Songs of Our Breakup (Playlist Book 1)

by Tria, Jay E.

  Shinta whistled. “Kim really means business, huh?”

  “He does.”

  While Shinta was the type who decided to be happy, Kim was the type who decided to chase things, to pursue things, to wherever they led. She was proud of both boys.

  She looked up at the boy she was with now. Shinta’s eyes were on the ticking clock, his hand gripping his passport as he tapped it lightly on the glass railing.

  “Is it still spring in Tokyo?” Jill burst out. “I’ve never seen cherry blossoms before.”

  Shinta turned to her, surprise etched on his face. “It’s a bit too late for them now. It will be summer there soon.”

  “Hmm.” Jill rocked on the balls of her feet. “But it will be cooler there surely than back home.”

  “Surely,” Shinta agreed.

  “And I do miss seeing those weird vending machines. Bananas in a hurry. What could be more awesome?”

  “T-shirts and cup noodles in a hurry, that’s what.”

  “Hmmm. Mmmm-mmm.” Jill kept her eyes on the spotless floor, her muddled reflection staring back at her, forcing her to decide. Fight or flight? Don’t they refer to the same thing, in this instance? She laughed. “Do you think they’d have one seat free for a chance passenger?”

  Shinta was frowning at her, probably thinking she had gone crazy. “I don’t think so. It was a full flight when I rebooked my ticket. Barely made it.”

  “Oh.” Jill’s heart sank to the clean floor. “Okay.”

  “The two seats I got were the last, they said.”

  Her head jerked up to him. “Last two?”

  “Well I figured you’d never let me pay for the ticket going here. So I thought I’d just return the favor.” Shinta fished inside his backpack and flashed a plane ticket, waving it in front of her eyes, close enough that she could read her full name in print.

  Something warm was swelling inside her chest, but Jill tried not to show it.

  “I got you a return flight in a week, just in time for the start of Trainman’s album recording. I don’t want you to miss anything important back home,” Shinta went on when she kept silent. A crease was drawing in his brow.

  Jill smiled up at him. “How thoughtful of you.”

  Shinta blinked back in surprise, then recovered with a wry smile. “Always the tone of surprise about my thoughtfulness.” He hit the tip of her nose lightly with the ticket. “I got it just in case you felt like being kind to me.”

  His smile was as bright as the light in his eyes. Before Jill could answer with another stupid wisecrack, Shinta had leaned down, his warm breath on her hair. He moved his lips to graze her cheek, blessing it with a soft lingering kiss.

  Shinta tilted his head up, his gaze holding hers. “I love you, Jillian Marie.”

  Jill held his gaze, memorizing the exact shade of dark chocolate brown in his eyes. She lifted her hand to his cheek, closed her eyes and dared give him a kiss on his lips. It wasn’t the hungry, burning kiss that consumed them on his white sofa bed. It was soft, tentative, and hopeful.

  She pulled away, fingers stroking his neck. “Watching you kiss another girl makes me jealous,” she finally admitted. “That’s why I can’t watch your romantic movies. And then when you get naked with them I just—”

  He laughed, pulling her to him in a quick, tight hug. He let go, then his large hand was on her back, gently pushing her forward as they rejoined the fluid stream of moving people at the airport. Jill grabbed a fistful of the back of his shirt, walking close to him towards the check-in counter.

  “Do you want me to stop doing those movies? It would be hard to stop getting the offers, though, when I look like this.”

  “Do what you want, you narcissist. I’ll get over it.”

  “I’ll do what you want,” he promised, pulling her closer as they walked. “Do you have your passport on you?”

  “Yes, and some money.”

  “Thank God for multiple entry visas.”

  “I know, right? But what about clothes?”

  “Don’t worry. I have a lot of T-shirts.”

  Jill would worry about luggage and Julia, about what to tell her bandmates and how to explain this to her mother later. Right now she was happy just walking next to Shinta, boarding a plane with no plans and no itinerary. Maybe before their week together ends she could tell him honestly that she loved him too, in her own broken way, though her heart was still chipped in places. Maybe it would take her another three months to tell him, maybe longer. That was okay.

  She knew she would be happy with him this day to the next day, and the next month, to maybe even several new songs, couple shirts, and stupid fights thereafter. Who knows if it will last forever? But right now, does it even matter?

  Bright Side

  Stop it, this isn’t about a fight

  This isn’t about you being right

  Some people crumble when they stumble

  Oh no

  Sometimes it’s said that they’re unable

  Uh oh

  To get out

  Shot gun to the bright side, oh

  I’ll be waiting for you baby

  Just get to the other side

  Shoot me up

  Catch me when I’m down

  I’ll be waiting for you baby

  Let me make it with you

  So many miles stretch out at night

  This isn’t about that old fight

  Even when I win, I’m sad, I stumble

  Oh no

  I might just kiss her if I’m able

  Uh oh uh oh

  To get out

  Shot gun to the bright side

  I can’t see the light here, baby

  To get to the other side

  Shoot me up

  Catch me when I’m down

  I’ll be waiting for you baby

  Let me make it with you

  But countless tides and moons stand still

  It’s no longer about hope and will

  You’re so uptight and I’m unable

  Oh no

  To pick myself up when I stumble

  Get out

  Shot gun to the bright side

  I can’t see the light here, baby

  To get to the other side

  I say, get up!

  Catch me when I’m down

  Can I still wait for you baby

  When I can’t make it with you? (Nino, Son)

  Acknowledgments

  I owe all debt of gratitude to God, but He works through humans. For this book, said humans would be thus:

  Layla Tanjutco, my editor, fellow Xientian and Electron nerd, and all-around fairy godmother. Your fairy dust is on every page of this one and you know it.

  Dianne Fami and Mark Christopher Bayot for taking the pictures for the cover on that cool windswept afternoon at the roof deck. Tania Arpa for making wonderful magic with said pictures. Ace Tria, that’s you right there, isn’t it? Huzzah!

  Jerushah Gloria and Hazel Caasi my LDR friends, for sending me good vibes and virtual hugs when I most needed them. Tin Quilicol for making this book your bedtime read, much like what you did with my first book. May you never tire of reading the words I string together.

  And of course, to you who took a chance on a nerd’s story about love, lyrics, and Japanese idols. I hope you really liked it.

  Love, Jay E. Tria

  Miki and Shinta have their own stories to tell. Want to be the first to get updates? Sign up to my mailing list and get first dibs on new releases and freebies!

  If you liked Songs of our Breakup, maybe gift me with a review? Pretty please? Thank you!

  About the Author

  Jay E. Tria writes contemporary Young Adult and New Adult romance about characters that live inside her head, about people she meets and people she wishes to meet. She also reads, daydreams, and blogs. She loves skinny jeans, sneakers, and live gigs. Also, adopted cats. She is not a cool kid.

  Blossom Among Flowers, a Japanese high school love story, is
her first completed work.

  Official site: www.jayetria.com

  Email: jayetria@gmail.com

  Facebook, Twitter, Wattpad: jayetria

  Turn the page for an excerpt of Miki’s story, Songs to Get Over You.

  Songs to Get Over You Excerpt

  September 7, Monday, night

  There she was, looking up at the dark velvet sky, her intent gaze demanding for stars.

  I knew it, thought Miki. His steps were light and even, sneaker soles barely crunching on the gravel floor of the parking lot. But even from this distance he saw Jill close her eyes, her slim back balanced on the hood of her lime green Beetle, and he knew that she still heard him approach.

  Miki trod past two more rows of old sedans, new SUVs, and a guitarist or two from a band he knew until he reached her. He slid on top of the hood beside her, nudging her elbow. The solo act before them had just started his set. He was in no hurry.

  “How long have you been out here?” he spoke to her ear.

  Jill kept her eyes shut. Miki could count the whispers of her lashes. “Over an hour,” she muttered. “Maybe two.”

  “Counting stars?”

  “Waiting for the star I owned to fall so I can catch it.”

  “Ech.” Miki groaned on his hand, pulling a face.

  “Too cheesy?”

  He nodded. “Even for you.”

  Jill laughed, a soft giggle that she held back with the back of her hand against her lips. She turned to him, dark eyes bright and dancing. Miki’s breath locked in his throat.

  He hadn’t seen Jill like this before. Not when she was with Kim. Well she was happy then too for the most part, to be fair to Kim. But Jill’s happiness now looked unique to Miki.

  She still enjoyed her long stretches of silence, still found ways to escape Miki’s company to carve out the hours that she would spend alone. Maybe with a book, or with Julia, her seafoam green Les Paul guitar. Mostly while lying with her back flat on the hood of her car, counting distant spotlights in the sky. These were habits she had picked up since her breakup with Kim.

  During her breakup probation period, Miki remembered.

  But now she had lost the dark shadows under her eyes, and the distant look of her gaze. The tips of her fingers had lost their cold touch, along with other traces of sadness.

  It’s been three months, and Jill’s glow had not waned.

  It was very easy to return her bright smile, even as a vivid image of the source of her joy flashed in Miki’s mind.

  “Did Shinta say when he’s finally flying in?” Miki blurted out. Even in his grudging thoughts, Shinta was still too handsome for his self-esteem.

  That’s when Jill frowned. She closed her eyes again, one arm draped across her forehead. “I don’t know. Ask him. Lousy jerk.”

  Miki smirked, nudging her side with his elbow. “I thought he was done with his press junkets? And that shoot for that commercial for…what was that again?”

  “Underwear.”

  Of course.

  They sighed as one, and Miki thought for the same reason.

  Jill opened her eyes to glare at the empty sky and went on. “And a more PG one for canned juice, then there was one for chewable vitamin C. Then he had a couple of photo shoots for magazine covers. And about a bazillion interviews.”

  Shinta had left for Japan three months ago to shoot a new movie, taking Jill with him. The band was in Singapore for a music festival, and Jill was just supposed to send Shinta off at the airport. Miki remembered the call he got that night. He remembered being silent for one whole minute after Jill told him the flight plan and then asked if he could pretty please send her luggage and Julia to this address in Roponggi Hills. Jill had to drop the call without him replying because she was already onboard the plane.

  She came back after a week with this supernatural glow.

  But now Shinta was making her wait. He was supposed to fly right back into her arms after two months of a movie shoot, but he suddenly had other commitments lined up. And now he was one month late.

  These actor problems.

  “This is what you get for falling for a movie star,” Miki lectured. “Why you can’t be happy with a common man.”

  She snorted out a short laugh. “Is that it? You think I brought this upon myself?”

  “Yeah, you believe in your romantic comedies too much. You like it when the girl gets the impossible guy.”

  “Isn’t it the guy who got the impossible girl in this romantic comedy?” She cocked one eyebrow, lifting her chin in a haughty smile. But she was already biting down laughter, unable to contain even the slightest joke of a self-compliment.

  Yes, I know you are gorgeous, Miki almost said the thought out loud. Even though you don’t like to think it.

  He nodded back stiffly. “The movie star gets the impossible girl, apparently. In this world that I live in.”

  She was laughing now. Jill punched his shoulder lightly and hopped off of her car, stumbling when her feet hit the gravel floor.

  “Come on.” She straightened up, dusted off her jeans, and started walking, leading the way. “Kim the Dictator doesn’t like it when his band isn’t complete at least fifteen minutes before the set.”

  “So that’s all Kim is to you now? The demotion would hurt him, you know. After all you’ve been through.”

  “Shut up, Mikhail.”

  “I mean, seven years!”

  “Hating you right about now.”

  She stomped past him, her long strides easily covering the rows of cars in the parking lot. Miki had to jog to keep up.

  “Hey Jillian Marie,” he huffed when he caught her.

  “What?” she spat out.

  Miki smiled at her, their eyes level, walking at pace with her now. “I like it when you’re happy.”

  She gave his elbow a long pinch before she grinned back. “I like it too. Very much.”

  “Just try to keep the sap to yourself,” Miki went on gravely, rubbing his arm where she touched him. “The dictator doesn’t like cheesy songs.”

  Jill rolled her eyes. “Yes, dad.”

  Together they crunched through a few more meters of stone and soil before the racket of Commute Bar’s patrons welcomed them. Miki pulled open the braided metal gate and Jill rushed past him, giving quick nods and shy smiles to the crowd that was thrilled to see the indie rock goddess walk in their midst. Miki intercepted a few air kisses, pushing Jill’s back to move her through the horde faster. He pulled the door to the bar open.

  Jill’s face landed right smack into Nino’s rib cage.

  “Late!” he hollered, hands on his hips.

  “Oomph! What the hell Nino?” Jill shoved Nino away, shooting Son an evil glare before he even spoke.

  “Ooh someone’s feisty tonight!” Son teased, holding both hands up as Jill stomped past him, his bass guitar dangling freely from his neck.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be no longer heartbroken?” Nino went on sulkily, taking his seat behind the drum set.

  “She couldn’t find her star,” Miki said when Nino turned to him for answers.

  “Ahhhhhhh,” chorused Son and Nino, bobbing their heads in unison.

  Miki thought he heard a long buzz of choice curse words sputter from Jill’s mouth. But she was standing with her back to him, adjusting her pedals, so he couldn’t be sure.

  Somebody had turned on the lights, flashes of blue, green and red waltzing on Jill’s face when she stood up and turned to face the room. The crowd had risen from their small circular tables and rickety wood-and-iron stools, Nino’s practice swings and the sound of feedback luring them to the stage.

  Kim had been focused on tuning Julia. Now he pivoted to face them, both hands holding out the vintage seafoam green Les Paul electric guitar to Jill.

  “Hey, thanks,” Jill began, accepting it. “I meant to do that…”

  Kim gave her a small smile and a tiny shake of his head. “Happy to do it. Ready?”

  Jill swung Julia�
��s strap over her head. “Yep.”

  Kim turned to all of them once with a nod. Then he spun right back, mouth on his mic, one hand high in the air for Nino, their official beat master, to see.

  “Let’s go!”

  Miki bumped his shoulder against Jill, exchanging grins just as Nino struck his drumsticks together.

  “Ahonetwothreefour!”

  ***

  They were on song three out of five when he walked in.

  Usually Kim would see him first. Kim had developed a sort of zoning instinct for Shinta over the years. He would know when Shinta had walked into a room, and even swore he could smell him when he sat too close to Jill.

  But Kim was busy singing out the words that Jill had written for their new album, and he was busy with the mob that was pressing against him, the small army foot-size speakers on the floor his only line of defense.

  So Miki, strumming his guitar in the safe pocket of space between Son, Jill, and drum set, saw him first.

  The door was pulled open and there Shinta stood in his street clothes. A white shirt bearing some slogan in Japanese. Dark jeans, backpack, and striped sneakers. It was a good disguise, if only he could also cover his face. A handful of girls had already stopped dancing when they saw him standing there at the entrance.

  “It’s a starless, long quiet/ But I just can’t catch sleep/ I’m wide awake and I wait/ My soul knows you’re worth it.”

  Jill’s voice reverberating from the speakers jerked Miki from his fixation. Somebody had turned on a new light, and it danced on her face. Warm yellow twirling with the blue, green, and red beams flashing on her skin. Her mouth was caressing the mic, beads of sweat dotting the length of her neck, along the strip of abdomen revealed by the shirt knotted around her waist.

  Miki swallowed a groan. When the hell did that happen and whose bright idea was that knotted shirt thing?