We Own the Sky (The Muse Chronicles Book 1)

by Sara Crawford

  He opens the passenger door, and I nod, not really wanting to ride with a crazy teenage driver, but not really wanting to walk three miles or however far it is either. He cleans off some clothes and trash from the passenger seat, and I get in the car, trying not to worry. I explain to him how to get to my house. He nods, and turns some music on with his phone. Neon Trees. I feel better as he rolls the windows down.

  For a moment, I forget about everything that has bothered me today. I forget to be worried about Travis and his driving. I can feel the wind as it blows my hair into my face and Neon Trees plays so loud that it makes me feel alive, and I feel like I belong here.

  It’s an odd feeling. One that I’m not used to.

  Travis pulls into my driveway and turns the music down. I grab my bag from the back seat. He looks over at Bianca’s house down the street.

  “Do you know if Bianca’s home?” he asks.

  “I’m not sure. Her car isn’t there so probably not.”

  He nods.

  “Are you two dating?” I ask.

  “No, not yet,” he says with a smirk.

  “Gotcha.”

  “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “See ya.” I am pretty casual considering I plan on going inside and listening to his demo on repeat, which is exactly what I do.

  * * *

  It’s finally Friday. I’m heading to my last afternoon detention. The football team doesn’t have practice, though, so we get to clean up the cafeteria. Travis only had detention the one day so I don’t have anyone to talk to.

  The week has gone by in a blur. I’ve listened to The Red Lampposts’ three songs so many times that they are ingrained in my head. I know all the lyrics now. I still try to act nonchalant around Travis, though, but I am in awe of his songwriting, his singing, his guitar playing. In awe…and a little jealous.

  Although, I have been coming up with my own little melodies. They keep popping up in my mind. The one I heard in the library has been recurring, and I even recorded myself humming that one on my phone so I wouldn’t forget it.

  I haven’t seen the beautiful British flickering man at all since that time in the studio. Each time I go down there to play guitar, I halfway expect him to show up, but he never does. I am starting to think he’s going to be like every other flickering person I see briefly and then never again. This thought makes me sad in a way that I can’t explain. I have seen that Latina flickering chick that hangs around Travis repeatedly, but I don’t think he can see her. I haven’t asked him about it. I keep thinking about asking her about the British flickering man, but I haven’t found a good moment to talk to her.

  She almost looks related to Travis. Maybe she is a dead relative. Maybe they really are ghosts. I try not to think too much about it.

  Chorus and Greek Mythology are my favorite classes. I’m finding that I really enjoy singing. I feel like my voice just keeps getting better. I honestly don’t know what happened. I wasn’t this good of a singer six months ago or even one month ago, but now it sounds lovely. I’m not complaining.

  Greek Mythology is interesting, and Ms. Bolton makes it entertaining. I get caught up in the stories about Zeus and Aphrodite and Apollo and all the other gods. They’re all so remarkable.

  Bianca has been talking to me a lot more. She even asked me if I wanted to hang out tonight. I think she probably wanted to hang out with Travis and was looking for a group outing to invite him to. Either way, we are apparently all going to the movies tonight: Travis, Bianca, Cassie, Derek—the nineteen-year-old drummer of The Posts—and Ryan. I’m not thrilled about hanging out with Ryan, but Travis claims he set the record straight about me not being on drugs and I should give him a chance.

  I guess I’m a little excited about going out with everyone tonight, even though it’s just the movies. I never do anything normal like that.

  After detention, I listen to The Red Lampposts demo again on the walk home.

  When I’m obsessing over a song, it’s like it crawls under my skin, like it has infected me. I can’t think of anything else. I have to keep playing it over and over and over again until I move on and become obsessed with the next thing. If I’m obsessing over something like Radiohead or Pink Floyd or Jeff Buckley, I can usually go online and post somewhere saying “THIS SONG! No, but really guys. THIS SONG!” and someone will reply and say, “I KNOW!” and we only speak in two word sentences that are in all caps with lots of exclamation points, but somehow it makes me feel better to know that somewhere in the world, someone else is obsessing, too.

  Obsessing over The Red Lampposts is sort of odd because I have no one to share this with. I can’t admit to Travis how much I listen to his songs. That would make me feel really awkward and vulnerable. I don’t know if there are any other real fans of the band. There were a few people who had posted comments on their website, but these are all people who go to school with us and seem to be into them simply because they know them.

  I gave Dad their demo, but I don’t know if he’s listened to it yet.

  By the time I get back to my house, I see Travis’s Corolla in my driveway. He’s blasting The Lumineers in his car, and his voice booms through the whole street as he sings along. He is so into it, it takes him a minute to realize I am standing next to the car, trying to get his attention. When he sees me, he opens the passenger door.

  “Come listen to the rest of this song with me!”

  I sit down in his passenger seat as Travis sings along with the rest of the song just as loudly as he was singing before I walked up. There is something so liberating about being with Travis.

  When the song ends, he shuts off the engine.

  “That’s such a good song!” he exclaims.

  I smile. I’ve never really gotten into The Lumineers before, but I like that song. His passion for them makes me want to give the album another listen.

  “Did you walk home from school?” he asks me.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “You should have called me. I would have picked you up!”

  “It’s okay…I like walking.”

  I think about telling him I was listening to The Red Lampposts.

  “So…do you want to see my dad’s studio?” I ask instead.

  “Hell yeah!”

  We go in my house, and I take him downstairs. I show him all my dad’s equipment. He is amazed. He looks at Ani, my acoustic Ibanez, and Butch, Dad’s acoustic Taylor, both of our electrics (both Fenders named Bonnie and Stevie). When he reaches Jimmy, he can’t help but touch him. “Can I?”

  “Sure,” I say. “Do you want to jam a little?”

  “Yeah, I do!” He seems so excited. He picks up Jimmy and plugs him into the Fender tube amp. I sit down behind Charlie. “Are you sure your dad will be okay with me playing his Gibson?”

  “He’ll be fine. He loves to share Jimmy.” Travis gives me a strange look. “The guitar. His name is Jimmy.”

  “Right on,” Travis says.

  “So, are you going to play?”

  “Oh, right.”

  He starts in on a chord progression. I feel it out for a minute before I launch into a drum beat. It’s a simple 4/4 song so I can really let loose and feel the beat. I don’t have to worry about a complicated rhythm. I’m bobbing my head as he keeps playing Jimmy. I look over at him, and something clicks.

  This is why I have felt drawn to him. We are supposed to play music together.

  We continue jamming like this—him on Jimmy and me on Charlie—for at least half an hour, and I’m having a blast. I’ve only ever played with my dad and his band. This feels a lot more relaxed. It’s easier to try new things and experiment. Playing with Travis makes me feel free, like I could try anything. It’s almost like when I play an instrument by myself.

  And then he starts playing “Talking,” the first song from the Red Lampposts demo. Of course, I know the drum part for this song perfectly, and when he starts singing, I jump in with harmonies. The harmonies are sounding decent, bu
t I’m disappointed to hear my voice sounds weak and shaky again. He doesn’t seem to notice as he grins at me in that way that only another musician can, surprised that I know his song so well. I feel weightless.

  We keep playing, and for once, it’s as if my sadness has dissolved.

  * * *

  In Travis’s car on the way home from the movies, Bianca sits in the passenger seat while Cassie and I sit in the back. The evening has been a lot of fun, though I’ve been mostly quiet.

  There was an awkward bit at the end where it seemed like Ryan and Derek wanted to go drink, and Travis was acting like he didn’t (for my benefit, I’m sure). I am pretty sure that they’re all going to go get wasted once he drops me off, but I don’t really care.

  Bianca chatted Travis’s ear off whenever she could, asking him about his brother, his band, his classes, his favorite movies, anything and everything she could think of. Ryan and Derek talked mostly to each other. I talked to Cassie a little. I think she felt out of place. Ryan kept trying to hit on her. It was amusing to see how uninterested she was. Anyway, I tried to focus more on the fact that I was going out and being social for once.

  The movie was a pretty mediocre comedy with too much bathroom humor for my taste, but it was good to escape for a couple of hours. The good news is, I didn’t see one flickering person all night, I didn’t feel my usual sadness. I felt sort of normal. A teenage girl going out with her friends to the movies. And I guess I could call them “friends.” Even that makes me feel like I have grown somehow, like maybe I won’t be an awkward emotional loner forever, like maybe there are people who might understand me.

  Travis drops Cassie off, and now he’s taking Bianca and me home, driving a lot faster than I’m comfortable with. I’m trying not to focus on that.

  “Hey, so listen to this band, Moonlight Bride,” Travis says. “They’re from Tennessee, but they play in Atlanta a lot. My brother is friends with the singer. They’re kickass.”

  He turns up the volume. I’m really getting into it. I close my eyes, letting the soaring guitars wash over me.

  “So, is your brother a musician, too?” Bianca asks over the music. She keeps talking, and he turns the music down. I’m slightly irritated, but I adjust my focus so that I can hear the thumping bass drum and the soaring guitars.

  I look up to realize we are pulling up to my house.

  “Thanks for driving. It was really fun,” I say, surprising myself.

  “Yeah, totally,” Bianca says before Travis can say anything.

  “I’ll see you guys later.”

  I walk up to my door as Travis pulls away.

  The melody starts playing in my head, the one I heard in the library. It overwhelms me, as if someone has turned up the volume. It’s so overpowering, I drop my keys. When I bend over to pick them up, I think I see something in my peripheral vision behind the bushes.

  I glance over, and there is a flash of the flickering British man. And then nothing. As if he were a ghost.

  * * *

  I’m sitting at a table outside of Cool Beans playing a cover of “No Surprises” by Radiohead on my guitar. I am singing, and the notes are flowing out of me like liquid. I’m almost shocked that it’s coming from my body. I look up when the song is done, and a few people are staring at me. I smile shyly, and start playing the B chord to the E minor to the D softly. A random chord progression.

  And then I see him. The British man. He flickers more intensely than any of them.

  He looks right at me. I am staring at those gorgeous brown eyes, and I can’t seem to look away.

  “Sylvia,” he says, pronouncing each syllable of my name like it’s his favorite word.

  There is so much that I want to ask him, but all I can do is keep playing my three chords over and over. He walks towards me. The more I look at him, the less he flickers. He’s solid now, like a normal person.

  He walks straight up to me and places a hand on my guitar. Electric energy passes through the guitar and shocks my hands, but I keep playing. It feels too good, considering I’ve just been electrocuted. I stare at him, bewildered.

  He leans over my guitar in toward me until his lips brush up against my earlobe.

  “Find me,” he whispers.

  Not thinking, I turn my head toward him and kiss him.The electric charge pulses through us. Our lips, our mouths, our tongues are on fire, and I forget everything else. I’ve never felt anything like this before. Passion explodes out of me as I push my face harder into his.

  He abruptly pulls away and looks me in the eye. There’s a look of shock on his face.

  “Sylvia,” he says again, only this time it sounds melancholy.

  I open my eyes and find myself in my bed. “April” is playing. I must have fallen asleep listening to The Posts.

  I get up and change it to my sleep playlist. Sigur Ros comes on.

  My heart is still racing when I lie back down in my bed. Going back to sleep seems impossible. I stare at the ceiling.

  FIVE

  The Warehouse

  This school year is strange, I write in Lily on the bus ride home.

  I’m sorry I haven’t written much lately. I guess I have a social life now.

  Bianca, Cassie, Travis, and Ryan all talk to me in chorus, and now they sit with me at lunch, too. I don’t even go to the library anymore. I see the Latina flickering woman sometimes in chorus with Travis, but I’ve learned to block her out. Travis appears to have no knowledge of her whatsoever so I haven’t said anything. I tried to ask him if he’s had anyone close to him die recently, but I think he just thought I was weird so I changed the subject.

  I still haven’t been taking my antidepressants, but I’ve been feeling good. I haven’t even gone to therapy in a few weeks. Laura has been calling me, trying to get me to make an appointment. I think she even called my dad. I should probably call her back. My mood seems to have stabilized though.

  I have been dreaming of the gorgeous British flickering guy every night, but I still don’t know who he is or what his name is or if I have invented him. The dreams, though, are so… intense. And when I wake up, I am filled with a different kind of longing than I’ve ever felt before.

  After I thought I saw him that one night about a week ago—after the movies—I swear I have seen little flashes of him, here and there, but the second I think I see him, he disappears.

  Greek mythology is quickly becoming the class I look forward to most, aside from chorus. I’ve been absolutely fascinated with this idea of the Muses. I like how they all stand for something. There’s a Muse of astronomy and a Muse for love poetry and even a Muse for tragedy and another Muse for comedy. I think I’m going to do my midterm paper about them somehow.

  I’m still obsessing over The Red Lampposts demo songs, though I have branched out a little bit, listening to that Moonlight Bride band and The Lumineers. They are both really, really good. I’ve jammed with Travis a couple of times, and we even play Red Lampposts songs.

  The bus pulls up on my street. I quickly shove Lily in my bag. As I walk to my house, I’m listening to “April” again. It’s been a few days since I’ve listened to the demo, but tonight is The Posts show.

  Whenever I go see a band live, I like to listen to them all day. It’s sort of a tradition my dad taught me when he took me to my first show—The Smashing Pumpkins at The Fox Theatre in Atlanta. I had been begging him to take me to a show, and he kept saying I was too young. When I turned 10, he decided I was old enough to see a show and it just so happened that his favorite band—The Smashing Pumpkins—were on a reunion tour of sorts. The show was unforgettable.

  Listening to The Red Lampposts songs knowing I’m going to see them live tonight gives me a rush of excitement. Travis says he has a couple of new songs he hasn’t played for anyone yet, too.

  When I get in, my dad is on the couch, eating a sandwich.

  “Hey, Sylvie,” he greets me as he flips the channels.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “
Oh, just to remind you, I have a couple of acoustic singer/songwriters coming over tomorrow to record a demo in the studio. I think they’ll be here earlyish, but they shouldn’t be too loud. No drums or anything.” He seems excited to be recording again.

  “Sounds cool. Maybe I’ll come down and listen for a bit, if that’s okay.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be cool with that. You might even get some inspiration. I see you’ve jammed out with that Travis kid a few times. How’s that going?”

  “We’re just messing around. I’m actually going to see his band tonight at the Warehouse with Bianca.”

  “Yeah? I was going to see if you wanted to come see Jake’s cover band with me at this pizza place.”

  “Sorry, Dad. Hey, did you ever listen to the demo I gave you?”

  “Yeah,” he nods. “It was pretty good.” He doesn’t seem as impressed as I am.

  “Cool…” I hesitate. “Well, Bianca’s coming over in a bit and—”

  “I’m glad you two are hanging out again,” he says with an approving nod. “Sometimes I worry about you being alone so much. It’s good that you have some friends your own age now.”

  “Yeah, I feel pretty good.”

  “That’s great,” he says. “Will you call Laura? And make an appointment? She called me. I know you feel okay now, but I think it’s good to stick with the therapy thing. Are you still taking your meds?”

  “Yeah,” I lie. “I know I need to call her. I’ve just been busy. Anyway, I think that things are going to be okay from now on.”

  “Well, I’m really…happy things are going well.” We share an awkward moment.

  “Anyway, I’m going upstairs. Will you send Bianca up to my room when she gets here?”

  “Sure thing.”

  I walk up to my room. The Red Lampposts has a recording of their last show up on their website so I start streaming it. There are more songs on that one than the demo. The quality is decent for a live recording. After about half an hour of listening and writing in Lily, my door swings open.