Reverb

by S. M. West

  The thundering thump of my boots and the gentle slap of my guitar case against my thigh fills the eerily quiet night. It is Friday, and usually the street is lined with cars and most of the houses are lit up while some kind of sound—music, laughter, or talking—fills the dense, dark night.

  Not tonight. Sure, it’s midnight and some will already be in bed, fast asleep, but it’s still too noiseless and that makes me uneasy.

  I’m halfway to the park when the smooth rumble of a car engine devours the silence, the purr filling my ears. The vehicle inches along beside me, keeping pace, and I smile. What’s he doing here?

  “Yo, you wanna get out of here?” Ike peers through the open window of a white Cadillac.

  A warm breeze scatters the smoke billowing from my mouth, and I flick the butt to the ground. With one more sweep toward her house, I still see no sign of her. I had hoped she would show despite my telling her I had plans.

  We’ve been meeting at the park a couple of times a week for months now, and while I didn’t promise her mother I’d make her stop, I do take care of her. We’re friends.

  “You coming or not?” Ike sounds irritated, my lack of response ticking him off.

  “I thought you said you were busy.”

  “What the fuck? I lied. It’s your fucking birthday, no way I’m busy. Biggs is having a party for your dumb ass.”

  “Ooh.” I’m distracted and should be stoked about the party, but all I wish is for her to magically appear.

  Damn, I should go to the party.

  “Get in the fucking car, bruh. I ain’t got all night.” He rolls up his window, shaking his head, and I open the passenger door.

  Her soft, lyrical voice calls my name and I spot Eva running down the street, arms waving in the air.

  “Jared, wait.” Her wild hair frames her face.

  “You told her ‘bout the park?” His glare is as harsh as his tone with a hint of betrayal.

  I’ve been ditching him for Eva more than I care to admit, and he doesn’t like it.

  “It ain’t the bat cave,” I retort under my breath.

  Not even a foot in front of me, she stumbles, and her palms slap against my chest as she plows into me. My back hits the cool metal of the car door, and I latch on to her trim hips, steadying us both.

  She peers up at me, wide-eyed, and I bend my face toward hers. We’re flush against each other. Her small tits press into my chest, and our mouths are beats apart.

  Her choppy breaths mix with my quick pants and she licks her lips. The tip of her pink tongue tours her mouth, and I want to chase it with my own. What the fuck am I thinking? Eva and I are friends.

  “Hey, if it isn’t Sweet Thing.” Ike’s seductive tone, now rid of any trace of agitation, pulls me from my stupor.

  I momentarily rest my forehead against hers, my hands cupping the back of her neck. “You okay?”

  She nods, stepping back. Ike leans toward the open door, patting the passenger seat. “Get in, baby girl.”

  He may be all Mister Smooth now—smiles and swagger—but I’m not amused. Actually, I’m rankled by his presence.

  Eva slants her head to peer into the car, chest still heaving and looking as dazed as I feel. “Are you leaving?”

  “Come with us,” he says. “We’re going to a party for my boy’s birthday, and things are looking up.”

  His wicked gaze roves her body, and there’s no denying he likes what he sees. I mean, what’s there not to like?

  Eva’s bare, shapely legs glow, bronze and toned, in her tiny blue cotton shorts, and the sleeves of her grey hoodie are tied around her slender waist. Her matching tank top is simple, but there’s no missing how the thin ribbed fabric shows off her budding chest. Small, soft mounds sitting high and perky.

  Motherfu…

  My jaw tightens and fists clench. Her outfit looks like sleep wear. What the fuck?

  She’s cute and way too sweet for Ike or me or any of the perverts at Biggs’s.

  Suddenly feeling protective, I draw her away from the car, nudging her behind me and deliberately blocking Ike’s view.

  “Sorry. Another time.” My hand taps the car and I shut the door.

  “You fucking serious?” His eyes are now dark slits of irritation. “It’s your birthday. I set this up.”

  I want to feel guilty, but this party goes on almost every weekend. I am grateful he thought of me, but all I’m thinking about is Eva.

  “Thanks. Catch you later.” I swing in the direction of the park, taking her with me.

  He revs the engine like an angry bull, horns out, flaring nostrils and scraping hoofs—yeah, you’re mad, I get it. Sorry, bruh.

  “You could have gone.” She looks up at me. “It’s your birthday?”

  “Nah, didn’t want to. Birthdays come and go.” I pull out my pack of cigarettes only to find it empty. “I don’t suppose you have one?”

  She shakes her head, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Why don’t you quit?”

  “Why don’t you back off?” I growl and instantly regret it, suddenly restless. Eva is becoming too important to me.

  “Fine.” She perches on a swing, putting more distance between us. “If I’d known it was your birthday, I’d have brought you something.”

  “Don’t want anything. I got what I want.”

  We stare at each other, and like most times, she looks away first. The tips of her red Chucks kick at the sand, and her face is hidden by the veil of dark hair hanging around her. I take out my guitar for something to do and strum a few strings, tuning the instrument.

  “Will you play something?” Eva’s heard me play with the band but never on my own.

  “Don’t know.” I shrug off her attempt at a truce. “It’s old.”

  “How long have you had it?”

  Her question picks at my gut, and Molly comes to mind. My memories, hopes, and losses are ingrained in the wood, metal, and strings.

  “My first foster mom gave it to me.” I chuckle at the memory.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I was only four and the guitar was so big for me. I could barely hold it.”

  “How did you get into music?”

  “I’m musically talented.”

  “Really?” She laughs and I can tell she thinks I’m being cocky. “How so?”

  “Molly said I was young—barely three—when I played for the first time. We were at a neighbor’s birthday party and she found me on my toes, reaching up to play the piano.”

  I shake my head, reluctant to share this special memory. I’ve never told a soul.

  Something primal and untamed tugs and prods at the lonely little boy inside of me. This petite girl, with rivers of chocolate waves falling around her and a shy expectant smile, peers up at me through dark lashes. She’s looking at me like she wants to be my best friend, someone I can always count on. Her promise to never let me down or walk away is emblazoned on her pretty face.

  The temptation to trust her is too powerful. These months, spending time with her, have been amazing and also a struggle. I’m not used to relying on others or trusting them. Except for Ike, everyone else has either left or fucked with me.

  Without giving my hesitation a chance to grow, I take the leap of faith, hoping this girl doesn’t fail me.

  “She let me play the piano.” My voice croaks and I stare down at my guitar. “I was playing a song. Not off-key or random notes. An actual song. How crazy is that? I was three.”

  “What were you playing?”

  “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” Heat creeps into my cheeks.

  “That’s fantastic.”

  “Yeah, I’m lucky that way.” About the only way I’m lucky. “I’ve got an ear for music. I soon discovered I could pretty much pick up any instrument and play it within a few hours. Still can.”

  I often wonder if one of my parents is musically inclined. Perhaps my dad is a famous rock star. Or my mom, a singer? It’s stupid because from what I know of my mom from the polic
e report, she was a scared, strung-out kid.

  “So Molly bought you a guitar?”

  “No, at first piano lessons and then a guitar.” My hand reverently brushes over the fretted neck.

  “Where is Molly now?”

  And there we have it. The one thing I never want to talk about. I blow out a harsh breath. “She’s dead.”

  Eva sucks in a breath and her hand clasps my wrist, squeezing. “Jared.”

  “I was in her care since I was a baby. She planned to adopt me but had a heart attack at thirty-nine and died instantly.”

  A memory of Molly collapsing in the grocery store, a bunch of spinach in one hand and the other clutching at her chest, carves through my mind like a merciless blade.

  “Oh my God, Jared.”

  “I’d been a dick to her for months before she died. You see, I’d thought she was my mom, only to find out the truth. She said she was waiting for the right time to tell me and when she finally did, it was because she wanted to adopt me.”

  “And then she died?”

  “Soon after. I was so angry….” I ball my hands and stare at my most treasured gift from the only person to love and want me.

  “I’d been such an asshole…there’s so much I never got to say.”

  “She knows.”

  We sit like that, neither of us saying a word, and after minutes of riffs or random notes, she lightly bumps my shoulder, throwing me a nervous smile.

  And now, I’m very aware of how close we are. Our swings sway toward each other like Siamese twins.

  “Play a song.”

  Nodding, I strum a few chords of one of my favorite songs, and with every note, the upward curve of her lips deepens. Her eyes widen, intensifying, with each word out of my mouth, and a strange fluttering erupts in my stomach. Am I luring her in, or has she enchanted me?

  I lose myself in the Foo Fighter’s “Everlong” as the acoustic strips away the usual frenetic vibe, allowing the intimate lyrics to tell a different tale. She joins me, and we sing the line about breathing out and how the rhythm, the simple in and out, connects you as one.

  Warmth floods my body, goosebumps sparking along my skin from the feel of her—her heat—infusing every inch of me. She watches my every move, roaming head to toe, finally resting on my face as the song comes to an end.

  “Holy cow!” She bounces, her cheeks flush and eyes bright. She wraps a hand around my forearm, and her short fingernails sink into my flesh through my shirt.

  I can still feel the rush and color of the music—the soul of the song—buzzing through my fingertips.

  “That was beautiful. Molly was right. You’re a natural.”

  “Um, I wanted to talk to you about summer.” Eva presses the sole of her Chuck against the plastic wall of the playhouse. We’ve only got a few days left until the end of school.

  “What about it?” I wipe at my brow, contemplating sleeping on the grass outside the house. It’s too hot to sleep in here.

  “I’m going to Spain and won’t be back until school starts.” The words tumble from her mouth in a rush.

  “Seriously?” My heart kicks and chest aches. “When?”

  “Yeah. Bianca and I go every summer and stay with my grandfather. My mother’s father. We leave next week.”

  “Oh.” The familiar sense of abandonment surges and I battle the impulse to throw up. This is why I don’t get close to anyone. No, not anyone. This is Eva.

  “I wasn’t sure if we’d go since Papi and Abuelo don’t get along. And with high school, I thought maybe it would stop…”

  “I get it.” My hand roughly rakes through my tangled curls.

  “Abuelo’s family has been producing olive oil for nearly a hundred years. They are one of the top olive oil producers in Spain.” She isn’t bragging—that isn’t Eva—yet I grit my teeth and struggle to bite back an order to stop talking.

  “We sometimes help in the olive groves or the office or we’ll visit with our cousins. We’re in Catalonia, which is close to Barcelona.” She’s rambling now, likely nervous how I’ll react. She should have said something sooner.

  “Yeah, well, my summer will be here, in Los Angeles. I couldn’t imagine going anywhere else.”

  She purses her lips at my acerbic tone and folds her arms over her chest, studying me.

  “I won’t be around much anyway.” I shrug, hoping she gets the impression I couldn’t care less about her upcoming absence.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ike says Milo’s looking for a spot for me for the summer.”

  “What?” She inches closer, no longer irked, more concerned. “Milo’s bad news. Ike steals cars for him. Is that what you’d be doing?”

  Eva’s never met Milo, and she’s only talked to Ike a handful of times, but she doesn’t like when I hang around that crew. I can’t say I blame her, but it’s my reality. For now, anyway.

  “Yeah, well, it’s my life. This way, I’ll have a place to crash and a job.”

  “But what about getting a…a real summer job?”

  “This would be real, Eva,” I scoff.

  “You know what I mean. And what happens if you don’t stay at the Garcias’?” She wrinkles her nose, not liking that fact either.

  Every once in a while, she’ll ask about Val and I always tell her the same thing—she stays away from me. Mostly, it’s true.

  “Nothing. Val knows I don’t sleep there. All they care about is the money.” I release a dry chuckle.

  “I could see if my father could get you a job at the garage.”

  Mr. Ramirez works on cars on the side for extra cash, but the man hates me. “Yeah, like he’d help. Just mind your own business. It isn’t like you’ll be here anyway.”

  Eva’s departure comes way too quickly, and I grow more pissed as the time to say goodbye approaches. With my back against the monkey bars, I wait for her, worried her father got wind of our plan to meet briefly before she had to leave.

  Despite being a huge dick to her when she told me the news, we patched things up, and I greedily spent every moment with her that I could.

  A now familiar and welcome lithe body nears the park, and my heart rate spikes and an easy grin slides onto my lips.

  She has that effect on me. Easily erasing my irritation or the growing need to punch something. The desire is fierce and only intensifies when I think of the months to come without her.

  “Hey.” Her sunny grin warms my insides, and I itch to touch her.

  “Hi.”

  I take in her white capris and a bright blue tank top with her hair tied in a high ponytail, looking both innocent and fantastic.

  “I don’t have long. Papi wants to make a stop on the way to the airport.” Her gaze dims and lips press into a grim line.

  “Okay.” This is hard. I don’t want her to feel crappy about leaving, even if that’s how I feel—and how do I say goodbye?

  “You should go.” I pick up the brown paper bag resting at my feet. “I got you something but…”

  “What is it?” She peers into the bag, grinning.

  I carefully remove the bouquet of small blue flowers with yellow centers and hand them to her, suddenly feeling foolish for the gift. She’s going on a flight across the ocean. What is she going to do with the bouquet?

  “Oh, these are beautiful.” She beams up at me.

  “They’re forget-me-nots.”

  She pauses mid-sniff, big dark eyes pinning me. “Jared, I love them.” Her long hair swings over her shoulder as she shifts to get closer to my face. “I will never forget you. I’ll be back in August.”

  I nod, not able to find my words. She understands my meaning of the gift, and I can only hope she won’t forget me.

  I clear my throat, averting my gaze as I push air through my lungs, propelling my voice. “It’s kinda dumb though…”

  “What is?”

  “Giving you a bouquet when you’re flying. You can’t take them with you.”

  “I love them and I
have an idea. I’ll press some in one of the books I’m bringing, so I’ll have you with me at all times. Thank you.” She kisses my cheek.

  Again, I bob my head, staying silent. I like the thought of her having the flowers to look at and think of me. We haven’t made plans to talk while she’s away. I don’t have a cell phone, although I’m working on it, and I don’t want her calling the Garcias’. I’m hardly there and can’t trust anyone to pass on a message if she were to call.

  And then there’s her grandfather. She didn’t think it was a good idea to explain who I was and why she was making long-distance calls to some boy. So this is it.

  I won’t speak to her for the next two months.

  What if she forgets me? I won’t forget her.

  For that, I’m sure. I have met no one like Eva.

  8

  Madre is too kind

  Sophomore/Junior year

  EVA

  The park is still the same. The playground is a little more worn, the grass a little more yellow, but everything is still the same.

  My feet push through the dirt, and the swing lifts from the ground as my legs fold and pump, carrying me higher into the air.

  Where is Jared? He’s supposed to be here.

  It’s hard to believe the summer is over. We arrived from Spain today and while a wonderful trip, I longed to come home to Jared. We had agreed upon this date and time to meet before I’d even left for the summer.

  After nearly two hours, I trudge home, battling a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. What if he’s no longer living with the Garcias? Or he took off like Ike?

  The evening is torture, and I go to bed sick with worry. At near one in the morning, the rolling thunder and flashes of lightning keep me company. So far, no rain.

  The ragged wheeze of an engine followed by a car door shutting causes me to kick off the covers and press my head against the window screen. A beat-up Jeep Wrangler parks at the curb next door.

  Tall, broad, and muscled. His languid, confident gait makes my heart sing.