by Sarah Tipton
He did some quick math in his head. Might take a while to earn enough money, but guitar lessons beat flipping burgers.
He pushed open the second door, the strum of a guitar announcing his entrance. He passed the sheet music and lesson book section, the drumhead and drumstick replacements, and entered the room filled with guitars. Acoustics, electrics, and basses hung in parallel rows on the walls. Better than an amusement park.
“Hey, Justin.” Zach, a tall, skinny guy with dirty blond dreadlocks, rounded the corner. “You here for new strings?”
“Uh, no. I’m looking at guitars.”
“We still have that electric you’ve been eyeing.” Zach gestured with his thumb.
“Actually, I need a new acoustic.” Don’t ask why. He didn’t want to confess he’d smashed it like an immature rockstar. He lacked the rockstar fans and budget.
“You’re probably as familiar with them as I am. Got a price range?”
“Anything for twenty bucks?”
“No.” Zach laughed. “I don’t think you’re wanting cheap.”
“Not really.” He fingered the smooth edge of a guitar close to him. His heart twisted. Why had he been so stupid to destroy his? “I’ll have to get a job before I can afford one. Can you help me with that too?”
“You know, I might be able to.”
“Really?” He hadn’t wanted to admit Mom’s idea was a good one, but if he had to work, he’d rather work here, surrounded by instruments, music, and people who understood it all.
“Yeah. It’ll only be part time—fifteen to twenty hours a week—but if you’re interested, I’ll get you an application.”
“Great.” Finally, something good. He followed Zach to the counter. “I was thinking I’d stick an advertisement up for guitar lessons on the board out there.”
“I can help you with that too.” Zach handed him the job application form. “Brian, who’s been teaching here, has to scale back his load.”
“Sweet. But all I have is an electric right now.”
“We could probably work something out. A layaway deal where you could use the guitar here while paying it off.”
Justin grinned and picked up a pen to fill out the form. Earlier, he never would’ve believed he’d feel excited about applying for a job.
“And I don’t think you’ll have any trouble getting hired,” Zach said. “It’s my decision.”
Justin couldn’t fill in the blanks fast enough.
After he’d provided the information and returned the application to Zach, Justin checked out the guitars again. He touched the dark and light woods, and music thrummed deep inside him.
“If you like one, go ahead and try it out,” Zach said from across the room.
Justin lifted an acoustic-electric off the upper rack. He curled his hand around the neck and held his hand above the strings. Two days ago, he couldn’t hear any music, much less play. What about now?
“Whatcha waiting for?” Zach walked over and stood in front of him.
Justin lightly strummed a chord, and then another, not playing anything in particular. But he kept going, until the chords combined into his unfinished song. “Zoey’s Song.” His chest ached at the notes, and the pain spread down his arms into his hands. Then it eased, as though flooding through his fingers and out the strings. Hurt and hope blending in harmony.
“That was good.” Admiration shone in Zach’s voice. “Really good.”
“Thanks.” He replaced the guitar gripping the neck a few seconds too long.
“About the job, can you start Thursday?”
“Sure.”
The guitar-slash-doorbell strummed.
“Keep looking.” Zach waved his hand and walked off.
But Justin didn’t have to keep looking. He’d already chosen.
Inside, the hurt remained, raw like his fingers had been when first learning to play. But the alternating numbness and raging heat were gone, replaced by music.
Verse 2:
What can heal this ache
How much can I take
I’m losing her
But not refusing her
Please bring her back to me
I need her can’t You see
31
Swimming Towards Propellers
Sawyer lay on his bed and stared at his phone. Chey’s number glowed on the screen. Call. Apologize.
He raised a finger to the “call” button, then dropped his hand back to the quilt. Not so easy. What if she wasn’t interested in listening? And why should she be?
But Mom had played the man card. And the single-mom card. Sawyer had ruined things with Justin and Zoey. They’d finally given up on him. But Mom told him how to redeem himself, at least in her eyes. And that started with apologizing to Chey.
He would. For Mom.
He stabbed the screen and listened to the rings.
“Hello?”
Her voice sent a jolt of heat through his stomach. He took a deep breath. “Hi.”
Silence.
Sawyer opened and shut his mouth, his tongue too twisted to form words.
“Who is this?” she finally asked.
“Sawyer.”
“Sawyer?” The shock in her voice proved she wasn’t interested in listening.
But he was talking to her now. “About yesterday...”
The apology wouldn’t form. Saying “sorry” was harder than Sawyer imagined. One word. Just say it!
But he couldn’t. He scrambled for a different excuse for calling, “Do you wanna go check out keyboards with me?”
“Why would I do that?” Her snappy attitude heated him, but didn’t burn.
“Thought you might take my advice. Play the keyboard instead of a guitar.”
“Yeah...I don’t think so.”
Silence. But she hadn’t hung up. She still listened. Should he try again? Attempt that apology while he still had a chance?
Assuming he’d ever had a chance. “You don’t want to because of yesterday?”
“Ding, ding, ding. Drummer boy wins.”
“Look.” His voice developed an edge. Enough with the jokes. Didn’t she get that this was the hardest thing he’d ever done? The only thing harder would be apologizing to Justin. But he couldn’t imagine ever telling Justin he was sorry. Even if he was sorrier about kissing Zoey than he’d been about anything else in his life. “That was a mistake.”
“Another mistake? You make an awful lot of those, don’t you?”
What did he say to that?
“Well, guess what?” Chey didn’t wait him out this time. “I don’t want to be one of your mistakes, got it?”
“Fine. Whatever.” If she didn’t want to listen, he wouldn’t talk. He jabbed the “end” button.
His pulse thumped in his ears. She probably had a point. He’d probably mess things up with Chey too, if he could convince her to give him a chance to do something. But why should she? He couldn’t carry on a conversation without sounding hostile. Justin and Zoey were the only people who had willingly put up with Sawyer’s spikes—and he didn’t mean the ones in his hair. Felicia had tried, for some unknown, insane reason. But he’d eventually stabbed her to death. And he was doing the same to Chey. Why did he want Chey to give him a chance?
Because she stabbed him back. She didn’t put up with him like Justin and Zoey and even Mom. Chey didn’t ignore his jabs like Felicia. Chey gave it right back. He needed someone willing to beat him with the same sticks he used on everyone else.
He hit the call button again.
“What?” She didn’t bother with a greeting this time.
“I’m sorry.” The words came quick, slurred into one.
Silence.
Sawyer checked the screen. Call still connected. A good sign. “So you wanna go look at keyboards now?”
“OK.”
Her quick response caught him off guard. “Uh...can you pick me up? My mom’s got the car.”
“Is that why you really called me?” The sharpn
ess returned to her voice, and he smiled to himself. “You just need a ride?”
“No.” He repaid sharpness with sharpness. “I can walk and get the car.”
Hesitation.
She was going to turn him down, and he had no clue how to talk her into agreeing. If she needed nice, he was in big trouble. He couldn’t do nice.
“I have to ask my stepmom first.” Chey’s answer brought a wave of relief. “If she’s OK with it, I’ll be there in about twenty minutes. If I don’t show, she said no.”
“OK.”
Chey hung up on him this time, and he grinned. Yep, she was beating him with the same sticks.
Good thing black-and-blue were his favorite colors.
~*~
“Play something.” Sawyer stood close to Chey peering over her shoulder. Her hands hovered over the keyboard. She’d touched every keyboard in Rhythm and Notes but hadn’t played a single note.
Being surrounded by instruments without anyone playing left Sawyer twitchy. The keyboards were meant to be played. So were the drum kits in the basement, but they had big signs on them saying, “Do not play.” Sawyer had been kicked out at least twice for ignoring those signs, and if Chey didn’t start playing soon, he’d be getting kicked out again.
The name of the store was Rhythm and Notes. Music was supposed to happen.
“Play what?” She hesitated.
“Anything.” He shrugged and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his fingers tapping against his legs. “I don’t play piano.”
The muscles in Chey’s neck stood out, tense and tight. Her shoulders remained rigid. She needed to play, that was obvious.
And she did. She started with what Sawyer recognized as scales, then she shifted into music vaguely familiar, blending songs Sawyer couldn’t name. Her neck and shoulders relaxed. This was what made Chey different from Felicia and the other band groupie girls. She could play, and she needed to play.
“What was that?” Sawyer asked when she stopped.
She studied him for a second, but he didn’t know what she was looking for. Judgment? Criticism? She wouldn’t see any of those.
“A bunch of different things,” she finally answered.
“Like you made it up?”
She shook her head. “I just mixed up different songs.”
“Make something up.”
“What?” She stared at him as if he’d suggested she stuff the keyboard under her black-and-white t-shirt and walk out of the store.
“Do your own thing. I want to know how the music sounds in your head.”
“The music in my head?”
“Yeah.”
If she needed to play, he knew she heard music in her head just like he heard rhythm and beats. And if she seriously wanted to play in a band as she’d claimed the last time they were here together, then she’d have to be brave enough to get that music out of her head and into people’s ears.
Chey stared at the keyboard, and Sawyer watched Chey. Not her hands, but her face. She swallowed and then tightened her jaw. Fear. Insecurity. He could feel and practically smell those emotions pouring off her. Only one cure.
“Play.” He spoke in a whisper, his breath fluttering her short blonde-and-red strands.
Her cheeks pinked, but her hands started moving, pressing keys, making music. Simple at first, then more complicated. Raw, but real.
Sawyer drummed his fingers against his legs hearing how he’d accompany her. If only this store would honor the “rhythm” part of their name and let him play along.
“Gold star,” he said when the music stopped. “I’d play in a band with you.”
“Too bad you don’t have one right now.”
Her comment felt like a stab with a broken drumstick. A splintered and jagged end. If he hadn’t destroyed his band, could he have invited Chey to join?
Too late. He’d have to build a new band. “If you had a keyboard, we’d almost have a band.”
“We would?” The eagerness in her tone matched that of the wannabes, but Sawyer didn’t find Chey annoying. “Just a drummer and a keyboardist?”
“You gotta start somewhere.”
Chey looked back at the keyboard, her fingers stroking the white keys. Was she considering his suggestion? Because he meant it. Completely.
He needed a band, and so did she. “What do you think?”
“Maybe.” She glanced up, a practiced carelessness in the jut of her chin but a longing in her eyes that Sawyer recognized. He knew that need. That hunger.
Her “maybe” would turn into a “yes.”
32
Casualties
Zoey washed the ice cream and waffle cone smell from her hair, and then she walked to band practice. The sun warmed her damp, messy ponytail. She couldn’t get yesterday's conversation at church out of her mind. What had happened when Chey went over to Sawyer's? If Sawyer was into Chey, then did their kiss mean nothing to him? Because that made things easier. She’d know exactly where she stood and could move on. After all, she didn’t like Sawyer. Not really.
She pulled her necklace out from under her shirt twisting it with an intensity that matched the wrenching of her heart. She’d felt something when they kissed. Even now, her toes curled against the soles of her shoes. Hadn’t Sawyer felt the same thing? Maybe he didn’t care.
Climbing the steps of Vance’s house, she shoved those thoughts from her mind. Time to concentrate on her singing, her future. Maybe by the end of the summer, Aurora Fire would want to keep her as their vocalist, even after Halleigh came back. If not...
She’d be on her own, and she’d never wanted to go solo.
She entered the basement. Everyone was in their usual spots. Cherie and Bailee sat on the couch; Vance and Devin tuned their instruments; Myles and Travis talked and laughed in the back corner. Zoey moved to her spot among the speakers and amps squaring her shoulders. She’d nail practice today.
She placed her sheets in order and mouthed some of the lyrics waiting for the guys to be ready. Since she’d altered them, the words flowed more easily. She just had to focus.
“Let’s start.” Vance silenced the room for a second, and then he played the opening measure.
The hammered notes blended with the lyrics, the twisted pain of cheating and betrayal piercing Zoey’s heart. This hurt and hate belonged to Justin, and it was all her fault. No, she couldn’t think about that and sing. She had to concentrate on the beat, the notes, the intonation, not the emotions. But as she sang the next song and the next, the agony threaded through her chest mixing with her regret and confusion.
“One-second, you destroyed me, everything shredded, everything dead, one-second.”
Maybe those words applied more to Justin, but she felt it too. Her life flipped upside-down and inside-out with that kiss. If it had never happened, nothing would’ve changed, and she, Justin, and Sawyer would be better off.
The final chord of the last song thrust her from her heartache and back into the basement.
“You did good today.” Vance nudged her arm and slipped his guitar off.
“Thanks.” The compliment failed to lift her mood. Maybe she sang well because she understood the lyrics too deeply.
“I gotta get to work.” Myles crossed to the couch and kissed Bailee. “Later.”
“Me too.” Vance pulled Cherie to her feet and wrapped her in a slobbery kiss.
Zoey picked up her empty water bottle and papers ignoring all the coupling.
“You wanna stay and hang out?” Bailee spoke behind her.
Zoey moved toward the stairs.
“Hey! I’m talking to you.”
Zoey spun around. Bailee wanted to hang out with her?
“You stayin’ or not?” The demand rushed out of Bailee, and she crossed her arms looking at Zoey as though she’d better hurry up and answer.
“Yeah, sure.” Zoey stuttered over the words. She had nothing else to do. And having Bailee on her side at the end of the summer might help her chances
of staying with Aurora Fire.
“You too.” Bailee linked arms with Cherie and led the way upstairs.
Zoey hadn’t spent any time on the main level beyond walking from the front door to the basement stairs. Her nose twitched at the weird combination of over-microwaved Chinese food and stale pizza. The dim lighting cast shadows across the dirty-dish clutter on the kitchen counter and the overflowing garbage.
Bailee opened the fridge and passed out beers.
Goody, another can of cat pee. Her stomach churned, but before she could turn it down, Bailee slammed shut the fridge door and continued into the messy living room.
Bailee and Cherie plopped down on the tan couch.
Zoey perched on the edge of a matching chair. If she got too comfortable, she might discover more hidden grossness. The fluorescent lights muted the stains on the furniture and worn carpet. Video games and controls lay strewn across the floor surrounded by piles of clothes and trash. Good thing Alaska didn’t breed cockroaches.
“You sounded awesome today.” Cherie popped the tab on her beer. “Like at the concert.”
“Yeah. Yesterday’s practice was good too.” Bailee tossed a dark T-shirt on the floor and pulled her feet onto the couch. Obviously, she was comfortable with the mess. “Maybe breaking up with your boyfriend is working.”
“What d’you mean?” Zoey’s throat went dry, and she opened the can in her hand.
“I think his lack of passion killed yours too. Now your singing shows more life.”
Zoey raised the can to her mouth. Beer still tasted disgusting, like liquid punishment. Justin had always given her courage—and passion—when on stage. She downed almost half the can in one gulp.
“But speaking of you and boyfriends, I know a couple of single guys.” Bailee almost sang the words. “Interested?”
Not if they were like Myles or Vance. She shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“You can meet them at Friday’s concert.”
“What about Travis and Devin?” Cherie kicked aside a stack of video games and propped her feet on the coffee table. “They don’t have girlfriends, do they?”
Bailee shook her head. “But the guys have this stupid rule about no dating within the band. Which only applies to you.” She tilted her beer can at Zoey. “At least, until Halleigh comes back. Then you’d be able to date them. You like Travis or Devin?”