by Sarah Tipton
“OK, I get that.” She peeled a pepperoni off a slice of pizza and ate it. “Do you miss it though?”
His fingers tingled at the question, and he didn’t have to think about the answer. “Yes.”
“Do you think I should join a band?”
Justin stared at her for a long second. Her expression was unreadable. “Not one that includes Sawyer.”
“Hmm.” Chey’s mouth twisted to one side which pushed out the diamond stud below her lip, and stared at him, as though trying to read his mind.
He shifted away.
“You know, I’ve never had a best friend,” she said. “I moved too much to keep one friend like that. You’re blessed.”
“Blessed?” The word sprang from his mouth high and loud. Had the girl been paying attention to anything?
“Yeah. You’re blessed to have friends who care about you like that.”
“Friends who care?” This girl didn’t have a clue. “Sawyer cares about only one thing—his drums.”
“He’s teaching me to play them.”
“What?” He’d heard her, but it didn’t make sense. “Sawyer’s teaching you to play his drums?”
“Yep.”
“And he’s letting you touch them?”
“Uh-huh.”
“His drums?”
“Yes, his drums.” She repeated each word slowly, like playing individual notes. “You hard of hearing? Maybe you need to turn the volume down when you play.”
Sawyer, who got angry when anyone looked at his drums, was teaching Chey how to play them? Why would he do that? Unless he actually liked this girl. Justin stared at her. She looked like Sawyer’s type, if he had one, with her blonde-and-red hair, the piercings under her lip and along her earlobes, and her odd clothing combinations of tulle, lace, and denim. But why now? What made this girl special?
“Are you busy tomorrow?” he asked.
“No, why?”
“We could hang out. Go to a movie or something.”
“Hang out?” Her voice dropped, hardened. “Just you and me?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Why not?” Her amber eyes lit like flames. “Because you’re still in love with your ex-girlfriend, whom your best friend kissed, that’s why. Been there. Done that. And I deserve something better.” She stood and glared down at him. “I’m not a pawn for someone’s revenge game.”
The people sitting nearby stared, mouths dangling open like Chey’s words had triggered some sort of jaw-hinge switch.
Chey marched off in a quiet symphony of scratchy, rustle-y tulle.
The accusations hung in the air and grated against Justin’s skin leaving him raw and exposed. He hadn’t been trying to ask her out; he only wanted to find out why Sawyer liked her. He pushed off the couch walking in the opposite direction of Chey. He had to get out of there. How would Zoey react when she heard about this? If Chey didn’t tell her, someone else would, and he’d never fix things with Zoey.
He tossed his empty plate in the trash and headed outside to his car. Why should he feel guilty? He hadn’t cheated on Zoey. They’d broken up. He could ask out anyone he wanted. Those were the rules. The only persons off limits would be your friends’ interests or exes or girlfriends.
And he and Sawyer weren’t friends anymore.
Justin turned on the engine and scrolled through his playlists for something to take his mind off Zoey and Sawyer.
But not even the most upbeat song could unknot his twisted spirit.
37
Whatever It Takes
At the knock, Sawyer practically vaulted over the couch.
“Careful!” Mom’s warning didn’t slow him down, but knowing Chey waited on the other side of the door, he paused. Took a deep breath. Transformed his posture into indifference. Squashed all eagerness. Then he opened the door and stepped out of the way so Chey could enter. “Hey.”
“Hi, Chey.” Mom twisted around smiling over the back of the couch. The TV blasted a cooking show on cakes.
Chey lifted her hand in a wave, her nose wrinkling.
Sawyer sniffed. The acidic smell of nail polish hung in the air.
“Would you like a manicure?” Mom asked.
“Mom.” He stretched the word into three syllables, each one carrying warning.
“Most girls would appreciate a guy who can paint nails.”
Sawyer groaned.
“Aren’t I right, Chey?” Mom raised her right hand showing off fuchsia nails. “He does a great job—no streaks, no paint on the skin.”
Chey admired Mom’s nails then looked at Sawyer, her face pinched like she fought not to laugh, but was losing the battle. “You did a good job.”
“Never again.” He practically pushed Chey into the hallway.
“I’m seeing you in a whole new light—drummer boy manicurist.” Her shoulders shook. “That’s what you should name your nail salon.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He shoved her into his room. Mom could paint her own nails in the future. “Let’s play.”
Chey squeezed between his bed and the keyboard. Sawyer kicked a shoe into a corner and dug through a box of CDs.
“I found this.” Sawyer held up a case.
“What is it?”
“Justin made it.” Sawyer paused, as if saying Justin’s name required a moment of silence. Felt wrong playing Justin’s music with someone else. But time to move on. Justin wasn’t giving him a choice. “It’s his guitar part in our songs. He recorded it for me and Zoey so we could practice at home. During school, we can’t play together as often. Anyway, I thought we could use it to practice.”
“OK.” Chey turned the word into a question, as if she didn’t understand what Sawyer meant.
“Just listen to it first.” Sawyer placed the disc in the machine and hit play. The song was slow. Automatically, Sawyer moved his hands as though beating the drums.
Behind her keyboard, Chey closed her eyes. Sawyer watched her, the way she bobbed her head, the way she swayed, the way she sat on her hands as if to keep them still. Sawyer was certain she heard more than Justin’s playing. She heard her music too.
The song ended, and Chey opened her eyes.
“Do you want to listen again or try playing?” Sawyer held a hand over the CD player.
“Playing?” Chey’s voice squeaked. Panic flooded her orange-brown eyes. “What am I supposed to play?”
“Whatever fits the song.”
“I can’t do that. It’s one thing to make stuff completely up like we did yesterday, but I can’t come up with something that sounds good with other music.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No, Sawyer, I—”
“Do you want to play with me or not?”
“Are you saying you won’t hang out with me if I refuse to play with that CD?”
“You said you wouldn’t hang out with me unless I stopped cussing.”
“That’s hardly the same thing.” Her laughter was high pitched, almost hysterical.
He just shrugged letting his eyes challenge her. If she wanted—no, needed—the music as badly as he did, she’d try.
“Fine.” She sat a little straighter, as if physically rising to the challenge. “But let me listen again.”
Sawyer played the track again. Then replayed the first thirty-seconds a dozen times before realizing Chey needed another push. Or a shove. “This time, play.”
Chey opened her mouth to argue.
“Play,” he demanded.
She scowled, narrowing eyes that tried to look angry, but still held panic. Fear.
He didn’t know what to say to make her feel safe. But he knew what not to say. He wouldn’t say anything about her first attempt, which wouldn’t be her best. Even if that was the point. They called it “band practice” for a reason. No one’s first run through sounded great. Few sounded even decent. But she’d get better, just as he always did.
Chey twisted a knob on the keyboard and pressed down keys. Silent keys.
�
��It doesn’t count if no one can hear it.”
Chey glared and eased up the volume, changing the silent notes into a whisper.
He hit the pause button. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“You tell me off practically every time we’re together, but you’re playing like you’re scared.”
“OK, first you compare my playing with your cussing, now you’re comparing it to telling you off. That doesn’t make sense.”
“Yes, it does.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
“Yes. It. Does.” Couldn’t she see how playing a few notes, good or bad, wasn’t any scarier than being bold to someone’s face?
Chey pressed her lips together as if she might give him the silent treatment—with both her mouth and her hands—indefinitely. But then she spoke. “Fine.”
He hit play, and she began, grimacing when the notes clashed. But he didn’t say a word. After thirty-seconds, he restarted the song. Over and over it played, and Chey grew bolder.
She found her harmony.
As Sawyer saw her confidence grow, a pride swelled inside him stronger than any he’d ever felt when playing his drums. “Gold star.” Sawyer paused the CD. Sometime between the tenth play and the hundredth, he’d gotten comfortable on his bed. “Get it now?”
“Get what? How this is like cussing or telling you off? No.”
“Just don’t be scared about it.” He leaned forward, hands outstretched wishing she could see and hear what he did. “Whatever you start with will probably not be good, but it’ll get better.”
“That would’ve been nice to know earlier. Can we take a break now?”
“Yes, please, take a break,” Mom called from the living room. “An hour and a half of the same thing and I’m losing my mind.”
“Did we really work on that for an hour and a half?” Chey asked.
“You worked on it. I just hit the back button.”
“And that wasn’t even a whole song.”
“Told you being in a band was hard.”
“This isn’t a band. It’s you, me, and a CD.”
“Did you have fun?”
“Fun?” She sounded as if he’d asked if Algebra class had been fun. Then her face softened. “Yeah, it kind of was.”
He grinned. She got it. He knew she would.
“So is this what it’s really like to be a band? Playing the same thing over and over until you get it right?”
“Sometimes.” His smile faded. “Though you’re right—you, me, and a CD isn’t a band.”
“Might make a decent album title.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“So we’d need an actual guitarist in the room to be a band?”
“It would help. And a name.” Sawyer relaxed against the wall. He, Justin, and Zoey never had agreed on the name thing. Now they never would. “But what you really need to do is perform.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. What good is playing in a tiny room like this where no one can ever hear you?”
“I can hear you,” Mom called.
“Someone other than my crazy mother.” His voice grew louder with each word.
“You think we could perform?” Chey didn’t act bothered by Mom’s eavesdropping. “Just you and me?”
“Maybe. If you ever learn an entire song.” He didn’t put any meanness in his tone. Besides a name and a venue, a band needed a song. Or a dozen songs.
“When does your mom leave for work?”
“It’s my day off,” Mom answered.
“Enough with the eavesdropping,” Sawyer yelled.
“Let’s play again,” Chey said. “But with you on drums.”
“Finally.” Sawyer slid off the bed and sat behind his drums. “Now it’ll be music.”
38
Cross the Line
Zoey stared into her closet, her cell smooshed against her ear. “What should I wear tonight? Something glittery?”
“Definitely.” Livvy sounded firm over the phone. Then her voice softened. “Sorry I won’t be there.”
“It’s OK.” Livvy’s regret warmed Zoey’s heart but put her out of a sparkly mood. She shoved a few shirts aside. “You couldn’t skip out on wedding shopping with Karmen. You’re maid of honor.”
“I’ll be home tomorrow morning to hear all about it.”
“OK, but I might crash with Aurora Fire tonight. It’ll be late, and if I help them unload the gear after, I might as well just stay.” A long silence followed her words. “Liv? You still there?”
“Uh, yeah. Just...distracted. Are you sure you wouldn’t want to sleep in your own bed?”
“At 2 or 3 a.m., I won’t care. And I already told Dad. He’s OK with it.”
More hesitation. What was Livvy’s problem? Zoey hadn’t hung out with Bailee or Cherie or the band after another practice, even though Livvy was out of town and Dad would never notice. And Bailee had asked. If Zoey kept putting her off, Bailee would slip back into her snarky self, ready to replace Zoey at the first false note. She couldn’t risk that. Things were finally good.
“If Dad’s fine with it...be careful and stay out of trouble, OK?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Zoey let her annoyance bleed through. Livvy was acting way too parental for a big sister. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Good to know. See you tomorrow.”
“Bye.” She disconnected and tossed her cell onto the bed. Now to choose an outfit.
~*~
Zoey paced in tiny circles in the back of the club. Aurora Fire went on in an hour, and while Zoey knew she’d be fine as soon as she stepped on stage, right now her nerves were about to jump right through her skin.
“Stop moving around.” Bailee didn’t even glance up from her phone. “You’re making me crazy.”
Zoey tried to be still, but her muscles twitched.
“Do you want to meet Max and Xavier before or after?”
“Huh?” Zoey glanced around, but she and Bailee were the only ones in the room.
“They guys I told you about?” Bailee looked up and slowed the words with exaggerated patience. “You wanna meet them now or later?”
“Uh, later.” She paced again. Movement kept her knees from feeling as if they’d give out.
“OK. Later...at the...bar.” Bailee spoke and texted.
“At the bar?” Zoey halted. “I can’t.”
“That’s why I got you that I.D., remember?” Bailee wasn’t bothering with fake patience now. “Makes life easier?”
“Right.” The shiny, new, fake driver’s license tucked in her sparkly black shorts pocket nearly singed her butt cheek. She didn’t need to be over-eighteen to perform, only to hang out in the bar. And apparently, to meet guys. Looked as if that I.D. was just complicating things.
“Sit down.” Bailee set aside her phone. “You need to relax. I’m feeling all jittery from watching you.”
Zoey sat but couldn’t keep her legs from jiggling in the fishnet stockings.
“Here. Maybe this will help.” Bailee thrust a brown bottle at her.
“I don’t think my stomach can handle it.”
“Just try it. It’s better than that cheap stuff the guys have at the house.”
Zoey took a tiny sip. The liquid burned, but at least it didn’t taste like cat pee.
“What’s up? You seem more nervous than last time.”
Nervous wasn’t quite the right word. Anxious. Tense. Terrified. That’s what she felt.
Zoey rested her elbows on the rough stockings, staring at her black and purple shoes. No one in the audience would be cheering just because she was on stage. No one would show up tonight just for her. No one out there would care about Zoey Harris. But, most importantly, Justin wouldn’t be out there encouraging her with his grin.
How could she sing about cheaters and heartbreak when she was the worst?
The door creaked open, and Vance walked in.
“Hey.” Bailee looked past him. “Where’s
Cherie? She was supposed to meet me here.”
Vance’s lip curled back, his nostrils flared, and he released several comments about his girlfriend— probably now his ex.
“Don’t tell me, she failed your little test?” Bailee crossed her arms and flopped back. “Seriously, Vance? Why? She was nice. You’ve gotta stop being so suspicious.”
“I’ve got a right to be, if they keep failing.”
“What test?” Zoey glanced back and forth at the two of them, the argument a calming distraction.
“Vance can’t trust his girlfriends, so he arranges these stupid setups where some guy hits on her. Basically, the guy pushes himself on Vance’s girlfriend until she gives him her number or lets him kiss her or something.”
“Why?” She stared at him. What kind of guy forced his girlfriend to cheat on him?
“Because I expect faithfulness, no matter what.”
“But if you’re setting her up, making a guy flirt with her, it’s not her fault.” Poor Cherie. Zoey hadn’t known her very well, but she didn’t deserve that.
“So?” Vance glared, hate mixing with the hurt in his narrowed eyes. “That’s not an excuse to kiss some other guy.”
“But if she was caught up in some moment, and he was standing close to her...maybe she didn’t mean for it to happen.” A burbling started in Zoey’s chest and rose into her throat. “Maybe the kiss upset and confused her most of all.”
“Wait, is that why you broke up with your boyfriend?” Bailee’s jaw dropped, but she sounded impressed. “Wow, I didn’t think you were capable of cheating.”
“You cheated on him?” Vance’s face glowed like a red spotlight shone on him, his eyes bugging out.
Zoey shrank back, swallowing hard. Best not to answer a guy who looked like that.
“I don’t believe it. All girls are alike. Eventually, they cheat on you or they use you to cheat on someone else.” Vance jabbed a finger at her. A spear aimed at her heart. “No matter what Justin was like, he didn’t deserve that. No one does.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks. Strange, but Vance’s conviction hurt more than anyone else’s.
Vance stormed out of the room. The slam of the door broke what little hold Zoey had on her emotions. She buried her face in her hands, sobbing like the night she’d told Justin about the kiss.