by Sarah Tipton
The horn blasted.
She jumped away from the steering wheel. Goody, on a day she wanted to disappear, she’d alerted the entire neighborhood to her presence. Including Livvy.
Her sister walked down the sidewalk. She squinted in the sunlight, peering through the windshield.
Zoey ducked her head to hide the tears. No luck.
The passenger door opened, and Livvy slid in. “Zo, what’s wrong?”
“I...I...” Zoey swallowed. The words practically strangled her. “Justin and I broke up.”
“You and Justin? Why?”
Because she’d been crazy enough to believe Justin could forgive her for cheating on him. The crying began again. She couldn’t say it—not to Livvy.
“Oh, baby.” Livvy reached over to wrap an arm around Zoey’s shaking shoulders.
Zoey yanked away. She fumbled with the latch, stumbled from the car, and ran into the house. In her room, Zoey grabbed her mp3 player and scrolled for the song that met her mood. She jammed the earbuds in her ears and flopped back on the bed. Tiger, as if sensing Zoey needed something soft and warm cuddling her, broke out of hiding and curled up next to her. At least her cat didn’t hate her.
The ceiling was painted in a swirling green, blue, and pink aurora borealis dotted with stars. Last March, she and Justin had watched the aurora nearly every weekend. Long time natives said it was a good year. They were wrong. It was an awful year.
She closed her eyes to block out the view. She didn’t want to remember those romantic nights of eating candy and God’s light show—that’s what Justin called it. Why did he use those words? Because it killed the romance a little. Actually, a lot. It was kind of hard to make out with a boyfriend when God was hanging out in the car too. Maybe that’s why Justin said it. Justin, always good, always keeping them going to youth group, always reminding them of God.
Why couldn’t she admire those traits?
She didn’t need his prodding to stay on the side of good. Not like Sawyer. Sawyer lived a nudge away from the abyss. But Justin kept him from falling.
Until she’d shoved them both over the edge.
Tears leaked from under her lids. In fairytales, a kiss saved the girl’s life. But a kiss destroyed hers.
Of course, she’d always known she lived in a tragedy.
23
She Mighty Mighty
Sawyer parked outside Rhythm and Notes and checked the time on his phone. Thirty minutes and he had to have the car back to Mom.
He’d needed to do something to fix what had happened two days ago. Talking to Justin wasn’t an option. Justin would make the first move. He always did. Justin couldn’t let a fight last.
Except this wasn’t a fight. Sawyer had ripped out Justin’s heart—maybe even Justin’s soul—and unlike Sawyer’s drums, which only needed a new drum head, their friendship wouldn’t be a simple fix.
But Sawyer could fix his drums.
He walked up the ramp into the store. A pick screwed to the door strummed a guitar mounted over the entrance. The strings played up, and then down, as the door closed.
Two steps toward the room where the drum heads were and he froze.
“Hey, drummer boy.” Two-toned-hair girl from Thursday cocked her hip against the music book bins.
His heart jumped into a rhythm normally reserved for a band announcing a tour date in Alaska. But he summoned his menacing voice. “You touched my drums.”
“I did.” She pursed her lips, looking sad. But the expression was faker than the plastic tuba mounted on the wall. “Hope I didn’t leave a fingerprint.”
“Don’t do it again.” He moved closer trying to look threatening, but the only threat was the possibility of his heart hammering right out of his chest like a cartoon character.
“A little possessive, are we?”
He narrowed his eyes.
She laughed and turned her attention to the bin of music books.
Was she flirting with him? Did he want her to be flirting?
He glanced over her shoulder. “You play guitar?”
“Thinking about it.”
“Of course you are.” Figured. Just another band member wannabe.
“What’s that mean?” Annoyance equal to his own crept into the girl’s voice, but curiosity clung to its edges.
“Everybody wants to play the guitar. Or the drums. Like they’re the only instruments worth playing.” He’d thought—hoped—she was different. But they were all the same. He walked off to find his drumhead.
“So says the drummer.” She followed him into the next room hugging a guitar book to her chest. “You have a better suggestion?”
“Do you play any instrument?”
“Piano.”
“Then why don’t you stick with that?” Was he giving her advice? He should grab his drumhead and get out.
“Because it’s not really a band instrument.” She clamped her mouth shut and gripped the book tighter, as if the confession embarrassed her.
“Everybody wants to be in a band.”
“And that bothers you because...?”
“Because people think it’s cool to be ‘in a band.’ But it’s a lot of hard work.” He studied the cubbies in the wall filled with drumsticks and slender boxes seeking the right drum head. Avoiding eye contact so he wouldn’t self-combust. Or worse, say something to encourage her. As if anything encouraging ever popped out of his mouth. “Stick with the piano.”
“Would you be in a band with a piano?”
“Depends.” Sawyer looked at her. Was she really interested? Or just a flirty groupie? “You any good?”
“Of course I am.” Her chin jutted up in the same defiant look she’d shown Thursday. She’d perfected that look. He liked that look. He wanted to memorize that look.
“Then I would.” He finally glanced away and selected a flat, square box from the wall. “Plenty of bands have a piano or a keyboard.”
“Good to know.” She twirled around and returned to the music book bins.
Sawyer let the air out of his lungs. He hadn’t realized he held his breath. Something about that girl… She wasn’t like Felicia. She wasn’t like Zoey. She wasn’t like any girl he knew. Not that he’d be getting to know her.
Sawyer paid and headed for the door walking past the new girl again.
“So what did you buy?” she asked without looking up.
“New drum head.”
“What’s that?” She continued flipping through the books.
“Like the cover of the drum—what you hit.”
“You’re replacing it because I touched it?” She snapped her head up staring as if he’d grown horns. “Seriously? Because I left a fingerprint or something? You’re not possessive, you’re obsessive.”
“My drums. My possession.” Her accusation punched him, and for some reason, he needed to defend his no-touching rule. A rule he had every right to enforce. “Anyway, different drumhead. It tore the other night.”
“Oh. OK.” The girl looked back at the piano books, but kept talking. “I’m hungry. Any good places to eat around here?”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know. Food?”
“There’s a few restaurants around here—Thai, Greek, some coffee shops. Over where I live, there’s an outdoor sandwich place and pizza.”
“Pizza sounds good.” She leaned against the music bin looking him straight in the eye. That orangey-brown color lit a fire again.
He swallowed to put out the flame. “It’s over near the university, by the ice cream shack and a used bookstore.”
“OK, yeah, I’ve seen the place.” She hesitated a second. Waiting for him to say something? To invite himself?
He should probably keep his distance. After the mess with Zoey, he’d be crazy to attempt even a friendship with any other girl. And any other girl would be crazy to want him as a friend.
“I’ll check it out. See ya.” She stepped around him and toward the door, as if she couldn’t care
less. As if he’d imagined her hesitation.
He couldn’t let her go. “I could meet you there.”
She paused, hand on the doorknob. Silence stretched.
Of course she didn’t want him to meet her. Who would? Only Justin. Only his best friend had ever wanted him around. And Sawyer had destroyed Justin.
Then she glanced back shrugging. “If you want.”
His heart pounded in his throat like a beat on steroids. “I gotta take the car home and get my bike first.”
She pulled open the door, and the guitar overhead strummed. “Be there in thirty minutes, or you’re paying.”
24
Walking Dead
Two days. Was that all the time that had passed since Zoey’s confession?
Justin lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. Gloomy music filled the room. His hand rested on the speaker remote, ready to change songs the moment the music sounded too upbeat. What was he supposed to do? The question played through his mind on repeat, but he hadn’t found an answer. His brain, his body, his soul felt numb and weighed down.
Someone knocked on the door.
He hit the pause button without raising his hand. “What?”
Mom peeked in. “Are you going to eat breakfast?”
“No.”
“Justin, what’s going on?” She pushed the door open wider and stepped into the room letting in a flood of sympathy. “There was all that noise from the garage Thursday and Zoey in tears. Now you’ve barely left your room since then, and you haven’t been out to practice at all. What happened?”
He didn’t answer. Telling her would require putting into words something he couldn’t even think about. Zoey and Sawyer...
He dug his fingernails into the fabric of his quilt. But if he told Mom, could she help him understand? If anyone could explain why Zoey did what she did, it would be his mom. She had experience in cheating. But he couldn’t say, Hey, Mom, why’d you cheat on Dad? So he stayed silent.
Mom sighed, but she didn’t push him. “We’re walking over to the Farmer’s Market. Do you want to come with us?”
“No.”
She hesitated a moment as though waiting for him say something more and then left.
He lay on his bed and listened to the chattering fade from the hall. His ignored thoughts grew louder in the silence. What exactly had Zoey said? He forced a replay of the conversation, every word a bullet to his heart.
I kissed Sawyer...It was a mistake.
A mistake. Had she meant that? Maybe it hadn’t been her fault. He sat up and swung his feet over the side of the bed. She never would’ve kissed someone else. Besides, hadn’t she apologized? He grabbed his phone. He’d invite her over, let her know he forgave her. She wasn’t to blame for the kiss. His grip tightened. That was Sawyer’s fault.
Can U come over and talk?
He stared at the phone for a few seconds and then headed to the bathroom. No text while he showered. No text while he dressed. No text until his mouth foamed with minty toothpaste.
He spit into the sink and opened the message.
Later. At band practice. I’ll come after.
He wiped away the toothpaste at the corners of his mouth. He couldn’t wait that long, even if he got in trouble with his parents for not asking permission.
~*~
Justin pulled up behind Zoey’s car by the curb and parked. Walking through the overgrown grass, he could feel the faint vibrations of music. His heart pounded in time with the fast-paced beat.
He knocked, but it went unnoticed. Not surprising. Should he just let himself in like Zoey had? He needed to see her, to prove he’d forgiven her. So he grabbed the knob and, finding the door unlocked, stepped into the dark, cool Arctic entry.
Like the first time, the stale odors of ramen and old pizza filled the air. Those guys needed to change up their diet. His heart raced with the music drifting up from the basement. Retracing his path from the week before, he made his way downstairs. Then he hesitated.
Aurora Fire blasted the room. Bailee and some girl sat on the couch painting their nails. Zoey, focused on her singing, didn’t notice him. He took the moment to watch her. She’d changed her hair to black and green—like his eyes. Had she chosen it for that reason?
She glanced up, and he offered a smile.
Her singing screeched to a halt. After an eternal second, she rushed across the room.
The rest of the band kept playing.
“What are you doing here?” She raised her voice above the noise.
“I came to see you.” The song ended, and his words echoed in the silence.
The attention of the entire room zoomed in on them. Interrupting practice was a major fail.
“What do you want?” Vance sounded accusing, but for what? Interrupting practice or breaking up with Zoey?
Justin opened his mouth but didn’t know what to say. He wiped his sweaty palms against his jeans.
“Just give us a minute.” Zoey gave Vance a tortured look. Her face was pale, and her eyes were red as if she hadn’t slept. “Please?”
“Fine. One minute.” Vance muttered something to himself.
“I said I’d come over after practice.” Zoey pulled Justin closer to the recording equipment.
“I know, but I wanted to see you.” He ran his fingers down her arm and wrapped her hand in his. “Let me stay and listen.”
She slid her hand away and hugged herself with one arm. Staring at the ground, she twisted her necklace. “No. I...I don’t want you here.”
“Why?” Aching numbness spread through his chest. He needed to be in the same room with her so he could pretend nothing had happened. Didn’t she need that too?
“I think we should break up.” Her words, not much more than a whisper, slammed into him.
“What? Is this because of...” Justin struggled to breathe. It felt like an amp lay on his chest. “You said it was a mistake.”
The band stopped talking, and their gazes locked on him and Zoey. He felt trapped in a bad reality show.
“It was, but...”
“Zoey, it’s OK. Whatever happened, I forgive you.” His voice rose with desperation, and he tried to rein in his emotions.
“I’m sorry.” She turned away.
“No. Zoey, don’t.” Justin grabbed her arm yanking her back around.
“Please, leave.” Tears pooled in her eyes.
“Come over later, like you said.” The begging was pathetic, but he couldn’t stop. “We’ll talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” She eased out of his grasp.
“What do you mean? There’s plenty to talk about.”
She walked away.
“Zoey!”
“She said, leave.” Vance moved back in front of him, arms crossed, chest puffed up like a protective big brother.
“Stay out of this.” Justin’s heart thumped, and every nerve twitched. Vance had known Zoey for what, two weeks? He didn’t have a right to defend her. Not against Justin, who loved her.
“This is my house, so I’m in it.” Vance wrapped his hand around Justin’s bicep. “You need to get out.”
Justin clenched his fist, his muscles tensing under Vance’s grip. Then he jerked away.
On the other side of the room, the picture was all wrong. Zoey stood with her back toward him, Bailee’s arm around her shoulders. The other band members stared, and judging from their hard eyes, they’d gang up on him if he didn’t leave.
Bumping Vance’s shoulder, Justin shoved past him and ran up the stairs.
Outside, the sun shone, but the warmth failed to pierce his chill. Had she really broken up with him?
He sped home barely aware of the traffic, the stop signs, the lights. His insides, his life, his everything was twisted up and knotted wrong. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He loved Zoey. Why would she do this?
When he arrived home, he went straight into the garage. Music always calmed him and put things in perspective. He picked up his acoustic
and ran his hands over the smooth wood. His fingers settled on the strings, ready to play. Nothing came. No melody. No songs. No music at all.
His grip tightened around the fingerboard, the strings biting the pads of his fingers. His other hand hovered, unable to move. He listened for the notes, a beginning chord, something. But all he heard was a pounding, building to a scream inside him. He raised his arm and then swung down slamming the guitar into the ground.
It splintered, like his heart.
He tried to catch his breath. What was he doing?
The guitar lay on the floor, fractured and cracked. A million memories shattered by a single blow.
He tore his gaze away from the fragmented wood. This wasn’t right; it wasn’t him. Destroying his guitar? How did his life get so messed up so fast?
Across the room, the red and silver drum set mocked him. Sawyer had caused all of this—the breakup with Zoey, the splintered guitar, the pain. So why was Justin taking his anger out on his own instruments?
He crossed the concrete floor to the shining pieces he wasn’t supposed to touch.
25
Your Little Suburbia is in Ruins
Leaving his bike on the sidewalk, Sawyer entered the pizzeria.
The girl sipped soda through a straw and watched him.
He still didn’t know her name. Why had he offered to hang out with a total stranger? She was just another flirty girl, fascinated by the band thing. She’d probably get the wrong idea, like Felicia and the movies. Except this girl wasn’t quite like those others. He might not mind if she read too much into this.
“One more minute,” she said as he slid into the chair across from her, “and I’d have my pizza paid for.”
“I can pay anyway.” The words came too fast, without thought. What had his mom said about paying and dating? This girl would think they were on a date for sure.
She stared at him with those strange orangey-brown eyes. Over the spicy tomato sauce and pepperoni smells, he caught a whiff of her heady orange and syrup scent. “No. I lost, so I’ll pay for myself.” She grabbed a menu and dropped her gaze.