by Amy Spalding
I shrug, even though that’s stupid over the phone. “I got used to it. From my stepmom, I mean. But, like, only that I expected it. It’s not like it ever felt any better.”
I say it before I think about it too much. My old life isn’t something I want people at New City to know about, because its disappearance is pretty much required for me to seem normal. But sometimes it’s like Sai isn’t part of my New City world at all. My brain stores him somewhere else, somewhere I can’t even pinpoint.
“That sucks,” he says. “Dunno. Still think maybe you got to a better place with it than me.”
“Maybe so,” I said.
“I only have two more years,” he said. “Less than. Gotta get through school, and I’ll be okay. But it—” His voice breaks only a little but I feel it like I’m being choked. “It gets worse. He hates me a lot more than he used to. And don’t try to be nice and say crap like I’m wrong, he doesn’t hate me, I’m his son so he doesn’t hate me. Trust me. He does.”
“I wasn’t going to. I was going to say I was sorry.”
He’s silent for a while. It’s a good thing that thanks to my mother I’ve grown comfortable with silence, so that I don’t blurt out anything annoying like are you there? can you hear me? “Thanks, Dev.”
Out of nowhere, I think about nights like this a billion years ago, or really just a few months back. I wish I had a grimy old key to a music room to offer out to Sai right now. Those nights I slipped off with Justine saved something in me. It seems silly that Sai could need that kind of salvation, but I still wish I had it to give to him.
It’s weird how at this moment, it’s not Justine but the key that I miss—well, what the key brought me, because technically the key is strung on a ribbon and tucked into my jewelry box. Back when the key was the only escape we had—me from Dad and Tracie, her from an empty house because while her parents were great, they weren’t always around a lot—I figured I’d never feel so connected to anyone as I did to her. And now all of it is gone: the key, the connection, and me.
Chapter Twelve
Things I know about Reece Malcolm:
26. She knows she’s someone who has to be put up with.
27. She trusts me enough to help her out (a little).
My previous schools didn’t usually do callbacks. Even if there were a lot of people who wanted to be in the musical, I think teachers usually found it easy to choose who was good enough to be cast. (Sometimes I was pretty sure they picked the show based around who they wanted to cast.) But at New City we’re being whittled down, and even though maybe it’s silly, it makes me feel closer to someday doing this for real.
Everyone in every choir seems distracted, but Mr. Deans doesn’t call us out on it, just makes us sing pieces five and six times instead of two and three, and I know he must understand. At lunch (inside again) I don’t bother to eat and instead stare at my sheet music. It’s not that I’m nervous, but I have to know I did everything I could to be ready.
“Hey.” Elijah sits down next to me with a soda and a sandwich. “You need to be alone to get into the callback zone?”
“I don’t have a callback zone,” I say. “And hi.”
He kisses me, very softly, totally okay on school grounds. I still hope no one sees us. “I expected some kind of haze. Glazed eyes, foaming at the mouth, the whole thing.”
“You are weird,” I say. “I’m actually totally calm about auditions.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it.”
“Shut up.” I grin and look back to my music. I think about last night, and my mother’s computer-covered plate while Brad and I started dinner. I guess we’d both postpone food for art. (Also lots of food—especially anything with dairy—can make your throat mucusy. Gross but true.) “Sorry I couldn’t talk last night. I had sort of a voice lesson in the afternoon, so I still had all my homework left.”
Also obviously I talked to Sai for like an hour but that has nothing to do with anything. Right?
“It’s cool,” he says. “Maybe you can hang out tonight, though?”
“I can ask my mother, sure.” I do want to be alone with him again, where we won’t have to worry about anyone seeing us kiss, where I can let myself be someone who kisses a boy she doesn’t really know but—maybe breaking laws of logic—likes a lot anyway.
After school we crowd into the Music Hall, but it’s a much smaller group than last week. Even though the list was publicly hung in the hallway yesterday morning, there’s still a lot of scoping out the competition. My whole lunch table—minus Elijah, of course—has made it this far. It makes me feel kind of special until I remember whatever’s going on with Elijah means they’re not really my lunch table anymore.
“Whoa,” Travis says, as the door opens and Elijah slips in. “Devvie, did your boyfriend get a callback?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I say really quickly, hoping that Lissa and Mira, who are sitting on the opposite side of the room, didn’t hear that. Well, or Sai. Except of course Sai heard. He’s sitting right next to me.
“Hey.” Elijah walks over. “I had to see it for myself, you actually calm.”
“She’s an old pro,” Sai says, resting his hand on the back of my chair. Old?
“Yeah, I know,” Elijah says.
“You’re not in the choir room with her every day,” Sai says.
“I still know her,” Elijah says, in the sexy way he says things sometimes. I really hope Sai doesn’t think Elijah means know know.
“What are you doing after this?” Elijah asks.
“Ooh, coffee, maybe,” Travis says. “We could all compare notes on—”
“I was,” Elijah says, “talking to Devan.”
I do my best to subtly glance over at Lissa and Mira. Their eyes are not so subtly trained on us. “Um. My mom’s picking me up. When I’m finished. But, um, later, maybe? After dinner?”
“Yeah, just call me.”
I nod, feeling my face flood with heat as he retreats from the room.
“Devvie.” Travis shakes his head. “You have no game.”
“What’s she need game for?” Sai asks. “That guy’s got it bad.”
“Text him and tell him you’ll definitely hang out later,” Travis says. “And then just let your mom know.”
“She doesn’t have to,” Sai says. “Not if she doesn’t want to.”
“Lissa Anderson, Jasmine Murray, Devan Malcolm.”
“That’s me. See you guys.” I get to my feet, way way way grateful for the interruption. It would be better, obviously, if Lissa wasn’t being called at the same time.
They call Jasmine into the choir room first, of course, so I’m left alone in the quiet hallway with Lissa.
“Hey,” she says.
“Um, hi.”
She nods, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I can’t believe how E and Sai were acting in there.” She nods toward the waiting room of sorts. “Peeing all over you.”
“What?”
Lissa looks back to me, a smile slowly sliding across her face. “Marking their territory. That’s what I meant.”
“Oh!”
“It’s Mira’s joke; I just lifted it.” She shrugs a little. “So you’re not hanging out with E after this?”
I shake my head.
“Wanna go to Starbucks?” She leans in a little closer, drops her voice down to a whisper. “Promise I won’t invite Mira along, okay?”
I don’t think I can refuse her after spending so much time kissing her okay-not-technically-boyfriend-but-still.
Jasmine walks out into the hallway and points to me. “They want you next.”
“Good luck,” Lissa tells me, which is nicer than I feel like I deserve.
I walk into the room, and it’s the same teachers as last time. Hardly any time passes before the accompanist begins, and I try to forget about how much hinges on this song. I even try to forget all the amazing advice Kate gave me, because I don’t want it to clog my brain. I just sing.
Afterward I wait in the hallway for Lissa, and she walks out with her mouth in a straight line. I’ve seriously never seen Lissa look anything but happy.
“Are you okay?” I ask, even though maybe I shouldn’t acknowledge anything.
“I hit a couple bad notes,” she says. “A couple.”
“A couple isn’t bad,” I say.
“Enough people will try out without missing any,” she says. “It’s okay, though; I don’t think I’m the lead type. I’m not even sure I want to be in a musical, but I felt like I should at least try.”
I text my mother that I have a ride home, and then walk outside with Lissa to her car. We’re quiet and I still have no idea what to expect.
“I’m sorry,” I say, because I am. Regardless of anything. “If I shouldn’t have—”
“Listen, to be honest I’m not a huge fan of E going out with you, but . . . ” Lissa shrugs. “Obviously we had our chance together, and it kind of fizzled. And I knew he still liked me and I like him—as a person, you know. But I didn’t want to go out with him. So who am I to say what he can’t do now?”
I sort out the information, piles in my brain.
“And, Devan, you are lucky, because I was the first girl he kissed, and he was awful. You have me to thank for any fun you’ve had as far as that’s concerned.”
I laugh, against my better judgment. “Thank you?”
“Oh, you are welcome.” She turns her car into the parking lot behind Starbucks and slides right into one of the first spots. “You could have talked to me, you know. It’s so weird you were acting so scared of everyone.”
I know I shouldn’t say it’s because a lot of the time I basically am scared of everyone. Time to work on my wild squirrel mantra more.
We walk into Starbucks and get into line to order. I check my phone to see if my mother has responded, and she has. Of course it’s fine. Be home for dinner if you can because Brad’s making burgers on the grill and they will amaze you. xo
“Do you think burgers could amaze anyone?” I ask without thinking about it. Then I feel really dorky. “Sorry I asked that; my mother just sent me a weird text.”
Lissa looks over my shoulder and laughs. For a moment it’s like I’m two thousand miles away with Justine. It’s surprisingly nice. “How will burgers amaze you? Do they do magic?”
“Brad is a really good cook,” I say. “My mother’s boyfriend.”
“You’re lucky. My parents are both terrible cooks.”
She steps up to order, but I kind of push in so that I can pay for her drink, too. I feel like I should do something for sort-of-not-really stealing her sort-of-not-really-boyfriend.
“I felt so weird when it happened,” I say once we have our drinks and we sit down at the only open table. “Like he was kissing me and I kept thinking about you and how I was a terrible person.”
“Well, definitely don’t think about me when you’re kissing E,” she says. “God, don’t stress. Seriously.”
Then she laughs kind of hysterically. “I guess it’s pointless telling you not to do that.”
“Ugh, kind of,” I say.
“Yeah, E and I had . . . something. We didn’t not have something. But if you like him . . . ”
“You’re being too nice about this,” I say, as if I’m an authority. Maybe people act like this all the time, who knows. “I just feel—”
“How you feel kind of doesn’t matter,” she says. “Not to sound like a bitch, but, you know? If you’re worried about me, and I say it’s okay . . .”
I’m not sure I could be this reasonable, considering I have way less claim to Sai than Lissa does to Elijah—well, no claim at all, let’s be honest—and I still hate Nicole for being his girlfriend. “You have a point, yeah.”
“You and Mira are kind of the same,” she says.
“What?”
“Ha, sorry,” she says, which I guess means I look as alarmed as I feel. “It’s just that she freaks out over everything, too. You admit it, which is a big difference. Mira’s a lot crazier than she used to be.”
“I hate that she hates me.” It’s way more honest than I intended, but there it sits, right in the air, between us.
“She hates everyone,” Lissa says. “Even me, and we’ve been friends since kindergarten.”
“I guess to be fair she was kind of nice yesterday,” I say. “Nice for Mira at least.”
“See? Don’t take it personally.”
I’m not sure I can manage, but I know it’s good advice.
We finish our Frappuccinos and then walk back outside to Lissa’s car. I feel about twenty times better than I did this morning, with the callback behind me and Lissa clearly not mad.
“Do you still want to go together to E’s show on Friday?” Lissa asks as she pulls up to my house.
“Um.” I do want to, but I don’t know if I should want to. Is it weird? Is it weirder not to? But here’s the thing: I want to be Lissa’s friend. And if I’m going to follow Kate’s mantra, I have to reach out. Right? “If that’s okay with you.”
Lissa shrugs like it’s a no-brainer. “Definitely. And you have to tell me tomorrow if the burgers are literally magical.”
“Maybe they’ll all get letters from Hogwarts.”
We laugh, and I wave and get out of the car. My mother is working in the living room, but Brad is in the kitchen and recruits me to help. He teaches me how to make burgers, which is pretty easy even though touching raw meat is completely a little gross. It feels like a dumb thing to get hung up on when someone so nice is being so patient with me. And then it makes me think about how Brad will be a really good dad someday, if he wants to be, though I guess that would be if he and my mother break up. I can’t exactly imagine Reece Malcolm and kids would mix; I barely count, really.
After dinner (the hamburgers don’t perform magic or anything but it is incredible how amazing they taste), my mother says it’s fine if I want to hang out with Elijah, so I text him. I know I should probably spend a little more time on my homework or reviewing my callback in my head, but I don’t end up thinking about it nearly as much as I normally would. You think you know how you’ll react to anything, and then a boy shows up and kisses you, and some of that just vanishes. I wonder what else of me is waiting for life to erase it.
Elijah shows up a little while later and is polite to my mother and Brad, and I feel special that it’s for my benefit. Maybe it’s silly that I can still hardly believe a boy likes me—because to be honest lots of people end up being liked, and I can accept I’m not less special than all of them—but maybe it’s okay it feels rare and amazing.
Outside, in his car, we kiss once, twice, lose-track-of times. Until my brain kicks in full-strength and I remember a question I should have already asked.
“Um, hey.” I pull away from him. Just a little. Our cheeks are still kind of grazing. “How did Lissa and Mira find out?”
“Liss is my best friend.” He backs out of the driveway and pulls onto the street. “Of course I’ll tell her. As for Mira, Liss must have told her. You mind that I said something to Liss?”
“No,” I say. “I guess you could have told me you told her, though. I could have been prepared on Monday at school.”
“Don’t worry so much.” He reaches over and touches my hair before taking my hand. “You’re one of those people who’s gonna have a heart attack at twenty.”
“Shut up.” I shiver as he traces a couple of his fingertips over my palm. “If that’s true, you’ll feel bad when it happens.”
Elijah laughs. “True that. So you want to come over? I was thinking maybe since you’re so into music you could hear my band’s demo. Lame?”
“Totally not lame. I want to hear it. Can you play for me, too?”
“I mean, I can,” he says. “But bear in mind I play bass, so it’s just gonna be like dum dum dum dum dum dum dummmm over and over.”
“You totally have to then.”
“Then you have to act like it’s act
ually cool.”
Elijah’s mom is out, so at his house we head up to his room, since that’s where the bass as well as the demo CD are. And I feel myself getting nervous, because I’m in a boy’s bedroom where there is an actual bed and once you kiss someone, isn’t it assumed more will happen?
“Okay, you have to keep up your end of the deal.” He slides his black bass’s strap over his shoulder before plugging it into his amp. “I expect total groupie behavior.”
I pretend to rock out, head-banging to his playing, which, okay, is pretty lame without the other instruments. But he’s good, and now I get why he likes us theatre geeks, because at least we have passion for music in common.
“Okay, this’ll be better.” He puts the bass back on its stand and hits a few buttons on his computer. Music blares out of the speakers—punk, which I expected, but at least it isn’t just loud and fast, but melodic and fairly polished, too.
“You guys are really good,” I say.
“Thanks,” he says, pulling me out of the desk chair I was sitting in. Safer than the bed, right? “You should sing with us sometime.”
“Right, my voice is so suited to it.”
“Seriously,” he says. “You should stretch yourself, put yourself out there. Bet you’re capable of stuff you never even imagined.”
I kiss him for saying that, which leads to more kissing, and standing-up kissing eventually leads to sitting-down kissing, which—even though it’s on the bed—feels fine. Well, you know. More than fine.
“How was your callback?” he asks when there’s a lull in kissing. “Do you find out soon?”
“Pretty good. And, yeah, tomorrow morning.” My stomach flips a little thinking about that cast list hanging in the hall, how right now Mr. Deans or whoever must have already printed it, how if my name’s not on it I don’t know how I’ll get through the next few months at New City. “Do you guys have auditions and stuff in the music department?”
“At the end of the year before so we know what classes we’ll be in,” he says. “Some people try out to be in the orchestra for the musical but they don’t always do shows that need a bass. This one doesn’t. Last year I got to play for Spring Awakening, so that was cool.”