Tone Deaf

by Olivia Rivers

  She clears her throat and shakes her head, like she’s trying to shoo away the past. She sits a little taller and continues. “My instructor called me a prodigy the moment he saw me first play. He had me get an IQ test, and I scored within the ninety-ninth percentile. I was admitted into Mensa, and from there, things just took off.

  “I started with little performances, but I quickly started getting into larger venues. People were interested in seeing someone as young as me perform. Within a few years, I managed to get invited to play at Carnegie with a group of other students who were considered prodigies. After that, I could pretty much get into any venue I wanted.”

  She’s breathing fast now, like the memories are starting to overwhelm her. Without thinking, I slip my hand into hers. Ali jumps, startled by the contact, but she doesn’t pull away. I’ve never noticed it before, but she has the hands of a musician—wide palms and long, delicate fingers.

  “I loved it. And my mom was awesome about the whole thing,” Ali murmurs as she runs her thumb over the back of my hand. “I mean, she could have exploited me to make money. But she only let me perform when I wanted to, and she made sure I also focused on things like school and Girl Scouts. You know, normal stuff for kids. She didn’t want me getting a big head.”

  A long moment passes, and she doesn’t say anything else.

  “What happened?” I ask again.

  “Right about the time I turned ten, I started getting really bad headaches,” Ali murmurs. “My doctors figured out I had a brain tumor. It was benign and not all that dangerous, but it was right against my temporal lobe—the part of the brain that lets people hear.

  “If it got any bigger, it would have destroyed my hearing, and my mom didn’t want that to happen. We didn’t have insurance, but she still decided to pay for an operation to have it removed right away.”

  I hold her hand tighter, silently encouraging her to finish the story.

  Ali takes another deep breath and then says, “When I woke up from the surgery, I couldn’t hear a thing. Ends up, the tumor was worse than they’d thought. They had to cut away part of my brain to get it all out. Chances are, the tumor will never come back, but the surgery left me permanently deaf.”

  A tear slips down her cheek, and she quickly brushes it away. “A nurse wrote all this down for me to explain what had happened. All I remember is sobbing, and thinking how creepy it was that I couldn’t hear my own crying. I just kept asking for my mom, but she wasn’t there.”

  “She left you?” I say, trying not to show my surprise.

  “No,” Ali says, shaking her head fiercely. “It wasn’t her fault. She was so stressed about my surgery, and she’d barely gotten any sleep, and . . .” Another tear escapes, and this time Ali’s hand trembles as she scrubs it away. “There was a café right down the street from the hospital, and my mom walked there to get some coffee. A drunk driver hit her. It was a freak accident, but by the time my surgery was over, she was in critical condition.

  “My mom was in a coma for a couple of weeks after that, and then she died, and . . . well, you know the rest. I was sent to live with my dad. And here I am now.”

  I shake my head, having no idea what to say. How the hell am I supposed to reply to that kind of story? Saying sorry doesn’t cut it.

  Ali shakes her head just the tiniest bit. “Sometimes, I still want to blame myself for it. If I hadn’t needed that surgery, my mom never would have been on that street, and she never would have gotten hit.”

  “You can’t believe that,” I quickly sign. “Fate’s a bitch, but that’s not your fault. And I think that if your mom had to die, that’s probably exactly how she would have wanted to go. Taking care of you. Loving you.”

  A fresh flood of tears trickles down her cheeks, but she doesn’t break eye contact with me as she signs, “You know, you’re the first person to ever tell me that.”

  I clear my throat uncertainly.

  “So,” she says slowly, “did I answer your question?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you regretting asking?”

  “I don’t know.” I leave it at that, unsure how to say the rest of what’s going through my mind: that it’s thrilling to finally understand her better. But, at the same time, I’m hurting from the pain I imagine she feels every day.

  Ali lets her gaze wander to the notebook I dropped next to her. She stares at it for a long moment, and her smile takes on a slightly impish look. “So did you like my adjustments?”

  I cup her face in both my hands, stroking my thumb over her cheek. For once, she doesn’t pull away, and I swear the pain fades from her eyes. Now there’s a gentleness in her expression, timid and hesitant, but trusting. She’s let her guard down because of me. Maybe even for me.

  I lean forward, until the gap between us is closed, and press my lips against hers.

  At first she freezes, unsure how to react to my kiss. But then she kisses me back. Her lips are soft and delicate, but there’s a strength to her kiss that surprises me and makes me want more. More of the kiss, more of her lips, more of Ali.

  I twine my fingers in her hair and gently press her closer. I half expect her to pull away, but instead she reaches out and wraps her arms around my neck. Her skin is warm and smooth against mine.

  Our kiss seems to last forever, but I’m still not satisfied when I pull back. I rest my forehead against hers and smile at her, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. She smiles back, the kind of smile that says she’s happy. Not just satisfied, not just content, but happy. She quietly murmurs, “Can I assume that means you liked the changes I made?”

  I pull her close to my chest, so that our hearts are pressed against each other, and I can feel the rapid pattering of her heartbeat. Her breath is warm against my collarbone, and her fingers trace the edge of my scar.

  “They’re perfect,” I whisper in her ear. I kiss her forehead and then pull away a little so I can sign, “Absolutely perfect.”

  22

  JACE

  KILLER COMES BOUNDING into the RV shortly after Ali drifts off to sleep. I’m a little worried about her sleeping so much, but I guess it’s to be expected. She probably hasn’t gotten a full night’s sleep in years, not if she’s been living in an abusive home. I still remember trying to force myself into fitful sleep, holding my breath as I listened for any sign that my dad had woken up from his drug-induced stupor. And then there was the first time I spent the night at Killer’s place—I’d slept for fifteen hours straight, and had only woken up when Killer tried taking my pulse to make sure I wasn’t in a coma.

  “Dude!” Killer says as he comes skidding to a stop in front of me. “Seriously, what is wrong with you?”

  I pull Ali’s sleeping form a little closer. What’s his problem? If anyone needs to be more discreet, it’s him and Arrow.

  I open my mouth to say this, but then I realize Killer isn’t talking about Ali. He’s pointing to my mouth and gaping at me with an exaggerated expression of shock. Typical Killer.

  “What?” I mutter, even though I know exactly why he’s surprised.

  “You’re actually smiling. Do I need to call 9-1-1 or something? You’re not going to drop dead on me, are you?”

  “You don’t need to act so damn shocked,” I say. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me smile before.”

  He ignores me and points excitedly at Ali’s sleeping form. “Are you two together now?”

  I nod and brace myself for the wave of uneasiness I’m sure is about to hit me. I’m not the type to “be” with a girl, at least not for longer than one night. Being with someone means handing my emotions over to them, and that never ends prettily.

  But the uneasiness doesn’t come. As hesitant as I am to believe it, I think a relationship with Ali might actually be worth the potential pain.

  Holy shit. Did I just use the “r” word?

  Ali stirs in my arms and nuzzles closer to me in her sleep, a soft smile on her mouth. I trail my fingertip along her full
lips, tracing the contours of her smile. I’ve had hundreds, probably even thousands, of girls flash me smiles. But none of them have been as pretty as Ali’s. Hers is hesitant, like she isn’t used to happiness, and it’s hard not to share her good mood when I know I’m the reason for the gentle expression.

  The RV door opens and slams shut, and Arrow walks into the room. The second he sees Ali curled up in my arms, his expression darkens. I instinctively tighten my grasp on her.

  He shakes his head in disbelief. “What . . . ?”

  “Don’t even start,” I snap.

  He throws his hands up in defeat and sits right next to Killer on the other couch. “I’m just saying—”

  “That they’re absolutely adorable together!” Killer interrupts, clapping his hands together excitedly.

  I raise an eyebrow at Arrow. “You let Killer have caffeine, didn’t you?”

  “Two mochas,” Arrow admits with a grimace. Then he points back at Ali. “But we’re talking about your mistake, not mine.”

  “She’s not any kind of mistake, Arrow,” I say, doing my best to keep my tone calm. I’m pretty sure I fail, because his eyes narrow a little.

  “I’m just saying this is happening awfully fast,” Arrow says.

  “It’s not like this is random,” I argue. “I’ve been around her constantly for a full week.”

  “Which is much longer than he knows most girls,” Killer chirps.

  I ignore him and continue, “Plus, I’m not sleeping with her or anything.”

  Killer nods enthusiastically. “Which just shows how special this one is.”

  I grit my teeth and shoot Killer a glare. “Dude, you’re not helping.”

  He holds his hands up in an innocent gesture, but the smirk on his lips tells the real story. I flip him off and then say to Arrow, “You have no reason to not like her.”

  “No reason?” Arrow runs a hand through his shaggy hair and shakes his head. “Jace, you’re being delusional. I mean, taking her in is one thing, but being in a relationship with her? That’s practically begging for the cops to accuse you of kidnapping, or worse.”

  “I’ve already told you, I don’t care.”

  “Clearly,” Arrow says with a scoff. “If you cared, you’d stay away from her.”

  “Not everything in my life has to revolve around the band,” I snap.

  “I’m not talking about the band. I’m talking about Ali. I think we all know you’re not healthy for her. Hell, you’re not healthy for any girl.”

  I open my mouth, waiting for a retort to come springing out. But there’s only my stunned silence. He’s right. Of course I’m not healthy for her, and of course Arrow is so annoyingly, stupidly right.

  But it’s still not enough to make me give her up. “I can change,” I say slowly, finally finding my voice. “I can figure out how to make a relationship work. But I’m not changing the fact that we’re together. So get over it, Arrow. Either that, or get out of here.”

  “I already told you I’m not just going to leave you,” Arrow says with a sigh.

  “I know.”

  He points an accusing finger at me. “Then don’t make me do anything I regret, okay? I’ve already promised that I’ll stand by you for this, but if you hurt that girl or the band, it’s over.”

  “What’s over?”

  “Everything,” Arrow says. “You walk a fine line between jackass and unredeemable, and if you cross that line, I’m not going to put up with you anymore.”

  My eyes widen. Is he actually threatening to ditch? To leave the band, leave our careers, leave me? I glance down at Ali, and for a brief moment, I wonder if she’s worth all of this. Then I shake my head and grit my teeth.

  “I understand.”

  Arrow gives a short nod. “Good.” With that, he lets out a tired sigh and throws an arm over his boyfriend’s shoulders.

  There’s a long, awkward silence. Then Killer hesitantly asks, “Does this mean we get to double-date?”

  Arrow and I manage to stretch out the silence about three more seconds, as we stare incredulously at Killer. Then Arrow bursts out laughing, and even I can’t help but chuckle a little. Trust Killer to take that away from our conversation. I shake my head at my bandmate, wishing I could be as carefree as he is.

  But then who would worry about Ali?

  23

  ALI

  I SPEND MOST of the next day hiding out in the RV’s living area. With all the vehicles back in commission, Tone Deaf’s caravan travels into Albuquerque in the morning and gets settled at the stadium they’ll be performing at. They were supposed to have a rehearsal of the concert yesterday, but thanks to the traveling delays, it didn’t happen.

  Which means Jace and other members of the crew have been scrambling around all afternoon, squeezing in a rehearsal and last-minute equipment checks before their concert tonight. The room with the couches is the comfiest spot around, so I hang out in there and just try to keep out of sight and out of the way. I fill the morning by working on Jace’s social media profiles, updating his links and answering a few fan messages. But then I notice a tweet linking to a news article about my disappearance, and I quickly close out of the browser, not even wanting to think about all the people searching for me. I find a blank notebook to distract myself with and spend the afternoon sketching the cityscape outside the window.

  Around four o’clock, Jace comes into the RV carrying a bag of Chinese takeout in one hand and his guitar in the other. I join him in the kitchen and scarf down a plate of orange chicken and noodles. Jace doesn’t say much, and he only picks at his vegetable stir-fry before he grabs his guitar and starts practicing chords. He’s clearly nervous, which is kind of cute. Here he is, the lead singer of a renowned band, and he still gets stage fright before concerts.

  “You should eat more,” I sign, pointing to his plate.

  He strums his guitar, his long fingers finding a chord with casual precision. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Then you should at least rest before the concert,” I sign. “You look like hell.”

  A smirk lifts his lips, although his expression remains haggard and stressed. “How is it that I ended up with the one girl in the world who thinks I look like hell?”

  “Because you value honesty in a relationship,” I sign, giving him an overly sweet smile.

  He sticks his tongue out at me, but finally puts down the guitar. With a flick of his hand, he gestures for me to follow him as he heads for the living area. “Come on,” he signs. “We could both use a nap.”

  “I’ve been resting all day.”

  “And it’s clearly given you way too much time to worry about me. I’m fine. I just always get nerves before I perform. But if you really want to make me feel better, come take a nap with me.”

  I give a relenting sigh and trail after him into the living area. I pause by the couch, but he grabs my hand and tugs me toward his bedroom. A flare of panic rises in my chest, and I try to calm it by taking a deep breath. I place my hands on my hips and do my best to put on a fierce expression. Jace’s smirk tells me that I fail miserably.

  “I’m not having sex with you,” I snap.

  He holds up his hands innocently. Then he quickly signs, “I wasn’t expecting you to.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “You’re trying to lead me into your bedroom.”

  “I wasn’t going to make you nap on the couch. Believe it or not, I’m a big boy, and sometimes I actually share things. Like my bed.” I give him an accusing look and he chuckles, a mischievous glint showing in his pale eyes. “I can share a bed without having sex.”

  If I’ve learned anything about Jace in the short span I’ve known him, it’s that he’s honest. Probably too honest for his own good. And he gave me no reason not to trust him when we slept together on the couch, so I take his hand as he offers it to me again. He keeps his grasp gentle as he leads me into the back, and I’m struck again by the unique smell of his bedroom—faint cologne and wood varnish. I decide
I kind of like it.

  Jace leads me over to the bed. It’s been made, but judging by the way the blankets are all rumpled in the corners, I have a feeling it usually isn’t. Which is actually a little surprising, considering how pristine the rest of the RV is. Actually, now that I take the time to really look around, I realize there are a lot of things different about this room. It’s pretty messy, with dirty clothes kicked into the corner, and his nightstand littered with notebooks and novels.

  Jace has a stack of mystery books there, and I almost laugh as I notice a sci-fi novel resting next to them. Killer must be rubbing off on Jace more than he thinks. Under the sci-fi book is a romance novel, which makes my eyebrows raise. Jace rolls his eyes again and tugs me onto the bed, where we both sit on the edge.

  “Romance books?” I sign, unable to keep an amused smile from my lips.

  He blushes. Actually blushes. I laugh a little as I watch his cheeks redden. “They’re good for songwriting,” he explains. “Popular songs are all about romance, and I kind of fail in that arena. So I try to learn from books.”

  I gently kiss his cheek. “You don’t always fail.”

  He shrugs, like he isn’t sure how to respond to that, and I lean into his warm shoulder and close my eyes. His arms wrap around my waist, and for a moment, I’m able to pretend that everything is okay. That I’m not on the run, that I don’t have to be scared of my dad, that my hearing is still intact and my mom is still alive.

  He lies down on the bed and tugs me down too, so I’m lying beside him. I rest my head on his chest, and he gently strokes my hair, lulling me close to sleep. Just as I’m about to drift off, I feel warm breath and vibrations close to my ear. I open my eyes and look up, finding Jace smiling down at me sheepishly.

  “Did you say something?” I ask.

  He nibbles at his lip, clearly debating whether or not to repeat what he’d said. “I said you’re beautiful.”

  I blush, and he laughs gently. I think back to the first time I watched him laugh, and how contemptuous and angry it had felt. Now it just seems . . . happy. I smile as he brushes his thumbs over my reddened cheeks.