Tone Deaf

by Olivia Rivers

  I clutch the disposable phone close to my chest. It suddenly feels like a better present than the smartphone.

  “Thank you,” I say to Killer. Then I turn and grin at Jace. “I totally owe you.”

  He shrugs, but he looks away for a moment, and I know he’s hiding a smile. “You don’t owe me anything,” he signs as he turns back. “You’re obviously close to your friend. You should be able to talk to her, whether you’re on the run or not.”

  I nod and sign, “It means a lot. Thanks.”

  Before the moment can get any more sentimental, Jace nods toward the exit of the RV and nudges at Killer. “Come on,” he says. “Arrow’s going to be pissed if we’re late.”

  Killer heads toward the door and says over his shoulder to me, “You stay low, darling. I’ll see you later.”

  Jace pulls me back into a quick hug and then signs, “I’ll be back this evening, okay?”

  “Have fun,” I sign.

  He gently kisses the top of my head and then points to my phone. “You, too.”

  I smile at his back as he strides out the door. The moment they’re gone, I sit on one of the couches and flick open the disposable phone. Taking a shaky breath, I quickly enter in Avery’s number and start typing out a message. How mad is she going to be? I’ve had a perfectly good reason for not contacting her directly—with my dad’s experience as a cop, it’s just too likely that he’d find a way to fish info from Avery. Despite that, I can’t even imagine how upset she is right now.

  I make my text simple: Hey.

  Her reply comes only seconds later. whoever u r, u’d better have a good reason 4 waking me up this early.

  It’s Ali.

  omg r u ok?!?!?!

  I’m safe.

  ur sure???

  Positive.

  There’s a slight lag after that, and I know she’s fuming. Then the phone buzzes with a new text: where r u??

  I laugh a little. The truth is so bizarre, I don’t think she’d believe it. But it’s not like I can tell her, anyway.

  Somewhere safe, I text back.

  where?

  I can’t say.

  tell me dammit!!!

  I’m safe. That’s all I can tell you. I wish I could say more, but it could get us both in trouble.

  An entire minute passes without a reply from Avery. I start to feel dizzy, and I realize I’m holding my breath. I let it out in a whoosh just as another text comes in: u freaking ran away. without warning me or letting me help. wtf?!

  I didn’t have a choice.

  There’s another lag. Then, i no. that’s the only reason i’m gonna forgive u.

  I bite my lip. Really?

  of course really. ur my bestie. i love u 2 much 2 hate u.

  I read her text four times, relief spreading through me. I love you too, I text back.

  u’d better. now i need an update on ur life. tell me everything u can.

  I need to hear about you too. I miss you so freaking much it hurts.

  me 2. now spill. what’s going on?

  I tell her as much as I can: that I’m traveling somewhere, that I’m protected, and that I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time. At first, her responses are short, and I can tell she’s still upset at me for keeping so much from her. But by the time I get to the part about maybe-kinda-sorta falling for a guy, she replies with a bunch of OMGs and smileys. After that, the conversation flows just as easily as normal.

  The time stamp on the texts says we talk for three hours, but I swear it’s hardly three minutes. Avery fills me in on the details of the search my dad has launched for me—she says he’s exhausted all the local police resources, but he still has no idea where I might have gone. Relief settles in me as I read that; if my dad’s search has been so useless, hopefully he’ll give up soon.

  We’re on the subject of Jace again when I glance at the phone’s clock. It’s already eleven o’clock, and it’s a Saturday. I sigh, realizing what that means.

  You have work today, right? I text.

  I can practically hear her pain in the reply she sends: uggghhh. yes. damn u 4 reminding me.

  I can’t help but laugh a little. I guess that’s one good thing about being on the run—I don’t have to worry about dealing with a crappy summer job, like the one Avery got waitressing at a local café.

  TTYL, I text back.

  ugh. yeah. bye. A moment later, another text pops up. luv u! b safe! and hug ur mysterious crush 4 me. then remind him i’ll chop his balls off if he hurts u. ;)

  I smile and lean back on the couch, closing my eyes. I probably should be going stir-crazy, having been cooped up in this RV for so long, but I’m not anymore. Things might be cramped in here, but everything is comfortable and slightly insane and strangely enjoyable.

  Something taps my knee, and I snap my eyes open. Jon stands in front of the couch, his head tilted to the side as he stares down at me. I swallow hard as instinctual fear streaks through my veins, but I push it away with a deep breath. If Jace trusts Jon, then I can, too.

  “Hey,” I say. “I didn’t see you come in.”

  He nods a greeting. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  I can tell by the way his lips move that his voice is almost a whisper. He looks hesitant, his feet shuffling a little, and he backs up a couple of steps.

  “No, it’s . . . fine,” I say.

  We just stare at each other for an awkward moment, but then Jon backs up and sits on the opposite couch. His muscular frame fills most of it, and as he tosses his arm over the back, I catch another glimpse of his tattoos. They’re beautiful, even if I’m not quite sure what they mean. One is of a panther running up his bicep, another of a blood-red sparrow flying toward his heart. He has at least half a dozen more along his arm, each one as intricate as it is breathtaking.

  He raises an eyebrow at me, and I realize I’ve been caught staring. “They’re gorgeous,” I say, gesturing to his arm.

  Jon laughs, his pale lips turning up at the corners. “Thanks. It’s not every day I get called gorgeous.”

  My cheeks flare with heat, and I shake my head. “The tattoos, I mean. They’re gorgeous. I didn’t mean you’re gorgeous. But I don’t mean you’re not. You’re, like, handsome, and . . .”

  I trail off, giving up on my babbling response. His smile grows a little.

  “It’s okay, Ali,” he says. “I get what you’re saying. I was just teasing.”

  Somehow, it doesn’t seem fitting for him to be teasing. He’s at least six feet tall and has enough muscle for two people. But it’s not just his physique that’s intimidating—there’s something about his expression that’s totally serious, like he’s never heard a joke in his life.

  I wonder what his story is. And, as long as I’m wondering, I’d like to know the story behind all of the band. Tone Deaf has always kept quiet private lives, and as much as the media goes crazy over them, no one has been able to dig up much about their pasts. All I know is that they rose into popularity after winning a nation-wide contest for one of their music videos. Aside from that, their past is a mystery to me, and I don’t think even their most hardcore fans know much more.

  Jon shifts nervously, and I get the feeling he’s not comfortable around me. Why? I hardly know the guy.

  “Jace asked me to keep you company,” he says. “He was worried you’d get lonely being by yourself all day.”

  I search for any trace of mocking in his expression. Most guys would start cracking jokes the moment their friend got all sentimental, but Jon doesn’t seem to have any issues with Jace’s concern. Jon’s serious expression remains in place, and I offer him a small smile.

  “Thanks,” I say. “I appreciate it.”

  He shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. Something’s definitely bothering him.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  He nods. “Fine.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah. I just, um . . .” He lets out a
hesitant laugh. “I’m shy. You know, around girls.”

  I give him a skeptical look and wait for the punch line. But he just smiles a little sheepishly and shrugs again. That’s the moment I decide I like Jon.

  “Well, thanks for keeping me company,” I say.

  “No problem.”

  There’s an awkward silence, and then Jon looks toward Jace’s bedroom. His expression turns puzzled, and he says something, but I can only see half his lips with his head turned like that. I quickly pick up the smartphone and open up the contacts page, tapping on the number that Jace programmed in under Jon’s name. I start a new texting thread and send a quick message:

  Can you text me so I don’t have to read your lips? It gets tiring pretty quickly.

  It’s not too bad with someone like Killer, who boldly enunciates every word he says. But Jon’s voice is soft, and he keeps nervously glancing away when he speaks, which is going to make a lip-reading conversation difficult.

  Jon nods a couple times as he reads the message on his screen, and I swear he looks a little relieved that he doesn’t have to talk anymore. Then he texts back, Sure. And I was just asking why Cuddles is locked in Jace’s room. She’s scratching at the door.

  I’m scared of dogs, I text.

  His eyes widen in surprise. You’re scared of Cuddles?

  I don’t think she lives up to her name.

  He shakes his head. Trust me, she does. She’s just a big wuss. Before I can protest, he jumps up and heads down the hallway. Vibrations run through the floor as he opens Jace’s door and unleashes the pit bull. I scoot closer to the corner of the couch and tuck my feet close to me. This is what you’re supposed to do to stop a dog attack, right? Look small and helpless?

  . . . Or is that for bears?

  Before I can figure it out, Jon comes back into the room with Cuddles at his heels. Her stub of a tail wags madly, and she keeps slurping his hand with her long tongue. He doesn’t seem to even mind that she’s taste-testing him.

  Jon sits back on the couch and Cuddles finally notices me. Her muscles tense, readying to pounce. I squeeze my eyes closed. So this is it. After making it hundreds of miles from my home, I’m going to be mauled by a dog before I even reach NYC. Just my luck.

  My heart thuds wildly in my chest, and my breathing comes in sharp gasps. A large weight dips the couch next to me. But a moment passes, and no teeth dig into my skin. I crack open an eye and find Cuddles on the cushion next to me. She’s lying on her back, her stubby tail wiggling in excitement and her paws curled toward her stomach.

  I scoot away from her and glare over at Jon, wondering what his problem is. He so didn’t have to let the dog out.

  Jon rolls his eyes at my expression, and then quickly blushes, like he’s afraid of being rude. A new message lights up on my phone: She wants a tummy rub.

  “No,” I say out loud, not wanting to type my response. Any movement might be enough to set this dog off.

  He frowns. “No?”

  “I don’t like big dogs, and I definitely don’t pet them.”

  His expression is slightly appalled. “But she’s so cute. How can you not love her?”

  Okay, I’ll admit those are the last words I expected to come out of his mouth. Who would have guessed the Hulk was so sentimental?

  Jon cocks his head as he examines me and then sends another message. You’ve been attacked, haven’t you?

  I cringe and search for a defensive retort to snap back at him. Then I see his gaze flick over to Cuddles, and I realize he’s talking about a dog attack. Oh. That changes things a bit.

  Yeah, I text, moving my hands slowly and carefully as I type the word. Cuddles doesn’t seem to care about the motion, so I add, When I was twelve, my neighbor had a pit bull that escaped from her yard. I tried to catch it so I could bring it back, but it freaked out and bit my arm.

  I don’t tell him about the real wound: How it was one of the first times I saw my dad’s PTSD totally take over, how the sight of the blood made him go silent and brooding, and how he wouldn’t even go back into the examination room when the ER doctor stitched me up. He never really talked about my injury—he just gave me a long lecture about not provoking animals. To this day, those wounds still haven’t healed.

  Jon nods slowly. I can see why you’re afraid of dogs. I wait for him to get up and put Cuddles away, but instead he just adds, But that’s no excuse to be scared of Cuddles.

  I scoff and edge back from the gigantic dog. “Oh, really?”

  He pats the cushion next to him, and Cuddles leaps off my couch. She trots over to Jon and jumps up next to him, rolling back over for a tummy rub. Her tail wags frantically as Jon scratches her stomach, and she reaches out a paw so it touches his shoulder. He pats her paw and says to me, “Here, have a look.”

  Jon rolls Cuddles over a little, so she’s on her side. From this angle, I can see a mass of scars running up and down the dog’s hide.

  She belonged to one of Jace’s neighbors, Jon texts, using one hand to type and the other to pet Cuddles. They were into dog fighting, and poor Cuddles lost a match. Jon lifts up the dog’s giant head, and I see a bunch more scars around her neck.

  I swallow hard, trying to keep bile from rising up. That’s just sick. Vicious or not, no animal deserves to be hurt like that.

  Jon lets Cuddles’s head drop, and he gently scratches behind one of her cropped ears. She opens her mouth, and I wait for her to bite at Jon’s hand. But she just lets her tongue loll out and pants happily as he pets her.

  Jace found her a couple of days later, he texts. She’d managed to escape before she was killed, and she ended up in his yard. Jace had been saving up all year to buy a new guitar, but he decided to use that money to take her to a vet. He pats Cuddles on the head. And Jace has had her ever since.

  “So Jace saved her,” I murmur.

  Jon nods. He’s not always a good guy, but he has his moments.

  He’s been good to me, I protest.

  A slight smile lifts Jon’s lips. He has, hasn’t he? You seem to take all the bad out of him.

  I don’t know what to say to that, but I’m saved from having to respond when Jon’s phone lights up with a message from someone else. He reads it and stands from the couch. Sorry, but I’ve got to go, he texts. He hesitates and then adds, Tony wants to talk with me. I think he’s getting really suspicious that Jace is up to something. So you two need to keep being careful, okay?

  Of course, I text back, and I keep my eyes locked on my screen so Jon can’t see the worry on my face. I guess I’ll see you later.

  Yeah. Later.

  He heads for the door, not making a move to put Cuddles away. Before I can protest, he waves at me and strides out the exit.

  I groan and let my head fall back, all the time keeping an eye on Cuddles. She wags her tail and jumps onto the couch cushion right next to me. I stiffen, wondering how hard it would be to put her away myself. She’s trained, right? Maybe she knows a command that will make her go away.

  I point to Jace’s bedroom and say, “Go.”

  She cocks her head and just stares at me.

  I take a shuddering breath and say with more force, “Go!”

  Cuddles barks at me, but doesn’t do anything else. Then she opens her mouth in a huge yawn, announcing to me that she has extremely large teeth and is very tired. Without any warning, she plops her head in my lap and closes her eyes.

  I freeze, not knowing what to do. If I shove her off, she could get mad, but I can’t just let her stay there. No way is a pit bull using me as a pillow.

  Cuddles reaches toward me with a paw and gently lays it on my knee. She keeps it there, her huge paw pressing against my fragile skin. I cringe and wait for her to claw at me, but all she does is start to snore, the deep noise vibrating against my leg.

  Before I can think better, I reach down and tentatively pat her head. Her tail wags in her sleep, and her paw presses against me a little harder, but she doesn’t react beyond that. I keep p
etting her, all the time ready to leap up and run if I need to. But a minute passes, and then two, and Cuddles just continues her nap.

  “Hey, girl,” I whisper, stroking the soft fur around her ear. “I guess you’re not as vicious as I thought.”

  She shifts in her sleep and keeps snoring.

  I scratch her neck and then softly ask, “You want to be friends? I promise to give you tummy rubs if you promise not to eat me.”

  My voice must be a little louder than I wanted it, because Cuddles blinks her eyes open and peers at me. After a moment, she licks my hand and closes her eyes, her tail still slowly wagging in her sleep.

  I give her head another pat and the gently trace one of the scars on her shoulder. “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” I murmur. “We’re going to be besties before you know it.”

  26

  ALI

  KILLER COMES INTO the RV in a flurry of smiles and rapid-fire chattering. I wave a greeting from the couch, where I’ve been sketching a drawing of Cuddles. She’s taking our new friendship rather seriously and hasn’t left my side all day. I even had to shove her out of the bathroom, and then she just waited for me by the door. At this point, I’m more concerned about her stalking habits than her teeth.

  Cuddles wags her tail at the sight of Killer, and he kneels next to the dog, throwing one arm around her in a hug. His other hand is busy handling a to-go cup of coffee that could fit half the Pacific Ocean. Unfortunately, it’s missing a lid and most of its contents. Killer on caffeine? Not good . . .

  Jace and Arrow come trailing into the RV, both of them looking tired but content. As soon as Jace spots me on the couch, he sits next to me and pulls me into a hug. His lips move as he says something, probably a greeting. But I don’t quite catch what he says as he leans forward and affectionately kisses the top of my head.

  “How did it go?” I ask.

  “Good,” he signs. “We did some autographs, and then just walked around the festival for a while. They had some good talent this year.”

  Killer steps up to me, butting into our conversation. He blurts out something, but he’s glancing between everyone in the room, and there’s no way I can follow what he’s saying.