The Truth About Boys: A Stolen Kiss Novel

by Shana Norris

  The girl on stage finished and we all clapped and whooped as she descended. I didn’t miss the nod and wink she shot at Rory before she slipped into her seat near the stage. A middle-aged man with thinning blonde hair took the mic.

  “Okay, great job, Missy!” He looked out at the audience. “So, who’s next?”

  “You should go up,” Rory said. “Show us what you’ve got.”

  I shook my head, tapping my fingers on the tabletop. “I’m not going until you do. This whole night was your idea.”

  Rory’s green eyes sparkled as he looked back at me across the table. “I get it. You’re scared.”

  “I’m not scared,” I snapped.

  “Afraid I’ll blow your performance out of the water and leave you forgotten in the corner, crying with shame?”

  There was something about him—the smirk, the gleam in his eyes—that made me furious.

  The chair screeched across the floor as I pushed it back and stood. I made my way to the front. The host pulled me onto the makeshift stage.

  “What’s your name, miss?” he asked.

  “Kate,” I said into the microphone. I could see the first few rows of tables, but beyond that, the room was too dimly lit to see anything. Rory was somewhere out there in the darkness. Good. At least I didn’t have to see him watching me.

  “And what will you be doing for us tonight?” the host asked.

  Well, I thought, good question.

  “I’ll be performing ‘Name’ by the Goo Goo Dolls on the keyboard,” I announced, trying to think of something I knew well enough to play from memory.

  The room was mostly quiet as I sat down at the keyboard and positioned the mic in front of me. The quiet was heavy—I barely heard the clatter of cups on tables and the low whispers floating toward me.

  My hands shook, but not from nerves—not like they did when Rory got too close. They shook with anticipation. If I was sure about anything, it was this.

  Taking a deep breath and closing my eyes, I let my fingers punch the keys, sending the first notes out into the quiet room.

  The song was one of my favorites. The words made all of the disappointments of the night and the last few days flood into my head—finding Andrea at our house, once again at the table laughing with Paisley. Paisley taking Pop away for the night. All of my frustrations and sadness moved over the keyboard with my hands.

  I didn’t even open my eyes, I just played and sang.

  And then I heard another sound. A guitar, playing alongside my keyboard. I opened my eyes, blinking as Rory came into focus just a few steps from me, his guitar strap slung around his neck and his own fingers fluttering over the strings. His voice joined mine and we sang together about lost moments, forgotten dreams, and all the other disappointments of life that two people could sing about.

  Now, I kept my eyes open. We sang, our voices twisting together. Rory looked comfortable, like he was meant to be on stage. My gaze traveled up his arms to his face, and I found him staring back at me as he sang. My voice wavered. Everything else in the diner disappeared, and, for a moment, I didn’t see anyone else, not even the first few rows of tables.

  The crowd applauded when we reached the end and I took a deep breath, squeezing my hands into fists as I tried to steady them. Rory returned his guitar to its case when we made our way back to our table. I sat down, reaching for my cup of coffee.

  “That’s the second time you’ve messed with my music,” I said, taking a very serious sip.

  Then, we both burst out laughing.

  “Great job.” Rory took a breath. “You can really play.”

  “My grandmother taught me.”

  Another performer started singing onstage, so Rory pulled his chair right next to mine. “So you play piano, sing, and work as a DJ,” Rory said. “Are you planning to go into music one day? Record a few albums?”

  I laughed. “Producing is my favorite. Put songs together for movies, maybe. Or work with record labels. I like to be behind the scenes. But I dunno, it’s kind of silly now that I think about it,” I finished quickly, waving him off.

  “That’s pretty awesome.” His eyes sparkled. “Maybe I’ll hire you one day to produce my music.”

  “I’m out of your price range.” I lifted my chin, tossing my braid back. “Besides, I’m not going into music, I’m studying math. Probably go into teaching or something.”

  “I’ll have to convince you otherwise. In the meantime, how about I order you a burger and fries in exchange for your help?” Rory asked. He flagged down the waitress again.

  “A guy after my own heart,” I said. “Extra cheese, extra pickles, extra mustard.”

  “Extra onions to spice up your breath, too?” Rory asked, grinning wide.

  The thought of kissing Rory Garrison popped into my head. I gently punched his shoulder, which I hoped distracted him from the blush in my cheeks.

  A few songs later, the waitress brought our orders to us in boxes.

  “So, do you have somewhere to be?” I asked.

  Rory winked. “Always,” he said, then took my hand and led me outside.

  Before I could ask him what he was thinking, I had followed him around the back of Mona’s—right where the dumpsters were.

  “I made a special reservation,” he said.

  “On a dumpster? Very special.” It suddenly occurred to me that Rory was a complete stranger, one that I probably shouldn’t be following to dumpsters.

  In one move, he pulled himself on top of the dumpster and from there, climbed onto the low slope of the roof. “Your turn,” he called down at me. “Hurry, though, ‘cause I’m hungry.”

  “You’re crazy,” I said, looking around like I was going to find some way out of climbing.

  “You’re scared,” he answered.

  “That worked once, Rory. Once.” But he just smiled down at me.

  Five minutes later, I was on the roof of Mona’s chowing down on a burger.

  Rory swallowed. “It’s funny how much music can affect your mood and outlook on things, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “One minute I can’t stand you, the next I think you’re okay.” I elbowed him playfully. “But seriously, that’s what I’ve always loved about music. How it affects you deep inside.”

  “You can show people a vision of who you are, based on the music you listen to or perform,” Rory said. “You can put out this image for everyone else to see through your music while keeping your true self hidden. Only let certain people—people who you choose—really see that part of you.”

  I licked a bit of mustard off my hand and asked, “So what part of you are you keeping hidden?”

  “I guess you’ll just have to find out,” Rory said, grinning. “That is, if I decide you’re allowed to find out.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m guessing you’re really arrogant and full of yourself.”

  “At least I’m not the one turning my back on my real passion to do something I don’t care about,” Rory said.

  “I’m being practical, unlike you,” I snapped back.

  He shook his head. His perfectly imperfect hair fell into his face. “You’re giving up on yourself.”

  “You don’t even know me,” I told him.

  “Maybe I’d like to. The real you.”

  I swallowed a bite of my burger and pulled my knees into my chest, like that would somehow shield me from his words. “Math is me. The good, responsible me. You should take some lessons from that. Plus, I can always do music on the side.”

  “You’re whiny when you don’t get your way, aren’t you?” he scoffed.

  “Takes one to know one,” I shot back. My voice rang in my ears—high pitched and drawn out, proving his theory. But what did I care what Rory thought? He was just some guy who was spending the summer in Asheville. He’d be gone soon enough—out of my life forever—and I’d be moving on to college. I slid slowly down the roof and climbed off, landing shakily on my feet.

  “Going so soon?” Ro
ry asked smugly.

  “Just off to discover the real me,” I snapped up at him. “Thanks for the burger.”

  I walked to the car, telling myself that he definitely wasn’t worth getting myself worked up over. But something about the way he looked at me, the smirk still on his lips and the mischievous glimmer in his eyes, made me want to shove that burger in his face.

  Chapter 9

  A good night’s sleep had almost washed away the memory of my evening with Rory. In fact, I’d fallen asleep before Andrea and Paisley had even gotten back from the movie with Pop, which was a first. Pop usually hated to stay out past eight thirty, so they must have had a lot of fun to convince him to stay out after the sun went down.

  Music pulsed into my headphones. My laptop sat open on my bed. I bent over it, listening again to the bit of music I was tweaking with DJ ProSound. From the background of my laptop, my Facebook chimed at me through the headphones. When I scrolled over, Miguel’s face was beaming at me from his profile picture.

  Is it burger o’clock yet, or are you too busy stalking Channing Tatum?

  Heat crept through my body as the realization hit me, and I forgot about the music pulsing into my ears. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, not knowing what to type.

  You already forgot me? he messaged. I’m offended.

  I began to frantically type everything that came to mind. Hey! Hi! I just didn’t recognize your number. How are you? What’s up?

  I palmed my forehead and groaned. Not sounding like a weirdo was clearly no longer a possibility.

  Yeah, sorry. Got a new one a few months ago. Since I was in town, I thought it would be fun to reconnect. Unless you’re too busy?

  Of course not. Just hanging out at home before I go meet Ashton.

  How’ve you been? Graduated at the top of your class, I’m guessing? Still math queen?

  Ha. Well, not at the very top of the class, but high enough.

  My bedroom door flew open and, once again, Paisley bounded in. Her hair fell in tendrils from the bun piled on top of her head. How did she do that? My hair only looked good if I straightened it into sleek strands.

  “What are you working on?” Paisley asked, plopping down on my bed, rocking me back and forth.

  I mouthed “Can’t hear you” while pointing at my headphones, hoping she would get the message. But no—she pulled them off and tossed them on my pillow.

  “What are you working on?” she repeated. I sighed, making a mental note to use the lock on my door more often.

  “Some music for a party I’m working tonight,” I said, keeping my eyes glued on my screen. Maybe if I made it really clear that I was busy, she’d leave. No such luck. Paisley leaned forward and peered into my laptop screen. “That doesn’t look like music. Who’s the hottie?”

  I quickly clicked back over to my music. “Just an old friend,” I said.

  Paisley kept studying my screen, looking over my sound controls. “That’s pretty cool. Is it hard?”

  “Kind of,” I said stiffly.

  “I bet the open mic night was fun,” Paisley said. “I would have loved to go, too. Why didn’t I get invited?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “How did you know about that?” Had she been eavesdropping on my conversations with Mimi and Pop?

  She shrugged and said, “I know that waiter at Mona’s. Steve?”

  “Steve Landry? How do you know him?” I squeaked. I’d been in at least seven or eight classes with him, and we weren’t on more than a hi-how-are-you basis. Paisley had been in Asheville for a matter of days, and she knew half of my high school class already.

  “He offered me a ride home the other day, and he knows you’re my cousin.” Paisley cocked her head at me, a gleaming incredulous look in her eyes. “It’s not that hard to make friends, Kate.”

  Instead of responding, I pushed my hair away from my face and grumbled about getting back to work. Paisley got up and walked over to my mirror, arranging some of the strands that hung down around her face. “Andrea is getting off work early today. She’s taking me to this awesome spa in town. We’re going to get massages and makeovers. Want to come?”

  “No, thanks,” I said, clenching my jaw tight. “I’m busy.”

  “Okay,” Paisley said. “But if you change your mind, you’re welcome to come.” She turned to the side, looking at herself in the mirror. She smoothed a hand over her shirt and stomach, making a face as she did so. The girl was constantly looking at herself in a mirror. I didn’t know how she couldn’t see how gorgeous she already looked naturally.

  “Andrea’s not interested in being anyone’s mom, so don’t get your hopes up,” I said, unable to keep the words from coming out of my mouth.

  Paisley looked back at me, her forehead creased in confusion. I turned my gaze back to my laptop, immediately regretting saying anything.

  But she stayed right where she was. “I’m not trying to steal Andrea away from you,” Paisley said.

  I shrugged. “Whatever. She’s not mine. I hardly see her.”

  We heard the front door slam shut at the other end of the house. Andrea’s voice called out, “Paisley? You ready to go?”

  A moment later, she appeared in my doorway, beaming in at us. Her blonde hair had been pulled back into a tight high ponytail and her long tanned legs stuck out from her cutoff denim shorts. She looked happier than I’d seen her look in a long time.

  “There you are,” she said to Paisley. Her gaze moved to me and she added, “Hey, Kate.”

  Paisley said, “Kate won’t come to the spa with us.”

  Andrea’s eyes widened a little. In surprise? Or maybe horror at the thought of spending the day with me? “Yeah, Kate, you should come. We’re going to have a girls’ day out.”

  That was probably at the top of Andrea’s list: a day out with me.

  “No, thanks. I’m really busy.”

  Paisley tilted her head. “Yeah. Too busy talking to a boy,” she drawled.

  “Okay, then,” Andrea said quickly. “If you’re ready, Paisley, we’ll get going.”

  I opened my mouth to yell after them, but they had already started talking about something else.

  My flip-flops shuffled across the community pool’s concrete patio as I made my way through shrieking kids and guys showing off on the diving board. Ashton waved to me from one of the chairs she had staked out already, a fluffy blue towel clutched to her chest. She grinned wide, half of her face obscured by her big round sunglasses.

  “I was beginning to think you got lost,” Ashton said as I plopped onto the chaise lounge chair next to her.

  I kicked off my flip-flops, pulled my big yellow T-shirt over my head, and tossed them next to my chair. Tightening the straps of my black-and-white striped bikini, I settled back, lifting my face to the warm midday sun.

  “Sorry, took longer to get ready than I had planned,” I mumbled. Once Paisley and Andrea had left, I’d stomped around the house for a while, slamming cabinet doors as I scrounged for snacks so I could angry-eat. Then Pop had suggested I go for a run or something to work out all of the energy I had built up inside me.

  Ashton pulled her sunglasses down and looked at me with her big brown eyes. “Everything okay?”

  The scent of sunblock and chlorine filled my nostrils as I sucked in a deep breath. I ran a hand through my long blonde hair, pushing it off my face as I thought about my words. “It’s Andrea. I just don’t get her.”

  Ashton adjusted the top of her purple-and-pink leopard print one-piece. “You haven’t gotten her for a long time, if I recall,” she said slowly.

  “She’s been all over Paisley ever since she got here. Like they’re long lost best friends or something. She’s at our house all the time. It’s driving me crazy.”

  “Well, Pop and Mimi are her family, too,” Ashton pointed out. “Maybe Andrea wants to spend time with all of you.”

  I crossed my arms as I watched the kids playing in the shallow end of the pool, screaming and splashing water at each othe
r.

  “Maybe Andrea is trying to make amends,” Ashton said casually.

  My head whipped toward her, and I hoped she could see my accusing glare from behind my cat-eye sunglasses. Ashton shrugged and continued. “She was really young when she had you. Do you think you could be a mom right now? I certainly couldn’t. Maybe having Paisley here gives her a good excuse to stop by.”

  I let out a choked laugh. “Perfect timing. I’m about to leave for college in a few weeks. She can’t cram a lifetime into one summer.”

  For some reason, I thought of Rory. But I pushed the thought away.

  Ashton slipped her sunglasses back over her eyes. “It seems like she might be finally trying at least. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”

  My mouth dropped open and I sat up, my fingers gripping the sides of my chair. “So I should just let Andrea walk in and out of my life whenever she feels like it?”

  Ashton held up one hand. “Of course not. But you could make more of an effort to get to know her, too. She is your mom.”

  “Mimi is my mom,” I snapped. “Andrea chose not to be.”

  “And maybe a part of her regrets it,” Ashton said softly.

  I opened my mouth to snap back at her again, but then shut it quickly. It wasn’t Ashton who I was angry with. Yet here I was, taking out all my anger on my best friend.

  “I’m sorry,” I said after letting out a long breath. “We only have a few weeks left before we go off to different schools for the next four years. I don’t want to fight with you.”

  Ashton gave me a sad smile and looped her arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a side-hug. “I don’t want to fight with you either. Let’s just enjoy our day at the pool and forget about Andrea and everyone else, okay?”

  I nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

  I sat back to enjoy the sun as Ashton began to tell me about a new art project she was working on: turning a shipping container into a life-size dollhouse. She created so many beautiful objects out of stuff that I would’ve initially called trash. I made a note to be sure to take some of her artwork with me to Greensboro so I’d have a reminder of her in my dorm room.