Smash It!

  Eli is still doing something weird with his face, and I can’t tell if he has gas or thinks I’m being stupid. “Sure,” he says, like he’s still trying to figure out what I’m even talking about.

  Dré laughs. “Code of friendship?” He looks at Eli. “I told you she’s going hard about this Medieval Times shit.”

  The grimace is changing into a scowl, because now I’m getting mad. “It has nothing to do with Medieval Times.” I know he’s about to start another round of crack jokes on Liv. I put myself out there, and this is what I get. A friend wouldn’t treat me like this. A friend wouldn’t even need me to say don’t be a dick.

  Dré puts his hand on my shoulder. “Liv, I’m saying I get it.” He takes a deep breath, and I’m waiting for him to tell me I’m being dramatic or overthinking everything. “And I’m sorry.”

  Oh.

  I’m speechless.

  Now Dré’s waiting for me to say something.

  “Thanks.” I look at Eli, and he’s gone from that weird face to his eyebrows up in his hairline as he stares at Dré.

  That, Dré’s response, was incredibly mature, and because I’m incredibly immature, I murmur something about kitchen wenches coming out for photos and turn away. I’m so used to fighting and thinking the worst of people that I don’t know how to accept—this. I am both full of shame and pride, because I chose my insecurities over my friends. But I’m proud because my friends, despite me, won.

  I’m watching a guy take a selfie with a kitchen wench when my eye catches on a purple tent and a woman staring at me from inside. She’s a tarot card reader.

  She waves me over, and I look between Dré and Eli. They’re both on their phones, and because I’d rather slip away than continue to acknowledge how massively insecure I am, I head to the tent.

  Why the hell not? Old me would have shaken my head and smiled like a freak, hoping the woman would stop making eye contact. But I’ve never had my fortune told, and now is as good a time as any.

  I’m a new woman. Out here setting boundaries and saying yes to spending my money on nonsense.

  “Hello, pretty girl,” the woman says. Her accent is thick and—unplaceable; I don’t know where she’s from or what she might be, and everyone here is in character, so I can’t tell if hers is real or fake.

  “Hi.” I have this uncomfortable smile plastered on my face, because I might be a new woman, but I’m still as awkward as a naked baby bird. I sit on the little folding chair.

  “For you, I do this for free.” She’s already shuffling her cards between her ringed fingers. She’s got stones everywhere. On her fingers, on the table, around her neck.

  She sets the card deck down and pulls out a pendulum and mumbles over it as it stills and then starts swinging by itself.

  Now, I’m not super religious. My mom stopped taking me to church once a year on Easter when I turned ten. I don’t think witchcraft is the work of the devil—but when I say that pendulum started swinging on its own, I really mean I’m checking over my shoulder for Voldemort and all his Death Eaters.

  She looks up at me and smiles. “Be calm. Your energy is pure but it is clouded.”

  Yeah—okay. Like I know what that means. I’m not going to complain though. She said she was doing this for free, and hanging to her left are her prices. Normally she charges fifty dollars for a reading. Maybe this is one of those get you hooked on magic situations. The first reading is free, but after that, it’s twice the price. I’m a hundred percent judging me for getting my life read by some strange woman with a double coating of eyeliner.

  “Ah,” she says, tapping on the deck. “I knew this was for you.” She starts flipping the cards over.

  Death.

  I knew this was a dumbass idea.

  The Hanged Man.

  I should just get up and run now.

  The Chariot.

  She looks at me as she flips the fourth card over.

  The Devil.

  I gasp. Heathen that I am who hasn’t been in church in seven years and uses the Lord’s name in vain like it’s breathing air—I know this woman is doing that dark magic.

  She laughs. “Don’t be worried. This is a beautiful reading.”

  I don’t know how to explain to her that what I’m seeing ain’t beautiful. “I don’t want to be rude but—I’m going to die, probably by hanging or getting dragged by a horse, and the devil’s going to take my soul. I don’t see the beauty in that. If anything, your cards might be a little racist.”

  She strikes a match, and I jump. “Don’t be so silly. Those who do not know always think the worst.” She lights an incense stick, and the smell is a mix of flowers and earth. “You, I can tell, are someone who thinks a lot but does not know.”

  Did she just call me stupid?

  She taps the Death card with her free finger. “In your recent past, you have let go of someone you used to be.” She moves to the Hanged Man. “In your present, you have a new perspective on life. This is the time to build upon what you have laid to waste.”

  I nod like I get it, but she doesn’t seem to care whether I understand or not, because she keeps her eyes on the cards with her brows furrowed.

  She taps her finger on the card with the chariot. It’s very Roman—very Othello. “You have great determination. It is your strongest attribute, but make sure to be kind. Because such stubborn determination to get where you are going can trample those in your path. For better...” She looks at me. “And for worse.”

  Does this woman know about my list? Does she know that I’ve been trying to change my punk-ass ways? Is this one of those moments where the vague message applies to you because it applies to everyone? I can’t tell, but I need to know more.

  She picks up the last card. The Devil. “This is you. Don’t be alarmed. It is a warning. When we are scared, we lose ourselves in limiting beliefs. Stay true to yourself and you will overcome these limiting beliefs you have about yourself.” She looks over my shoulder, raises a brow.

  I turn around to see Dré and Eli standing behind me. They’ve both got smirks on their faces, and I know they’re thinking of all the ways to rag on me for doing this. I narrow my eyes at them before turning back around.

  The woman makes a strange sound, something between a sigh and a laugh, and flips her deck to show the card at the bottom. “I thought so.” She shows it to me.

  The Lovers.

  “You’re a rare bird, love. To be surrounded by such love—love that will last a lifetime.” She winks and stabs the burning end of the incense into an ashtray. “Sometimes my guides send me messages, and my only job is to pass them along. To you, they tell me, you know who you are. Now...believe in you, even when it feels like no one else does.”

  The doors open for the show, and the lady waves me away like I can’t get up fast enough. My cheeks are burning. “Thank you.” I really wish she hadn’t done the last bit about the Lovers in front of Dré and Eli.

  Eli. Of all people to hear that.

  The three of us file in with the crowd entering the arena. I’m between them again, and even though Dré’s still got that smirk on his face, he’s not saying anything.

  I look at Eli.

  He’s looking at the floor when he says, “Consulting the cards for love advice? You’re full of surprises these days.” He laughs, but I know he’s being nice.

  I’m over Eli. I’m over Eli. I’m over Eli. At least, I’m pretty sure I’m over Eli.

  Dré elbows me out of my silent psychobabble. “I’m not surprised at all. You are who you’ve always been.”

  I meet Dré’s eyes. At first, I thought he meant that I haven’t changed at all—that I’m still the girl he laughed at on the stairs because I wanted to audition for the musical.

  But...he’s got this look in his eye, and I feel like he sees me. Like maybe he’s always seen me, and he�
�s just been waiting for me to come out and show everyone else what he sees.

  My heart speeds up. I can’t be the girl who likes both her best friends.

  As we cross the threshold into the dim area, Dré taps my nose.

  I cannot be that girl.

  But I think I am.

  Chapter 15

  I’m in the band room after school, locking up my flute before I go to another read-through rehearsal in the theatre. Mr. Kaminski is kicking out a bunch of girls who aren’t in band but followed Dré in here.

  “Keep your fan club in the courtyard, Mr. Santos,” Mr. Kaminski says as he ushers the last girl out the door.

  Dré’s wearing shades, and I want to gag because he’s also got on jeans, a white T-shirt, and a gold chain. I don’t know how he manages to look this full of himself, but he does. “My bad.” He’s walking over to me while waving at Mr. Kaminski, who’s taken to spying out his office window at the rest of us.

  Mr. Kaminski’s slowly losing his mind. We have a concert coming up, and in his quest for perfection, he never took into account what he actually has to work with.

  Don’t get me wrong. There is a ton of talent in band—but talent and focus aren’t the same thing. However, I can’t talk, because I’m passing up practicing tonight for homework and theatre rehearsal. I haven’t gone over my concert pieces all week—but at least I’m not the only one.

  “Liv. I need your help.” Dré’s got this sheepish grin on his face, which means he’s up to no good, but I don’t have time for his antics. Between now and the next hour, I have an entire history chapter to read and summarize.

  I briefly thought maybe I had caught feelings, because Dré has this way of looking deep into my soul, but—I need to focus. I just went down a horrible spiral with Eli; I’m not doing that with Dré. “Nope.” I grab my book bag and head to the table to start my homework.

  Best thing about being in band is unlimited use of space after school. The library closes right after the final bell—which is annoying as hell—and administration always walks around kicking us off campus, telling us not to linger. But there is always something going on in the band room, so it’s always open. Today it’s jazz band practice.

  “You don’t even know what I’m going to ask.” Dré sits next to me.

  The jazz band teacher is different than Mr. Kaminski. He starts skating in the middle of the room while everyone is setting up. He’s so old but so into it that he looks kinda cool.

  “I don’t need to know. I’m busy.”

  Dré leans on the table with his elbow and puts his hand on mine. “But I need you.” He’s making eyes at me like I’m one of his groupies.

  I move my hand away from him. “Not working.”

  “Works when Eli does it.” Dré’s staring at me hard, but I refuse to acknowledge that. Fuck him. Seriously.

  The jazz band starts giving announcements, and it’s fairly quiet in the room so I whisper, “What do you want, Dré?” Because he’s still staring at me.

  He opens his mouth, and he’s trying so hard not to smile. “There is this girl...” This is why I was dumb for even thinking about Dré in that way.

  Nope. Never. Not that kind of friend. “I am not helping you get a girl.”

  He looks offended. “Um. No.”

  The jazz band teacher looks over as if our whispers are disturbing the sound quality of the room.

  I wait until they start playing before looking at Dré. “Then what does this girl have to do with me?”

  He’s got this hysterical look on his face, like he knows I’m going to flip out. He licks his lips and stifles a laugh. “I need you to—help me get rid of her.”

  I blink, and then, because this is absurd considering I’m trying to get an education and balance my own fucked-up love life, I laugh. “No.”

  “Liv.” He’s moving in closer now, and the actual hysteria is coming out. “This chick is blowing up my phone, and she won’t go away. I even told her I’m not interested. I stone-cold ignored her for a week, and that made it worse.”

  I do feel sorta bad, because I know Dré’s not the ladies’ man everyone thinks he is. He’s actually really nice—maybe a little too nice. He’s only ever had two girlfriends, and both relationships lasted no longer than a month. I think the girls he attracts are the kind that like guys who are total dicks. And Dré’s more of a wears-his-heart-on-his-sleeve-if-he-gives-it-to-you type.

  Still. “Dré, you do realize that if I don’t do the history homework, neither of us gets credit for it?”

  He pulls out his phone to show me the countless messages this girl has sent, and when he stops scrolling, I see her name. Karma is a bitch, and I feel kinda bad for taking pleasure in this, but the girl in question is Angelina.

  “That’s my understudy.”

  He nods. “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.”

  I glare at him. “Do you want me to help or not?”

  The music stops and the jazz teacher has his hands on his hips. “Can you two take this—” he’s waving his baton at us like it’s a wand “—to the practice rooms?” It’s not really a suggestion so much as a command.

  This is mortifying. I hate getting kicked out of places, and when I’m with Dré, it happens way more often than not. After I’ve packed my stuff and we’ve crammed ourselves into the last practice room, he shows me the messages again.

  A part of me wants to revel in Angelina’s embarrassing thirst, but then I just feel bad. She really likes Dré. She also has a few self-esteem issues, because when he didn’t respond for a week, she still kept sending daily messages asking how his day went.

  I hate that I feel bad for this bitch, but being a good person is nothing to mope about. I hand the phone back to Dré, because I’m still tempted to message her something mean and it’s better if Dré does this anyway. “You never told her directly that you’re not interested.”

  He looks at me like I’m the dumbest person alive. “I kept her on Read for a week.”

  I shrug. “Well, how did that work out for you?”

  He’s rolling his eyes as he hunches his shoulders. “Point taken. Then what do I do?”

  Someone walks past our practice room, and they do a double take when they see us in here. These people are always searching for gossip. It’s kids from the choir, and they use these rooms to hook up, so no doubt me being seen in a tiny room with Dré is suspect.

  Reason number two why I can’t entertain the way my heart skips when Dré’s arm brushes up against mine. The gossip would be overwhelming.

  Dré’s looking at me, and I realize he’s waiting for my answer.

  “Tell her you appreciate her messages, but you don’t want to lead her on and you’re not looking for a relationship.”

  Dré’s tapping away at his phone but he says, “That sounds weak as fuck, but whatever.”

  “That’s called maturely handling a situation, but I can understand why it’s a foreign concept to you.” As much as I complain about Dré teasing me, I am relentless when it comes to getting in my jabs, too.

  Dré looks up and lets out a snort. “What’s that shit your mom’s always saying? Pot calling the kettle black.”

  This is the third or fourth time I think he’s indirectly bringing up my feelings for Eli, and Dré is the last person I want to know because he’ll make it all much worse. Instead of taking the bait, I open my history book and start reading.

  In between sentences, I can hear a horn, sweet and clear. It’s Eli. He has private lessons today, and even if I didn’t know that, I’d still know it was him just by the way he plays. Perfectly.

  Dré’s leg is touching mine, and I feel like the messiest bitch alive. Why do I have so many feelings right now? I always thought that nonsense about teenage hormones was bullshit, but I’m starting to feel like this is what the old people are talking about.

&
nbsp; After a few minutes of reading, listening to Eli’s lessons, and losing all my sense, I get a phone shoved in my face.

  Angelina responded. Wow. I was just trying to be a friend. You’re so full of yourself. It is what it is, homie.

  Dré’s shaking his head. “How did she go from calling me ‘music bae’ to ‘homie’ in the space of three messages? Tell me that’s not crazy.”

  I give him back his phone. “She’s just trying to save face.” I can’t believe I’m defending a girl who called me basic. Worse, I have to see her in less than an hour.

  * * *

  The three of us walk into the theatre through the wide-open back door as a bunch of the cast and crew filter in and out. I see Kai with a bag of McDonald’s, talking with some people I don’t know, and he winks at me.

  He hasn’t texted me yet, and I haven’t texted him, so I don’t really know where we stand, but when he looks at me, I feel like I’m the only person in the room. This is the guy I should be paying attention to, not Dré or Eli. Maybe I should text him and set a date—but I don’t want to come off as desperate.

  Seeing all of Angelina’s texts has me anxious. I don’t want to be the girl he asks his friends to get rid of.

  Dré claps me on the back and drops his arm around me. “Need some water?”

  I look away from Kai. “What?”

  “You looking thirsty as hell.” He laughs at his own joke, and I shrug off his arm. My. God. I don’t even know why I’m friends with him. He drives me up the wall.

  “Code of friendship, Dré.”

  He’s shaking his head. “This doesn’t count. I’m not being a dick. I’m trying to be supportive. This is me being supportive.”

  I narrow my eyes. I’ve got a list of things to call him ready in my mind, but Angelina walks by, and we both kind of freeze.

  Eli elbows Dré and snickers, and I’d have snapped at them, because she’s clearly trying to act unbothered as she swings her tiny hips onto the stage to sit with her friends—but as she sits down, her loud-ass voice carries back to us: “...basics.”