Her reproach made Tobias pause for a moment, and I used the opportunity to close in on him. “Gotcha.” I wrapped both arms around him and lifted him off the floor, proving once again that I was the faster, stronger, smarter one. The little imp.
“Stop,” he said, wiggling out of my grasp. “You’re gonna make me pee my pants.”
I set him down and took his hand, holding on tight so he wouldn’t run off again before we reached the bathroom. He didn’t even try, so he was obviously busting. Before he went in the bathroom, I peeked inside, like my mother taught me, to make sure there were no creepy men hanging around in there. Then I waited for him right outside the door.
“Race ya back to the paint,” Tobias said two minutes later as he swung open the door and bolted past me. Cursing under my breath, I hurried after him.
I only made it about ten feet before I skidded to a stop, almost plowing down an old lady this time. “Sorry,” I mumbled in her general direction. My attention was completely focused on the sight in front of me: Justin, standing near the customer service area at the front of the store. Aubrey’s Justin, who’d been avoiding her since the day her mother caught them in the park and grounded her.
An unexpected burst of anger swept through me. I had no interest in talking to the guy who’d caused my friend so much unhappiness, so I continued to follow Tobias, who I could still see up ahead, sprinting toward the paint section and our waiting father. Hopefully Justin hadn’t seen me.
“Dara! Dara, wait up.”
Damn it. I stopped and spun on my heel. Justin was walking toward me, a thin sheaf of papers in his hand and an expression of firm resolve on his face. Damn it damn it damn it.
“Hey,” he said, coming to a stop in front of me.
Under his jacket, he wore a dark blue button-down shirt that made his blue eyes look almost indigo. I did my best not to notice. “What are you doing here?”
He held up the sheets of paper. “Dropping off résumés. I’m trying to secure a summer job. What about you?”
“Oh, I just hang out here sometimes. You know, for fun.”
His eyebrows shot up at my tone. “I take it you’re pissed at me?”
I looked away. Of course I was pissed at him. Aubrey had chosen him to be her first, and then, when their relationship hit a rough patch, he dumped her. He didn’t fight for her, didn’t try to work through it, didn’t tell her he’d stick by her no matter what. He just gave up. So yes, I was mad, because Aubrey was worth the trouble and only an idiot wouldn’t see that.
An employee pushing a trolley squeezed past us, making me realize we were blocking traffic. Justin realized it at the same time and moved out of the aisle, motioning for me to follow. We stopped near a display of hardwood floor cleaner, our bodies barely a foot apart. It amazed and horrified me that even though I was mad at him, and even though my best friend was in love with him, my stomach still tingled when he stood this close. Stupid, traitorous body.
“You’re not being fair,” he said in a low voice.
“How am I not being fair? You’re punishing her because she happened to get stuck with parents who are assholes. That’s not being fair.”
“It’s not really any of your business.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Yes, it is. Who do you think stays with her when she’s crying in the bathroom at school after you refuse to talk to her? She’s my best friend and you hurt her.”
“Well, she hurt me too,” he snapped.
A middle-aged couple sauntered past us, discussing what shade of grout they needed to buy. When they were gone, Justin focused on me again, his gaze intense. I felt exposed and slightly uneasy.
“She refuses to stand up to her parents, even when it involves me,” he went on. “She lets them run her life and I got sick of dealing with it. If that makes me a dick, then I guess I’m a dick.”
I understood now why Aubrey got so damn frustrated sometimes when they fought. “You agreed to be patient with her. Remember? That day in the tree house?”
Was that amusement flickering in his eyes? What could possibly be funny about this?
“Yeah, I remember.” He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Look, I’ll stop avoiding her, okay?”
I gave him a pointed glare I’d learned from my mother. “And you’ll talk to her? Let her explain?”
“I’ll call her tonight. How’s that?”
“She lost her phone privileges, so you can’t call her. But you can talk to her at school on Monday instead of running in the other direction like a coward.”
He flashed his perfect smile at me. “Done.”
“And don’t tell her about this conversation,” I added. “Forget you even saw me today.”
His gaze flicked down to where my arms rested over my chest. “Impossible.”
I felt a different sort of fluttering in my stomach, one that made me want to back away from him. Did he . . . ? Yes, I think he did. Justin Gates just checked out my boobs.
I couldn’t believe his gall. Did he honestly think he had any kind of chance with me? Crush or no crush, there were some lines I’d never cross.
“Dara?”
I jumped and looked toward my father’s voice. He stood a few feet away, a can of paint dangling from each hand, and his eyes latched onto Justin. Tobias was next to him, holding a package of paint rollers.
Justin’s smile faltered as he took in my very tall, very strong, very bearlike father. “Gotta run,” he told me, then turned and walked away before I had a chance to introduce them.
Dad wasn’t the nosy, overly interested type, so he waited until we were buckled into the truck before asking any questions.
“Who was that?”
The words sounded casual, but I detected a trace of suspicion underneath. “Justin. Aubrey’s boyfriend, remember?” Ex-boyfriend, really, but I wasn’t about to get into that.
He grunted. Dad was fond of Aubrey, but he didn’t concern himself with the details of her personal life.
“Do they kiss each other on the lips?” Tobias asked from the backseat.
I rolled my eyes. “You asked me that before, Tobes, and the answer is still none of your business.”
“Well,” Dad said, twisting around to check behind us as he pulled out of the parking spot. “Aubrey’s boyfriend or not, I can’t say I was pleased with the way he was looking at my fifteen-year-old daughter.”
Face burning, I dug out my phone and pretended to text someone so I wouldn’t have to respond.
seventeen
Senior Year
“WE HAVE TO DO SOME COVERS.”
“Dude, it’s a showcase. As in, you showcase your originals.”
“Our set is eight songs. At least half of those should be covers. Audiences like covers.”
“Audiences like good fucking songs and that’s what we play.”
“And some of the good fucking songs we play are covers.”
Kel scowls and puts down his guitar. I’m getting whiplash trying to follow this dispute between him and Hunter. So far, I’ve determined that Kel wants to play all original songs at their upcoming all-ages showcase—probably because he’s the one who wrote them—and Hunter thinks covers will go over better with the audience. I’ve also determined, after sitting in on band practice for the past two weekends in a row, that the two of them butt heads like goats every time they’re together.
“Jesus,” Corey says as he detangles himself from the cord attached to his bass. “No wonder Marco quit.”
I lean closer to Noelle, who’s sitting beside me on the couch. “Marco?” I whisper.
“The guy Ethan replaced,” she whispers back. “He didn’t get along with Kel either.”
I nod, unsurprised. Kel has an ego the size of Hunter’s drum kit.
“What do you think, E?” Kel turns to Ethan, looking for back-up. “Covers or originals?”
Ethan reaches down to flick off his amp, and my ears ring in the sudden quiet. The set they just finished was long and
especially loud. Everything sounds slightly muffled now.
“I think we should open with covers, do some originals, and then close with more covers.”
Kel’s quiet for a moment, considering this, while Hunter sends Ethan a quick, exultant grin.
“You see?” Corey says to Noelle and me. “This is why it pays to have at least one really smart person in a band.”
Realizing he’s been overruled, Kel mumbles something about needing a drink of water and leaves. As soon as he’s gone, the tension hovering over the shed begins to lift.
“Guess we’re taking a break then,” Corey says, and lowers himself until he’s lying on his back on the floor beside the drums. He puts his hands behind his head and closes his eyes, like he’s sunbathing on the beach.
Hunter shrugs and emerges from behind his kit, stepping over Corey’s prone form. Noelle gets up to join him, and the two of them head outside for a smoke, even though it’s cold and raining. Julia’s not here today, so it’s just Ethan, Corey, and me left inside the shed.
Ethan sinks down beside me on the couch, his guitar still nestled in his arms. He strums it almost absently, like it’s an extension of his body he barely even notices anymore.
“When did you get this?” I ask, running my finger along the guitar’s smooth gray paint.
He looks at me, still strumming. Without power, the strings give off a soft plinking sound.
“Oh, it’s not mine,” he says. “It’s Corey’s—he just lets me use it. I almost bought a guitar like this one at the end of summer, but I went for the car instead.” He pauses to tighten one of the strings. “Maybe next year.”
I lean against the back of the couch and watch him, my limbs heavy. The electric heater in the corner pumps out warm air, and raindrops tap a steady rhythm against the small window behind us. For the first time in I don’t even know how long, I feel contented and relaxed. And guilty, of course, for giving in to the feeling.
“What’s that song?” I ask, trying to decipher the melody in the chords.
Ethan smirks. “The annoying station you listen to would never play something like this, so you probably wouldn’t know it.”
I have an urge to punch his shoulder for that remark, but my hands remain still. Our conversation on the school steps helped alleviate some of the weirdness between us, but I’m not that comfortable with him yet. Not as much as I used to be, anyway. Then again, a lot of things are different now.
“Recognize this one?” He angles his body until he’s facing me and starts a new song.
The opening chords do sound familiar, but I’m having a hard time concentrating because his knee is now pressed against mine. And neither of us is pulling away.
“I think so,” I say, forcing myself to focus on the melody. “Guns N’ Roses, right? My parents used to listen to them. When they were teenagers,” I add with extra significance. “In the eighties.”
“Are you questioning my taste in music?” He glances up at me, smiling. “Because it’s not like you have much room to judge. Just saying.”
“Well, excuse me for being current,” I shoot back. “I was born in this century.”
“Um, so was I.”
I let it go and watch the muscles and tendons shift in his left hand as he presses hard on the strings. His fingers glide across the fret board like they know it not only by feel, but also by heart. They belong there.
“Do you still play violin?” I ask, trying to ignore the way our legs are still touching and that the heat from his body is now spreading into mine.
“E plays violin?”
Startled, I look over at Corey, who hasn’t moved from the floor or made a sound the entire time we’ve been talking. I kind of forgot he was even here.
“No,” Ethan says firmly, shooting me a look like I just ruined his rock star cred or something. “I mean, not anymore. I gave it up a year and a half ago.”
“Too bad,” Corey says. “Could’ve really added something to our sound.”
Ethan shakes his head and lifts his guitar, propping it carefully against the wall next to the couch. He stretches his fingers like Aubrey used to do after a particularly long solo.
“Is that painful?” I ask, nodding toward his left hand. His fingertips are pink and slightly dented from the strings.
“Not anymore. The skin is tough as leather there. Feel.”
I lean over and run my own, softer fingertip over his callused ones. As I do this, our shoulders graze and my hair tumbles forward, brushing against his chest. Did the tempo of his breathing just accelerate, or am I imagining it?
“Leather,” I agree, pulling back quickly.
The door flies open, making us both jump. Kel walks in, followed by Hunter and Noelle . . . and Lacey. She runs a hand through her rain-damp hair as she takes in the scene in front of her. Her eyes lock on Ethan and me, sitting close together on the couch. Before I can even stand up and offer her my spot, she strides over and plops down in his lap, her calves pushing into my knee. I move over until she’s no longer touching me.
God, I think as she winds her arms around Ethan’s neck and acknowledges me with a friendly-yet-territorial smile. Why doesn’t she just pee on him?
“Hey, guys, guess what?” Corey says as he scrambles to an upright position. “E plays violin.”
“Played,” Ethan corrects. “And I wasn’t even very good.”
I stifle a laugh. He took lessons for years and scored second chair in orchestra his freshman year. Even though he never had a passion for it, he was better than good. Musical talent runs through his veins, just like it ran through Aubrey’s.
“You never told me that, babe,” Lacey says in a pouty tone.
He shrugs and glances at me, embarrassed. It hits me then—he’s hiding his past from these people, or at least editing it. Hunter knows almost everything because he’s lived here for years and goes to school with us, but the rest of them—with the exception of Noelle—live in a different town. They must know about Aubrey, but only in a vague sense, and they obviously have no clue what Ethan was like before.
“We practicing or what?” Kel says gruffly as he adjusts his mic on the stand. He’s still not over the whole originals-versus-covers debate, apparently.
Lacey groans and tightens her grip on Ethan, like she dreads the thought of turning him back over to the band. I can’t help but notice he doesn’t seem to feel quite as possessive over her. His grip on her waist is much looser, more obligatory than natural. I remember what he said about her, that she’s shallow and always late and has an annoying knuckle-cracking habit. And despite being pretty and normal and tiny enough to sit on his lap without crushing him, she’s just “okay.”
Lacey slides off him, finally, and he catches my eye again as he gets up and grabs his guitar. I hold his gaze for a second before looking away. The weirdness is back again, wedging into the space between us, and the comfortable, playful vibe from a few minutes ago is gone.
Now feels like the perfect time to make my exit. I mumble an excuse about my mother needing me at home and get up to leave.
“Wait.” Ethan sets his guitar down again, this time on its stand. “It’s raining out. I’ll drive you home.”
Kel shoots him an annoyed look. “But we’re just about to—”
“She lives like four streets away. It’ll take five minutes.” He glances at Lacey, whose mouth turns down into a disapproving frown. “Be right back,” he says to the room, and motions for me to go ahead of him to the door.
I say good-bye to everyone and, ignoring the perceptive glint in Noelle’s eyes, step out into the chilly rain with Ethan.
“Thanks,” I say once we’re safe in the car. “You didn’t need to ditch practice to take me home.”
He shakes some raindrops off his bare arms and starts the car. He immediately spins the heat dial to full and we both shiver as cool air blasts out of the vents, followed gradually by warmth.
“I don’t mind,” he says. “Needed a little fresh air anyw
ay.”
I don’t know how to respond, so I don’t. He doesn’t elaborate either, so we spend the rest of the two-minute drive in silence.
“Thanks,” I say again once we’re parked several feet down from my house. Both my parents’ vehicles are in the driveway, but Ethan’s car is half obscured by our neighbor’s bushes so I doubt my family would see us even if one of them did happen to look out the front window.
Ethan nods, staring straight ahead. His hands tense on the steering wheel like he’s trying to strangle it to death, and I’m about to ask him if he’s okay when he lets go and reaches for me, pulling me against his chest in a rib-crushing hug.
I can’t speak. I can’t move. He’s solid and warm and he smells so familiar, like his house on laundry day. Like Aubrey’s room. My eyes well with tears and my arms ache to circle his torso and hug him back, but they don’t move from my sides. They’re paralyzed. I’m paralyzed.
“Sorry.” He drops his arms and pulls away, looking everywhere but at me. My heart constricts when I realize why—his eyes are wet too.
“It’s okay.” My fingers grope for the door handle. “Um, I should probably go in. Thanks for the ride.”
“Sure.”
I manage to get out of the car and shut the door without looking at him once. My legs feel weak and shaky as I walk up the driveway to my front door. What the hell just happened? I can’t even remember the last time Ethan hugged me. Maybe when he was about eleven, before he started acting shy around me.
My brain is so muddled as I enter the house, it takes me several moments to notice my parents. They’re in the living room, sitting side-by-side on the couch and watching me.
Shit.
I quickly blink the tears out of my eyes and wipe them on my sleeve before facing them. Mom looks concerned and Dad’s expression is downright stony.
“Dara,” Mom says. “Come in here and sit down, okay?”
It’s not a suggestion; it’s an order. Legs still trembling, I go in and perch on the edge of Dad’s recliner. They both study me, taking in my red eyes and undoubtedly pink face. I must look like I just endured a traumatic event. Which I sort of did, if unexpected hugs from your dead best friend’s little brother count as traumatic.
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