The more I think about it, the more I realize Strand has a lot of nerve, kissing me back. Yes, okay, I made the first move. I’m not saying that was the right thing to do. But he could have pulled away. I’m not even supposed to know that he and Annie are a thing! Technically, no one has told me. As far as the world knows, I’m an innocent in this situation.
I stomp over to my dresser, grab the flash drive, and plug it into my computer. I’ll listen to the first song, but that’s it. One song won’t hurt. My laptop rumbles to life as the playlist loads, a burst of music that gives me a temporary escape from today’s events.
Except I don’t stop after one song. I physically can’t.
I listen to each and every song on that playlist. I listen with my legs against the wall and my head propped against a throw pillow. I listen sprawled on my rug like a snow angel. I listen until the last song fades and all I hear is the silent whirring of my computer. Then I click on the first song and start from the beginning.
I lose all concept of time. Each song rolls through my ears and I imagine kissing Strand again and again as the music plays. Because something about these songs makes me believe that Strand sees me, really sees me.
* * *
The next day at school, I know I have to tell Annie. As much as I want to blame this all on him, and as much as he does deserve some of the blame, it doesn’t change the fact that I did something wrong. Annie is my best friend, not his. My mistake is the larger betrayal. I have undeniable feelings for Strand, but I need to will them away.
It’s just that there’s never really a good time to tell her. What am I supposed to say, anyway? The truth? Sorry, but I knew who your mystery crush was all along and I happen to be in love with him. I also attacked him with my lips yesterday. Then I fell asleep listening to the playlist he gave me and dreamed that he did unspeakable things to me.
I freeze up during math class and instead of talking to her, I pretend to make careful corrections to my homework. When the bell rings, I sprint to my locker and get to my next class five minutes early to avoid any chitchat. By the time lunchtime rolls around, an all-consuming guilt eats away at my stomach. I’ve spent so much time thinking about telling Annie that I forgot I’d have to face Strand, too.
My lunch tray wobbles in my hands when I step outside. I can spot Krina and Annie in the distance, already sitting at a bench. There’s no sign of Strand yet. I mentally command my legs to move, one step at a time, and grip the lunch tray to force my hands still.
When I take a seat, Annie and Krina are in the middle of a conversation about the Battle of the Boroughs tomorrow. In all my postkiss hysteria, the band’s lost moment of glory slipped my mind.
Instead of listening to them, I stare at the cafeteria doors, expecting everyone who comes out of them to be Strand.
After a few minutes of is he or isn’t he, I force myself to ask, as casually as possible, “Where’s Strand today?”
“Haven’t seen him,” says Krina. “I think he’s out sick.”
First there is relief, because I can postpone the awkwardness for at least one more day. And then there’s an irritating sense of disappointment, because even though I’m too chicken to face Strand, it’s still one less day I get to see him. Is he physically sick, or emotionally ill from kissing me? Is he going to avoid me now that I hit on him? The thought of losing him, even as a friend, is too much.
In Strand’s absence, it’s the perfect time to tell Annie about the kiss, but I decide to postpone the revelation. Tomorrow. Tomorrow is my new deadline. That means I get one more day to keep her as my friend.
“You’ll meet us there, right, Vi?” Annie asks me.
“What?” I bend over my pizza, staring at the grease pooling on its surface.
“You’ll meet us at the Battle?”
I’m not sure what makes me feel sicker: thinking about seeing Strand again, or thinking about watching other bands take the stage at the Battle.
“I doubt it,” I mumble.
“What do you mean you doubt it? You’re coming with us, and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”
“I’m grounded for the rest of eternity, Annie. In case you forgot.”
“I already asked your parents’ permission.”
I freeze, holding my slice of pizza halfway to my mouth. “You what?”
“I convinced them to let you out for your birthday.”
“How did . . . what? You what?”
Krina pats Annie on the leg. “Never underestimate this woman’s powers of persuasion.”
Annie grins at me, obviously expecting me to be thrilled about the news. Without the excuse of my parents, I have no real reason to miss going to the Battle.
“So? We’re going?” Annie’s voice cuts into my thoughts.
“She’s going,” Krina says for me.
Going to the Battle is this last thing I want to do. I want to say no to them. I should be able to, but my mouth hangs open, unable to form the word. I don’t know if it’s Annie’s innocent smile, my overwhelming guilt, or Krina’s decisive tone, but I respond instead with, “Fine. We can go.”
Even though it sounds like pure hell.
Chapter Fifty-Three
“BALLAD OF BIG NOTHING”
—ELLIOTT SMITH
That night I decide to call Levi. Well, “decide” is the wrong word. It doesn’t feel like a conscious choice. It feels like my body is doing everything on its own—reaching into my pocket to pull out my cell phone, pulling me into my bedroom and shutting the door, dialing the number that I deleted but still have memorized.
It’s only when the phone is ringing that I realize I have no idea what I’m going to say to him. I haven’t thought the plan out that far in advance. I almost hang up. In the silence before Levi picks up, I’m morbidly curious about how I’m going to handle this.
Moments later I hear a click and it’s Levi, crackling through the phone speaker. “Victoria?”
My stomach slams into my throat. I wasn’t expecting to react so physically to the sound of his voice.
“Victoria?” he repeats.
I hold the phone away from me, get myself together, then bring it back to my ear. “I’m here. Hi.”
“Hi. . . . How are you?”
“I’m great,” I lie. “Really great. You?”
“I’m doing okay,” he says. The question of why I’m calling lingers in the air.
“How’s your new girlfriend?” I blurt out. Apparently, I’m over playing it cool. Well, why should I? I played it cool throughout our entire relationship, and in the end it got me stepped on.
“Oh . . . ,” Levi starts. “She’s not . . . we’re just . . .”
If I weren’t so hurt right now, I would enjoy making Levi stumble over his words like this.
“Don’t bother explaining,” I say. “It’s not why I called.”
I pray he doesn’t ask me why I did, because I have no answer for him. Instead, there’s silence, always that silence between us that I tried to ignore.
“I need to know something,” I say, finally being the one to break it.
“Okay,” he says.
“Did you cheat on me during that band trip? Did you break up with me for her?”
“It wasn’t like that, Victoria, I swear. Beth and I have been friends for a long time.”
Beth. She has a name.
“It hurt, Levi. We’d been broken up for a week.”
“We’re not official or anything,” he counters.
“You look pretty official to me.”
“I mean . . .” I can hear his hesitation over the phone. “I did develop feelings for her, but . . .”
Ouch. It hurts more than I expect. I want to ask if he developed feelings for her while we were still together, but I’m not sure I can stomach the answer.
Instead I ask, a little pathetically, “Did I mean anything to you?”
“Of course you meant something to me. It just . . . it wasn’t working.”
&nb
sp; “Because I’m not like Beth?” I say her name like it’s acid on my tongue.
“Beth had nothing to do with it.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Victoria . . .” I hear him take a breath. “Do you think I liked being your security blanket?”
My body turns cold. “What are you talking about?”
“You can act like our breakup came out of nowhere, but the truth is we were over before we started.”
“That might be true for you, but . . .” I trail off, Krina’s words echoing in my head. You both played a part. Even if you won’t admit it.
“I pulled the plug,” says Levi, “but you hurt me, too. Do you know how much I liked you?”
I hurt him?
“I’m sorry,” I reply, dumbfounded. “I didn’t know . . . I don’t know why we didn’t work.” I lean my head back and stare at the chipped paint on my ceiling, listening to Levi sigh into the phone.
“Probably because you never looked at me the way you look at Strand,” he says finally.
I grip the phone so tightly my knuckles turn white. Levi knows. He knew before I did.
I could deny it right now. Pretend that he’s imagining things. But I’m tired of pretending. This is the most honest conversation I’ve had in a long time.
“I didn’t want to like Strand,” I say. There’s a certain relief in admitting it out loud. “I don’t want to. It just happened.”
“Well . . . there’s nothing holding you back now.”
There is, I want to say. You. Debaser. Me.
Annie.
“You haven’t said anything to him, have you?” I ask.
“Of course not. He hasn’t spoken to me since we broke up.”
It hits me then that I’m not the only one suffering from our breakup. Levi may have been the dumper, but at least he was honest enough to end things. It takes bravery to admit it when something comfortable isn’t working. I certainly wasn’t brave enough to do it. As a result, he lost his best friend and his band.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, and I mean it. We both messed things up. “I was a crappy girlfriend.”
“Well, I got you tights for Valentine’s Day, so I’m not winning any awards myself.”
I start giggling, a little bit at first. Then I picture myself opening the bag on Valentine’s Day, full of hope before pulling out those tights. I double over, laughing so hard that my sides ache. Levi laughs too, making his coughing sound, which, surprisingly, I’ve missed.
“I actually thought you would like them,” he says.
“Levi, they were terrible!”
“It could have been worse.”
“I guess. You could have bought me a vacuum cleaner or some shoe polish or something.”
“See?”
“And the truth is,” I say, pulling open my drawer to inspect the tights I hid in the corner, “I really did need a new pair.”
The laughter trickles off, and the ensuing silence doesn’t bother me when I realize I’m not responsible for filling it. For the first time in a long time, I’m feeling something close to fine.
“It’s weird, right?” Levi says. “That Battle of the Boroughs is tomorrow night and we’re not playing?”
“Yeah. It’s weird . . . it’s sad.”
“Have you given any thought to maybe . . . getting the band together again? We could have a shot next year.”
If I were still his girlfriend, I might feel annoyed that, as usual, his number-one priority is the band.
I’m not his girlfriend, though. I’m just me. Victoria. It’s kind of a beautiful thing to not have to care anymore.
“We’ll see what happens,” I say.
Chapter Fifty-Four
“DO YOU REALIZE??”
—THE FLAMING LIPS
Cafe Wha?, the club where Battle of the Boroughs is held, is smoke-filled and packed with what looks like the entire population of New York City. It’s a legendary venue, once graced by the likes of Bob Dylan, Jimmy Hendrix, and Bruce Springsteen. As soon as I set foot inside, I regret my decision to go. I’m not worthy of this place. I tried to tell Annie it would make me feel worse about the demise of Debaser, but as usual, she wouldn’t listen to me. Annie knows best and all.
Even through the wall of bodies blocking the club’s entrance, I spot Levi right away. I don’t know why I’m surprised to see him here. He’s been talking about the Battle since the day we met. Just because we’re not performing doesn’t mean he would miss it.
His arm is slung around Beth’s shoulder and she’s looking up at him adoringly. He catches my eye before I can pretend not to have seen him and offers me a wave with the hand that isn’t around Beth.
I’m not fully on board the Levi train just yet, but I’ve stopped harboring a desire to see him killed or horribly maimed, which is an improvement. He was my first kiss, my first date, my first boyfriend, and, for better or worse, none of that can be erased.
I wave back because I think we’re supposed to be friendly again, or at least at the point where we acknowledge each other’s existence in public.
Past the crowd and right in front of the stage are Annie and Krina. Krina’s Mohawk is spiked extra high tonight.
“Levi’s here,” I tell them in greeting after I squeeze through the crowd.
Annie wrinkles her nose. “Ick. Really? Is he with that tart of his?”
“Tart?” Krina echoes. “Are you sixty years old?”
“ ‘Tart’ is a perfectly fitting word to describe her.”
Krina rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Tarty or not, I think Victoria is being cool about the situation.”
I smile wanly. I’m undeserving of such high praise. Krina won’t think I’m so cool when she finds out that I kissed Strand. I’m the real tart here. Will I lose Krina’s friendship too? Is it possible that one kiss can sever all my ties at Evanston?
“I don’t know if I can stay,” I say to them. I glance at the exit door, which looks especially warm and inviting right now.
“Come on, Vi, it’ll be fun.” Annie looks at me with wide, pleading eyes.
“It’s depressing. I have to see my ex with his new girlfriend, and then I have to sit through a competition we were supposed to be a part of.”
And worst of all, I add silently to myself, watch you be with the boy I might love.
The idea of performing here, in an actual venue, never seemed real until now. The lights, the crowd, the high stage . . . this is the venue I’ve always imagined.
And I blew it. In typical Victoria fashion.
“Let’s just stay for a little bit,” Annie insists. “If you want to leave after a few songs, we’ll leave.”
A tap on the microphone interrupts the conversation. Annie pulls me beside her, her fingernails digging into my arm to hold me in place. A long-haired man with tattoos poking out of his shirtsleeves is onstage welcoming us to the sixth annual Battle of the Boroughs. He launches into the history of the show and what the tradition means to the city before listing some of the famous musical acts that the competition has launched.
As he drones on, I think about how nothing worked out the way it was meant to. Our band was supposed to take the stage as one unit tonight, not watch from the audience, scattered in pieces.
The other thought, the one that constantly pokes through even when I try to bury it, is Strand. Where is he? Is he coming tonight? Does he regret the kiss? Does he hate me for leaving the band in the lurch? Did something happen between him and Annie?
Why can’t I stop thinking?
The first act is a guy named Dragos wearing a long trench coat even though it’s ninety degrees inside the club. One side of his head is shaved, and the other side is a grown-out mane of dyed-black hair. He steps behind a DJ booth and begins to play a variety of squeaky vocal samples and syncopated rhythms. It’s . . . not good. The crowd is welcoming though, and they cheer him on. Throughout the piece, Dragos closes his eyes and bounces up and down like a man possessed.
<
br /> Annie dances around, still clutching my arm. Krina watches Dragos onstage with a bored expression.
I clap politely when the noise ends and can’t help but think, Debaser could have done better.
A group of middle-aged men take the stage next, all with the same long greasy hair and bushy beards.
“First a Skrillex wannabe, now aging hippies?” Krina groans as the band begins to play. “This lineup sucks.”
Not just any aging hippies, I realize as the spotlight washes over the lead singer, who is significantly younger than his bandmates. He radiates calm and croons with a clear, pitch-perfect voice.
“Oh my God, is that—” Krina begins.
“Yes,” I finish, staring in disbelief. “It’s Greg.”
Annie stands on her tiptoes to get a better view. “Who’s Greg?”
“He tried out for the band before Vi,” Krina says.
I stay quiet, listening. Seeing Greg up there is another twist of the knife. I wonder if I’ve accidentally fallen into an alternate universe, one where everyone is getting what I was too scared to take for myself. Annie, who has Strand. Greg, who has my spot in Battle of the Boroughs. And here I am, a sad spectator to the life that could have been mine.
“Vi, they’re playing Creedence!” Annie cries over the soft acoustic chords. “Remember?”
I try to smile. Years ago, my dad bought a Creedence Clearwater Revival greatest hits album that would become the soundtrack to our summer weekends at the Jersey Shore. Listening to Greg, I remember Dad, straining his voice to hit John Fogerty’s notes; iced lemonade and the smell of fried dough emanating from the boardwalk; Annie and I kicking up sand as we turned cartwheels on the beach. Matty had a terrible crush on Annie back then. He built her elaborate sand castles and Annie humored him, telling him they could live there as king and queen of New Jersey.
Annie throws her arm around my shoulder and belts the song’s chorus. Her hair, worn loose again tonight, tickles my cheek, and my guilt turns unbearable. If I hold it in any longer, I’ll self-detonate.
“Annie?” I interrupt. “I have to tell you something . . .”
The Victoria in My Head Page 27