Notes of the Heart: Book 2 of the Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series

by Charli B. Rose

  THE LAST HALF of sixth grade passed in a blur of sadness and anger. The one highlight was finally getting to kiss Izzy, and I couldn’t even let her know what it meant to me. Or how I replayed those thirty seconds over and over again. Or how I couldn’t get her out of my mind. I couldn’t tell her any of that, especially since summer was fast approaching.

  A few weeks after our kiss, I ran to the treehouse early. My parents thought I was pissed off and sulking behind my locked bedroom door. If they picked the lock, they’d probably be worried that I was gone. But I didn’t care. They sucked.

  I sat in the cloud of pink Izzy loved so much and scribbled angrily in my notebook. The tattered book was my constant companion. She found me later, still scratching my feelings onto the page. When I realized she was there, I snapped the cover closed and shoved it back in my backpack. No one had ever seen what was inside. And no one ever would.

  “Dawson, what’s wrong?” she whispered as she settled next to me on the bean bag.

  I shrugged and didn’t meet her eyes.

  “You’ve been really quiet ever since Brittany’s party. Do you like her and just not want to hurt my feelings? It’s OK if you do. I understand. She’s really pretty and popular and she probably kisses better and—”

  “My parents are getting a divorce,” I blurted out.

  “What? Why?” she asked in shock.

  “’Cause my dad’s a cheater,” I spat out angrily. I really wanted to cry. But boys weren’t supposed to do that.

  “I’m sorry, Daw.” She wrapped her arms around me, and I sighed at the warmth spreading through me.

  I breathed in her strawberry smell and said the thing that was really ripping up my guts, “Me and my mom will be moving back to Ohio when school ends.”

  ♪ All Out of Love by Air Supply

  “Why?” she asked as she moved back from me a little to look at my face. I didn’t want her to look at my face.

  I blinked my eyes rapidly to force the moisture away and swallowed hard a couple of times before I answered, “It’s where Mom’s family is. Dad’s gonna stay here.”

  Her eyes got watery. “I can’t believe you’re moving. I’m gonna miss you so much. You’re my best friend,” her voice shook.

  “And you’re mine,” I choked out and squeezed her tightly to me.

  That night, I held her in my arms the way I’d longed to for years. I held her like I knew my minutes with her were limited. Because they were.

  A few days later, a note was in my mailbox.

  DAWSON,

  When you move, you don’t have to be my secret boyfriend anymore. I’m sure in your new town, you’ll find a girl that you’ll want to be your real girlfriend, and I know you don’t want to be a cheater. So, consider yourself free when you leave.

  Always your best friend,

  Izzy

  PS I am going to miss you SO much.

  I DIDN’T WANT to lose her. And I didn’t want a different secret girlfriend or real girlfriend. I just wanted her.

  With the divorce decision made, surprisingly, my parents stopped fighting. They weren’t even talking at all. Dad was staying in a hotel. He came over for dinner every night, so I’d feel normal, he said. What a joke!

  It was really awkward. I almost preferred the fighting. At least then they seemed to still care about each other. But with the silence, I didn’t need an escape anymore. So, I didn’t need to sneak out to find peace.

  And since I really couldn’t bear to be around Izzy knowing our days were numbered, I stayed away from the treehouse for a couple of weeks. After answering her note setting me free with OK, I didn’t write her anymore. We didn’t even talk.

  I tried to convince myself I was trying to make a clean break. But really, it was ugly and jagged, ripping my heart apart.

  ♪ Must Have Been Love by Roxette

  Word had gotten out about my upcoming move. All my friends were sad. Brittany started hanging around me even more. It drove me nuts. But I didn’t want to be mean. She’d been leaving pink notes in my locker ever since her party. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so I stuffed them in my bookbag every day and then threw them away when I got home.

  I caught glimpses of Izzy at her bedroom window, but since my light was always out, she couldn’t see me watching her.

  A few days before I was supposed to leave, Dad showed up with a guilt gift. A guitar. A nice guitar. I looked online and found a few instructional videos. Plucking music from the instrument came naturally to me. When I finally felt like I could play good enough, I carried my new companion up into Izzy’s treehouse after the sun had set. I pretended I didn’t see her creep inside, but I couldn’t help but notice her. Whenever she was nearby, the quality of the air changed. It became lighter, easier to breathe. I’d missed her so much.

  ♪ One Last Breath by Creed

  WHY THE HELL had I stayed away? Our time together was so short already. I shouldn’t have wasted it.

  I stopped strumming and met her gaze.

  “Where’d you get the guitar?”

  “Dad. Guilt present. He says he’ll spring for lessons when I get settled in the new house with Mom. Says he expects me to be able to play something recognizable when I come back to visit for two weeks in August.” I shook my head.

  “Sucks that it’s a guilt present. But it’s cool that you’re going to learn to play guitar at least. You have musical dreams, and this will help you follow them.” She stayed by the trap door for a few beats.

  “Yeah.” I patted the space next to me.

  She settled beside me. “So, what were you playing just now?”

  “Something from inside my head.” I hadn’t meant to tell her that. It just slipped out.

  “It’s pretty. Does it have words?” She leaned against me a little.

  “Not yet.”

  “Play it again.” She clapped her hands together in excitement and then leaned her head on my shoulder.

  I did, over and over. The notes wound themselves around my heart, and I didn’t care what the lyrics were going to be. To me, it was a love song. Maybe a secret one. But it was our love song, at least from my side of the story.

  “When you figure out the words, you’ll have to record yourself singing and playing, then mail it to me,” she said, her breath brushing against my neck, distracting me.

  I swallowed hard. “I can do that. Then when I’m famous, you can sell the first ever track I made for a lot of money,” I teased, trying to ignore the thoughts in my head.

  She laughed. “I could never sell one of our memories. They’re too precious. I would’ve been lost without your friendship over the years.”

  ♪ In My Life by the Beatles

  “Even if I was only your friend in secret?” Guilt kept me from laughing.

  “In secret is better than not at all. Soon enough, I will have you not at all.” Her lower lip trembled.

  I set the guitar aside and pulled her against me. I tucked her head into the crook of my neck and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You’ll always have me,” I whispered.

  Tears filled her eyes. We lay down on the sleeping bags, and I stroked her hair and hummed the song until we both fall asleep. When I woke, I didn’t stir. I just watched her sleep. I’d tuck this memory away to pull back out when she felt so far away.

  We had one last day together before I had to leave. All I wanted was to spend the day with her. So, I’d told my parents not to expect me home at all.

  “Let’s have a picnic by the pool,” I suggested.

  A wide smile crossed her features, and she clapped her hands in glee. It was so easy to make her happy.

  "That’s sounds wonderful. You get the blanket out of the treehouse, and I’ll go fix the food.” She skipped into her house.

  When she returned a few minutes later, she had a basket laden with my favorite sandwiches—ham, cheddar, mayo and tomatoes on toasted bread—and cookies and chips and grapes and strawberries. It was a perfect day. One we would both t
reasure.

  When her parents finally called her inside, I knew I had to tell her goodbye. I couldn’t sleep next to her and still leave the next morning.

  ♪ It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye to Yesterday by Boyz II Men

  “I’m going to stay inside tonight. If I stay with you, it will be too hard to leave. And I have to be strong for my mom tomorrow. Please say you understand?” My hand cradled her cheek as my eyes stared deeply into hers.

  “I understand. Goodbye now or goodbye tomorrow, they both suck.” Tears shimmered in her eyes, but she continued to gaze at me. It was like she was memorizing everything about me, about the moment.

  “Izzy, I will miss you more than anything. Thank you for always being my friend, even when I didn’t deserve you,” I rasped out.

  “I will always be your friend and whatever else you may need me to be. No one will ever take your place. Keep in touch, OK?” She smiled hesitantly at me like she didn’t believe I would.

  I nodded, unable to speak around the lump in my throat. I leaned forward and gently brushed my lips against hers. Our second kiss. This one filled my heart with air and lead at the same time.

  “Bye, flutterby. Don’t forget me.” Because I’ll never forget you.

  Her fingers reached up to trace my lips. “I could never forget you. You… you’re everything. Bye, Dawson.” She leaned up on her tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss to my lips, then turned and ran for her back door.

  I watched until she was safely inside, and the porch light shut off.

  Leaving sucked. A part of me wished I could refuse to go with my mom. But she needed me, and this whole thing was Dad’s fault. I couldn’t stay with him. Jerk.

  The next morning, I checked the mailbox, the same way I had every Sunday morning for the past five years. Inside was a large envelope with my name on it. Mom was yelling for me to get in the car, so I didn’t have time to look at it in private. Instead, I shoved it in my backpack.

  Hours later, when Mom was asleep on the plane, I pulled it out and opened the leather-bound book. It was a sketchbook. Inside were drawings of our best memories, photos of illustrated stories from the treehouse walls, photos of us, some of our letters. It covered every pivotal moment from the budding of our friendship to me playing guitar in the treehouse.

  Only one key memory was missing. My best memory. But it wasn’t supposed to mean anything, so why did my heart ache at not seeing it captured by her?

  Our first kiss was missing.

  There were lots of blank pages at the end of the book too. Like maybe our story wasn’t over yet.

  I couldn’t bring myself to reach out to her, even after we’d been settled for a few weeks. I looked at her gift every day. I wrote practice letters, but I didn’t send any of them. I’d apologize when I went to visit Dad in a few more weeks. It still sucked being back in Ohio instead of South Carolina. The only thing that made it bearable was the guitar lessons. My teacher said I was a natural.

  I was checking the mailbox one afternoon and on top of the stack was an envelope addressed to me in that familiar, looping cursive. Sinking to the porch, I ripped it open.

  Dawson,

  I hope you’re having fun this summer. Not much has been going on since you left. Spending a lot of time swimming and working on my tan. How’s your new house? Have you caught up with any of the people you knew from when you were younger or made new friends? I can’t wait until you visit your dad in a few weeks. I really miss you.

  Love,

  Izzy

  She included a drawing of us picnicking by the pool my last day. I hurried inside and pulled out the sketchbook, so I could slip the new image inside for safe keeping.

  Her letter made me feel awful because I was considering not even going back to South Carolina. Dad offered to come here so I wouldn’t have to miss any of my lessons. Besides, I wasn’t sure I wanted to spend two weeks of uninterrupted time with Dad. I still hadn’t forgiven him for wrecking my life. And honestly, I wasn’t sure I would board the plane to come back home to Mom if I spent any length of time with Izzy while I was still so hurt from leaving.

  EVERY TIME I talked to Dad, he said Izzy had asked about me. I felt like such a jerk for not getting in touch with her. And each week, I got a new note and some picture from Izzy. Over the course of the summer, her drawings had shifted from happy drawings of recognizable things to sad, abstract creations. I felt like such a cad. She was missing me, and she was trying to keep our connection. And here I was, ignoring all her attempts.

  ♪ Connection by One Republic

  As summer wound down, Dad booked a flight to come visit me. Having him and Mom back in the same space was awkward, so after a week, I told Dad I’d spend the rest of our time together back in South Carolina. The relief was apparent on both my parents’ faces.

  As soon as we got to Dad’s, I dropped my stuff on the porch and started across the yard towards Izzy’s house. “She’s not home from ballet yet, Son,” Dad said from behind me.

  Crap. I’d already forgotten her schedule. I’d just have to dig deep for some patience and wait for her to show up. Time moved at a crawl.

  Finally, there was pounding on the door. When I pulled it open, there stood the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Izzy. Before I could properly brace myself, she launched herself at me. I caught her in my arms and stared as tears ran down her face.

  “I guess you missed me?” I teased, trying to lighten the moment before I started to cry too.

  She shoved my chest, pushing me back from her. I didn’t totally let her go, but I did let her put some space between us. On her face, pure joy warred with anger. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming for a visit.”

  “I’m not here for long, but I couldn’t stay away.” Letting go of her hips, I wiped away her tears with my thumbs. “I missed you too. I especially missed seeing your face every day,” I whispered and pressed my lips to her forehead.

  ♪ Young Love by Kip Moore

  I reached behind her to shut the door, then pulled her to the living room.

  “How long are you staying?” Her voice was both fearful and hopeful.

  “Just a week,” I said sadly.

  “Then we don’t have time to waste. What do you want to do?”

  I grinned. Some things never changed. She always went along with whatever I wanted. “Just hang out with you.”

  The week passed more quickly than I could’ve anticipated. We spent every possible moment together. My dad and her parents allowed us to camp out in the treehouse every night. It was like coming home, being in that space with her, holding her in my arms. I showed off my improved guitar skills. I played dozens of songs she recognized. Every night, she requested our song—the one I’d played before I moved. It still didn’t have any words yet. But it was our lullaby, the thing that symbolized the peace we found in each other.

  On my last night, as we lay wrapped up in each other’s arms, she drew a deep breath. “Did you get my letters?”

  I wondered when she would work up the nerve to ask. To call me out on ignoring her. “Yes. Every week.”

  “Why didn’t you write me back?” the hurt in her tone was unmistakable.

  For the first time I could remember, I lied to Izzy. “I’ve been really busy with lessons, trying to get ready to go to a new school and making new friends. I’m really sorry that I’ve been such a crappy friend.” I didn’t know why I didn’t just tell her it was too hard and hurt too much. That as much as it warmed my heart to read her words, it froze it just as much to have to read words instead of being with her.

  “It’s OK.” She stroked my cheek.

  “No, it’s not. But maybe we can email each other.” Email wasn’t as personal as handwritten. Yeah. That would work better and hurt less. Now, I was lying to myself.

  “I’d like that.” She pressed a kiss to my lips, then snuggled into the crook of my neck to go to sleep.

  “Goodnight, flutterby,” I whispered against her head. />
  “’Night, Dawson.” She squeezed me.

  The next morning, Izzy had to leave for a dance class. So, we said our goodbyes after breakfast. After she left, I climbed back up in the treehouse. I drew a crude sketch of us kissing, and on the bottom, I scrawled, “You forgot the best memory in the sketch book.” I pinned it to the wall.

  Then I tore a sheet of paper out of my song notebook and wrote her a note.

  FLUTTERBY,

  I’m so glad I decided to come back and spend a week with my dad. I wish I’d decided to come sooner, so I could’ve stayed longer. I’ve loved getting your letters and drawings every week. I’m sorry I didn’t write you back. It wasn’t that I was too busy. It was more that I wasn’t sure what to say. I miss you so much but didn’t want to come off like a wimp. Moving away from here has been so hard. Leaving you was so hard. That’s why I almost didn’t come for a visit — I didn’t want to have to say goodbye to you again. I’m sorry. I will try to do better with writing back.

  Dawson. (dawsonrocks@wifi.com)

  I folded it up and left it on the table in the treehouse by her sketchbook. I knew she’d find it there.

  When I got home late that night, there was a message in my inbox from flutterby@wifi.com. I clicked it open quickly.

  I’M NOT TOO sure about this email thing. I prefer writing real letters. But I’m willing to give this a try, if it works better for you. It was SO good seeing you. And I know what you mean about how hard it is to say goodbye. But I guess if we weren’t the best of friends, it would be easy to say goodbye. So, I guess this means we ARE the best of friends and hopefully always will be. Christmas is such a long way away. You’ll probably forget all about me by then, but I hope not.

  Love,

  Me

  PS Thanks for the picture. I left it out of the sketchbook because YOU said it didn’t mean anything.

  BEFORE I COLLAPSED INTO BED, I tapped out a response for her to find in the morning.

  YOU EMAILED ME! Awesome. If you’d rather write real letters, that’s OK. It’s kind of cool getting real mail. But maybe we can email too, since that’s faster. We ARE the best of friends. Location can’t change that.

  Me