know if I’m more angry or humiliated at the last comment.

  And now part of me wishes I’d stayed to hear him tell me everything Josh says about me and how he talks about me. But it can’t be anything bad, can it? Todd’s just being . . . Well, it’s just some misunderstanding. Yeah, that’s all it is.

  I go through the house slamming doors to let my frustration out, and by the time I make it to my bedroom, I get a text from Josh, asking if I’m still awake, and is it okay if he comes over for a little while, he wants to see me.

  I tell him that I’m going to bed and not to come over. I scrub my make-up off angr
ily, making my face blotchy and bright, and throw myself underneath the covers, breathing through my nostrils sharply until I get tired enough that drowsiness drowns out my anger, and I somehow manage to fall asleep.

  Chapter Ten

  Sunday evening, after dinner. I’m finishing off some history homework I’d forgotten about, and then something clatters through my window, onto my carpet.

  I look up, and there’s a pen on the floor. A black biro with a chewed-up cap. I look up and see Todd crouched on his window seat grinning at me through the open window.

  I’m still mad at him.

  So I grab the pen and launch it back, hoping to hit him in the chest or something – but my aim has never been good; the pen sails over his head, into his room. I move to go slam my window shut and he speaks to me.

  ‘Ashley, come on, please. You haven’t answered any of my texts.’

  ‘There’s this wondrous invention that they call a front door, Todd, maybe you should learn to use it.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have answered the door if you knew it was me.’

  ‘I would, I would at least have the satisfaction of slamming it in your face. Now, I have to settle for a window. Goodbye, Todd.’

  ‘Hang on a sec, just listen to me a moment,’ he says, leaning forwards, as if that will somehow put a physical stop to me closing my window. As it is, I pause, my fingers on the bottom of the window.

  I don’t want to keep being angry with him. So I give him a chance to explain.

  His tense expression eases, his scrunched-up face smoothing out slightly. ‘I’m sorry. I was a real jackass last night. I shouldn’t have said those things to you. And I’m sorry I was so rude, especially about Josh.’

  I wait to hear him blame it on the beer and say that he was drunk, he didn’t know what he was saying, I can’t stay mad at him for that.

  He doesn’t.

  I think that’s why I’m so quick to forgive him.

  Although I’d be lying if I said that the fact I like him and hate fighting with him has nothing to do with it.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he reiterates, my silence making him visibly nervous.

  I take a breath and say, ‘That’s okay.’

  His eyebrows disappear under his hair. It’s shorter, I notice; he must have had it cut today. It still looks unruly, though. ‘Really?’

  ‘You don’t have to sound so shocked.’

  ‘You can be very stubborn when you want to be.’

  My mouth twists up into a grudging smile. ‘Yeah, well.’

  We both sit unmoving on our window seats for a long moment which I don’t think will ever end; he’s looking steadily at me, and I am half-smiling back at him. It’s as if we’re both waiting for the other to say something, but neither of us has anything to say. It isn’t uncomfortable – more hesitant.

  Eventually, he says, ‘Um.’

  And I reply, ‘So.’

  There’s another pause, but it’s not that awkward, which surprises me.

  ‘I’ll see you in the morning then.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘All right.’

  Todd gives me a small smile. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For accepting my apology. Shocking as it may be, I am beginning to tolerate your company. Wouldn’t want all that work on putting up with you to be for nothing.’ There’s a twinkle in his eyes though, and a hint of a smirk in his smile, and I laugh.

  ‘Of course. I should probably say thanks, too, though.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘For not blaming it on the alcohol,’ I reply simply, and then I go back to my desk to finish writing my essay about Nazi Germany in the 1930s.

  After a while – I’m not sure how long exactly – I hear the familiar sound of Todd’s guitar. The notes and the melody are harsh, and I move closer to my window so that I can hear him better. He sits with his back to the window, like always, and his words are soft and strong. The contrast of his voice and the music from his guitar shouldn’t work this well, but it’s beautiful.

  ‘I need some place to hide away,

  Where I can feel safe

  I need to hold you in my arms

  Just to prove I’m not alone

  I don’t need someone to talk to

  Who can comfort me with lies

  I need to feel your heartbeat against mine

  Cause I can’t get through this on my own

  A place that’s safe, somewhere

  To close the door on all the

  Troubles in the world

  Sanctuary

  Sanctuary

  You are my sanctuary.’

  The lyrics are haunting and tug at something in the pit of my stomach. He carries on playing the guitar for a little bit, then he scribbles in his book, amending something maybe, and then tries out the same tune again, without singing, changing a note or a beat here and there.

  I start smiling to myself, and bury my head back in my homework.

  The earphone in my left ear is pulled out, and I turn my head at Todd, who is now hunched over the table, writing furiously in his precious blue book, the pen scratching on the thick paper. I roll my eyes and pick up the earphone, putting it back in. He often starts writing lyrics midway through class; he’s told me it’s not just in Creative Writing. I also tend to digress from whatever wishy-washy creative writing assignment we’ve been given to do some homework, and I know I’m not the only one.

  I don’t think Ms Langstone even really cares all that much, as long as we’re handing in the work she asks for. She’s given up trying to be strict by this point. Besides, the ‘creative’ part of this class does imply a certain leniency, after all, as I pointed out when I wrote a haiku as a ‘description piece’ about a beach, which wasn’t exactly what she was after, but it’s not like she specified how we should write the description . . .

  I surreptitiously reply to Josh’s last text and put my phone in front of my pencil case on my desk to keep it hidden, and so I’ll see when he replies.

  ‘You’ll see him soon enough,’ Todd says suddenly, looking at me now. I didn’t even notice him stop writing.

  I shake my head. ‘He’s sick today.’

  Todd raises an eyebrow, noticing the way I said ‘sick’ like Josh is anything but. ‘Oh.’

  ‘Well. He twisted his ankle yesterday and Coach told him to stay home and rest it because there’s a game on Friday night,’ I explain.

  Todd laughs under his breath, rolls his eyes. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Are you going to the game?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe. I think some of the guys were planning to go, so . . .’ He shrugs.

  ‘Not much of a football fan?’

  ‘My dad is, and my uncle on my mom’s side. It was never really my thing. We watch a game together sometimes.’

  ‘I watch football with my dad sometimes, too. Ever since I was little, we’d sit down every year and watch the Super Bowl, and after a while we watched other games together, too.’

  ‘That’s cool.’

  ‘What’re you writing?’

  I always ask, whenever I see him at it.

  He never shows me.

  Today is no exception: he taps his nose and says, ‘Sorry, but that’s confidential information. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.’

  We both go back to our own writing, but there’s a question buzzing in my head that I half don’t want to ask, but can’t help it.

  ‘You know how in some of your songs, you’re always talking about a girl? Or, a significant other,’ I amend, because maybe I’ve assumed wrongly all along, and he’s gay.

  He hesitates for a moment and closes the book. ‘What’s your question?’

  ‘Who is she? Or he,’ I add quickly.

  ‘I’m straight,’ he tells me with a small smile, a note of laughter in his voice when he notices my nervous smile.

  ‘I thought you were,’ I say. ‘It was a just-in-case.’ I hold up my hands, palms out. ‘Not judging.’


  He nods. ‘Well, to be honest, there . . . there isn’t really any “she”. It’s more that there’s the idea of a “she” sometime in my future who will fit those songs.’ His mouth twists. ‘I mean, there isn’t anyone now, but I remain hopeful that someday there will be a girl I fall in love with and she’ll be the kind of girl I would want those songs to be about.’

  I nod. ‘I guess that makes sense. I thought maybe there was someone you’d left behind somewhere.’

  He shrugs. ‘No. No one.’

  ‘Come on then, since we’re on the subject.’ I turn my chair toward him, scoot closer, and put my chin in my palms, resting on my elbows. ‘Let’s hear all about the girlfriends you’ve had.’

  He smiles wryly at me. ‘Never had one.’

  My eyebrows go up. I make a conscious effort to return my expression to neutral. ‘Really? You’re more of a guy for flings and random hook-ups? No judgments, again.’

  He shakes his head. ‘Nope,’ he says, popping the ‘p’. ‘I’ve kissed a couple of girls, at parties – the prom I went to last year, but that’s it. I don’t think I’m exactly the best candidate for a boyfriend.’

  I let out a stifled snort of derisive laughter. ‘Yeah, okay, sure.’ I lay the sarcasm on thick in my words. ‘I can totally see why girls have never wanted to date you.’

  He sighs, but there’s a hint of a bitter smile on his lips. His eyes are gray in this light, and they make him look more melancholy. ‘Come on. I’m the quiet guy with a troubled mind who likes to read books. Doesn’t exactly put me at the top of the list. The movies romanticize it, but in real life, girls avoid me like the plague.’

  ‘Oh, but the whole cutting classes, getting expelled thing, on top of the brooding image, that doesn’t have any appeal for girls. You know, loads of them go for the bad-boy thing. Not me, so much, but others do.’

  ‘Quiet,’ he says, eyes flitting around us. ‘Those aren’t exactly things I want broadcast.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  After a pause he carries on. ‘Besides, I don’t want to go dating a girl who only likes me for what she’s seen on the surface, and doesn’t know the rest of me, because in the end, it’s me who’d get hurt, and it’s not worth it.’