“Cozy,” he said.
She bristled suspiciously. “I thought you wanted to talk about music?”
“Sorry,” he muttered.
April shrugged and sat on her bed, picking up one of her pillows and clutching it to her stomach. The neck of her T-shirt opened out, and Curt caught a glimpse of her milky-white cleavage.
“At least it’s mine,” she said.
“I get that,” Curt said. “I had to share a room with my brother till he went to college.”
“Bites.”
“Tell me about it,” he said. “Made it worse when he would sneak girls in and kick me out. I’d spend the night in his car so Dad didn’t catch me sleeping on the couch. Freeze my butt off.”
“Doubly bites,” she noted.
Curt dropped his eyes and studied his hands for a minute. “I don’t know why I just told you that,” he admitted. “I’ve never told anyone, not even Avery.”
“Sometimes it’s easier to tell painful things to a stranger than to someone you care about.”
“It’s not that painful,” he protested.
“Yes, it is,” she said. “It’s written all over your face.”
“What are you, a mind reader?” he asked with a grin.
She didn’t smile back. “So, you want to talk music?”
Curt wasn’t sure what he wanted to talk about. He was intrigued. There was something deep about her that he connected to. It’s like she gets it, he thought. Weird to know someone just a few minutes and to feel like we have a connection. Maybe it was the music.
“I heard you singing.”
She gave him an impatient look. “Yeah, I know. You said that.”
In a weird way he liked that she was suspicious and reluctant. It made her sort of challenging. And then there was her enticingly pale, smooth skin.
“You sounded pretty good. Played pretty good too, I guess, if you like that sort of music.”
“I take it you don’t?” she said, only the twitch in her left eye revealing that the criticism bothered her at all.
“Well, personally, I wouldn’t be caught dead listening to that stuff. It’s all rock for me.”
“Who do you like?”
“Who don’t I like?” he asked.
She lifted an eyebrow.
“Okay, if I have to choose, I like classic rock the best,” Curt said. “And Green Day, the White Stripes, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Nirvana.” He hesitated. “You consider that classic rock?”
“Doesn’t matter,” April answered. “Kurt Cobain wrote great songs. You know some of the same people who write songs for rock bands also write songs for folk artists and ballads for country singers?”
“No way,” Curt said.
“Way.”
“I guess it’s all in the interpretation,” he said.
“That’s all musical styles are, anyway,” April said. “Different people’s interpretations of the same themes, the same feelings, even the same songs.”
“So, you’re saying we’re all just singing the same thing?”
“Essentially,” she said, smiling again.
“I guess that’s kind of cool,” he said, even though he wasn’t completely sure he agreed.
“I think so,” she said.
“So, the song you were singing, who wrote it?”
Instead of answering, she pulled her knees up against her chest and seemed to withdraw.
“What’s the problem?” Curt asked.
“I didn’t think anyone was here,” April said. “I guess I’m a little freaked that someone was listening and I didn’t know it.”
“Hey, it was just me,” Curt said.
A crooked grin appeared on April’s lips. “Maybe I’m just paranoid. I just work so hard on these songs, and they’re also really private.”
“Don’t you want them to be heard?” Curt asked.
“Sure,” said April. “Someday, when I’m ready.”
“You write all your own songs?” he asked, honestly impressed.
April nodded.
“Songwriting isn’t one of my talents,” he said. “No one else in the band can write worth a crap either.”
She was looking at him strangely, like she was studying him.
“What?” he asked at last.
“I’m still wondering what you’re doing here,” she said. “I mean, in my room. I’m pretty sure you’re not here trolling for a girl or a band member, and it’s hard to imagine you being into the stupid ritual bonding thing. So, what’s the deal?”
He shrugged. “I’m not really sure, to be honest. I heard you singing and I guess I just wanted to talk. I wish I was living in the house with my band, but Avery wanted us to have some separate time. She doesn’t get what the band means to me. She doesn’t understand that it’s who I am. There is no ‘separate’ between me and music. I don’t know. Maybe I thought you might understand.”
“Shouldn’t you be telling this to Avery, not me?” April asked.
“Probably,” he admitted, then decided to change the subject. “So, is it hard to write your own stuff?”
“Believe it. For every good one I write, I probably chuck ten bad ones.”
“You come here for inspiration or something like that?” he guessed.
“As if,” April muttered. “My mom brought my grandmother here for her health. She can’t work full-time, though. This,” she said, waving her hand around the cramped room, “is my compromise. I work and help pay for some of their expenses and I get to have my own place instead of sharing a one-bedroom apartment with them.”
“Excellent compromise,” he noted.
“I kind of thought so too. So, when I’m not working, yeah, I spend time on my music. You too, right?”
He shrugged, then nodded. “We’re trying to get some gigs around here for the summer. I guess you could say we came here to be heard.”
“Then I’m sure you will be.”
“Thanks.”
“That’s cool,” she said, waving it off. “What’s the name of the band?”
“Stranger Than Fiction,” he said with pride. The name had been his idea, and he considered it one of his finest contributions.
“Killer. So, are you?”
“What?”
“Stranger than fiction?”
“Sometimes,” he said, shooting her a sly smile. He dropped eye contact with her, thinking about the band and everything they’d been through. They had started out rotating through all their garages until the parents freaked at the noise. After that, they’d practiced in one guy’s barn. It sucked during the winter because it didn’t have any heat. The second year they were together, the lead singer had overdosed and nearly died. The guy’s parents had freaked and shipped him off to boot camp and the band had to find someone to take his place. They were trying to get money for better equipment and saving up for a recording session. Before that could happen, though, they needed better songs. It had been rough, but he knew STF could make it if they stuck together. They’d come a long way, and Curt wouldn’t let anyone stop them now.
His eyes fell on a beat-up black notebook on April’s bed. He picked it up and flipped it open.
“Hey!” April protested. ‘That’s private!”
Curt closed the notebook and put it back down. “These your songs?” he asked.
“Yes.” She picked up the notebook and hugged it to her chest. Curt noticed she liked to do that with the things she treasured. He wondered what it would take for him to become something she treasured, and to receive the same treatment.
“Can you play one for me?” he asked.
“No.”
“Come on.” Curt smiled and turned the charm on. “I swear I won’t tell anyone.”
“I told you, I don’t play my stuff for other people.”
“Then what’s the point? Besides, I’m not other people. I’m a musician, just like you,” he said, mustering his most intense and alluring gaze.
April gazed back at him uncertainly.
She slowly put the notebook down. Curt had a feeling he’d won her over.
“Oh, okay, just one.” She heaved a sigh, picked up her guitar, strummed a few chords, and then started singing. “Our bodies went down . . . the moon went up. Slipping . . . sliding . . . the mating dance has just begun. It’s the moon and not the sun. Yeah. It’s the moon and not the sun.”
Curt listened as she sang. The song was good. So good that he could almost hear it being sung by someone else.
Polly and Avery were up to their elbows in clams. They were at an outdoor fish market, surrounded by stalls selling fish, clams, crabs and all manner of saltwater crustaceans. As Polly dumped another handful of clams into a plastic bag she took a moment to look at Avery, who looked perplexed as she pawed through the slimy shells.
“First clambake?” Polly asked.
Avery nodded. “Is it that obvious?”
“Kind of. So, what’s your story?” Polly blurted out.
“Excuse me?” Avery asked, looking puzzled.
“Sorry, I was just trying to make conversation,” Polly said. “It’s just if we don’t talk about you, then I’m going to start babbling about me, and that’s never pretty. Unless it’s pretty boring.”
Avery laughed. “Okay, if it will save you from boredom, what do you want to know?”
“What brought you here for the summer?”
“The chance to spend some time alone with Curt.”
Polly felt a little confused. “Alone? In a house full of people?”
“People, yes. Parents, and other members of his band, no,” Avery explained.
“How long have you been together?”
“Three years, ever since my mom died.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
Avery put her hand on Polly’s arm. “No need to be sorry. It’s okay. She was sick for a long time, and it’s been a while now and I’m okay with it.”
“I don’t think I’d ever be okay with it,” Polly said.
Avery shook her head. “You don’t know what you can live through until you do.”
Neither of them said anything else for a few minutes. They finished with the clams, then walked to a vegetable vendor. Polly picked the lettuce and tomatoes while Avery selected several fat, white mushrooms.
“Probably not the kind of ’shrooms Lucas likes, but he’ll have to make do,” Avery joked.
“Do you really think he smokes that bong?” Polly asked.
“Why would he have it?” Avery asked.
“I don’t know,” Polly said. “Somehow, it just doesn’t seem to fit. It’s like the dreadlocks. I’m just not sure they go with the person, you know?”
Avery moved toward the avocados. “I know what you’re saying. It’s like we only see part of him or something, like he’s some sort of shadow.”
“Exactly!” Polly said, glad to have someone help her put her feelings into words. “Well, I guess we’ve got all summer to figure him out.”
“If he lets us,” Avery said while paying for the vegetables.
They left the market, Polly carrying the bag of clams and Avery carrying the vegetables. There was still about a half hour before they were supposed to meet everyone back at the house. The day had been really hot. Polly wiped the sweat off her brow and looked at her watch. “We should be getting back pretty soon.”
“We have to pick up the drinks first,” Avery said, nodding toward a convenience store. The window was covered with signs advertising Corona, Bud Lite, Heineken, and all sorts of other drinks. “What do you want to get?” Avery asked.
“I like Coke,” Polly said.
“We have to get some alcohol, don’t you think?” Avery asked as she pulled her hair up into a bun on top of her head. “Our housemates are going to get bent out of shape if we don’t. What do you think, beer or wine coolers for a clambake?”
“Uh, uh, the wine coolers, I guess.”
Avery gave her a funny look. “Have you had beer?”
“No,” Polly admitted, and felt her face grow warm.
“You’re not missing out on much,” Avery said, wrinkling her nose. “We’ll go with wine coolers.”
Polly glanced at the store and the large sign that said, ABSOLUTELY NO ALCOHOL WILL BE SOLD TO ANYONE UNDER 21. She scowled. “How? We can’t buy alcohol. We’re both underage.”
Avery smiled. “Leave it to me. You get the soda; I’ll get the other stuff. When we’re in that store, act like you don’t know me.”
Polly felt her stomach start to flip-flop. There’s no way we’re going to get away with this, she thought. All her life she’d been terrified of doing anything wrong, anything that might result in getting caught. Right now she wanted to run away as fast as she could.
But Avery went in and, after a minute, Polly followed and headed straight for the refrigerated cases of soda. She managed to get the bag of vegetables into her left arm and clutched two two-liter bottles of Coke to her chest with her right before turning around precariously.
When Polly saw Avery, her heart leaped into her throat. Avery was approaching the counter carrying two packs of wine coolers, walking calmly and slowly as though she bought alcohol all the time. She put the wine coolers on the counter. Just as the guy behind the counter was about to ask for her driver’s license, she said, “Do you carry diapers? I had to leave the kids with my new boyfriend and I don’t want to drive all the way to the grocery store. I don’t trust him alone with them that long.”
“Uh, sure,” the guy said, pointing down an aisle.
“Great, thanks, be right back.” Avery turned and went to the diaper section, looked for a moment, and then selected a package and brought it back to the man. “It’s not the brand I normally use, but I guess it’ll work.”
The man started ringing up her items. “My wife used those for our kids and they seemed fine, never once had a leak.”
“Really? Thanks, I feel better.” Avery glanced at her watch. “If only my boyfriend were that dependable.”
“Yeah.” The man chuckled as he rang up and bagged the wine coolers and diapers. “That’s twenty-one even.”
Avery paid him and left the store. Polly’s heart was pounding; she put the soda bottles on the counter and paid for them without saying a word to the man. She grabbed the bag and rushed out of the store, nearly colliding with Avery, who was standing on the sidewalk several feet away.
“Come on, let’s get out of here!” Polly gasped, in full-flight mode.
“Take a breath and relax, Polly. We’re fine,” Avery said.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Polly said. “Oh, my gosh, I thought you were going to get caught and then—”
Polly realized Avery wasn’t listening. She was staring across the street at some storefronts and old buildings that were being renovated. She saw a habitat for humanity sign above the building, but nothing else stood out.
“What are you looking at?” Polly asked.
“Oh, uh, nothing,” Avery said, turning back. “Hold on a second.” She walked up to a woman approaching with a child in a stroller.
“Excuse me, ma’am? I bought the wrong type of diapers for my sister and I don’t have time to return them. Could you use them?”
The woman frowned suspiciously as Avery produced the package of diapers. “Well, I guess,” the woman said. “But I don’t have any cash on me.”
“Oh no, no, I just want to give them to someone who can use them. Does your baby wear this size?”
“Actually, yes,” the woman answered.
“Then here you go. Happy early Fourth of July.”
Avery headed back to Polly. Behind her, the woman called, “Thank you.” Avery turned and waved.
“Come on, we better head back,” Avery said to Polly.
They began walking. After a minute, Polly said, “Where’d you learn to do that?”
“One day I had to go to the store for some pads and Curt asked me to try to buy him
some beer. I was so nervous that instead of grabbing stuff for me, I grabbed the first thing that came to my hands and it was a package of diapers. By the time I realized it, I was approaching the counter. I figured I would look suspicious if I turned back, so I just put them on the counter with the beer.”
“That’s so funny!” Polly gasped. “So the first time, it was totally by accident!”
“Right,” Avery said. “People never want to think that someone with a baby is in high school. The cashier let me buy the stuff and never carded me. Curt’s had me buy beer for him ever since. I always try to find someone I can give the diapers to.”
“That’s got to get expensive,” Polly said.
“Yeah. I’m going to need to get a job pretty soon, anyway,” Avery said.
“What do you think you’ll do?” Polly asked.
Avery shrugged. “Don’t know.”
“I’m a waitress at a restaurant on the pier,” Polly said. “Last I heard, they were still trying to fill a few positions. Maybe you could get a job there.”
“You think?” Avery asked.
“Have any experience?” Polly asked.
“McDonald’s?”
“Well, you could try,” Polly said.
“That would be great, thanks.”
“I start there tomorrow,” Polly said. “You want to go with me in the morning?”
“Perfect.”
It was perfect, as far as Polly was concerned. Avery was definitely the nicest girl in the house, although to be fair, Polly still didn’t know much about April. Still, being Avery’s friend could only help. Avery was the kind of girl guys just naturally flocked to. Maybe when they found out she had a boyfriend, a few of them might give Polly a look.
When they reached the house, April was already in the kitchen, pulling a steaming loaf of bread out of the oven. Polly looked at her in surprise. It never occurred to her that April might like to cook. Avery was quicker to respond.
“Smells great!” she said enthusiastically.
April beamed. “I do one thing well in the kitchen, and one thing only. I bake. So, I figured I could handle the bread.”
The Shore Page 6