“Whatever.” I respond, with what is my weak attempt at a brush off. “Can you play it again? I swear I’m paying attention this time.”
Doing as I ask, but not before huffing a bit under her breath, she plays the notes over again and this time, with my focus completely on her and what she’s playing, I can see that where we were tripping up before, it’s working now.
“It’s perfect.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, but I do agree that it’s better.”
“No, Em. You’re the one playing so you don’t hear it the way I do, but it’s perfect. There is something I wanna try and add though, if that’s cool.”
“Sure. Bring it on.”
What I want to bring to the table, it’s not something I can just tell her. This, it’s gonna have to come in the form of showing.
Making my way behind her, sitting on the piano bench and sliding my body as closely to hers as possible, I bring my arms around, resting them on the chords just below the ones she just played.
So, I lied. Maybe I could have just told her this, but I’m being selfish right now because I have this urge after listening to her play, to be closer to her. Touch her.
“You couldn’t just tell me that?”
“Nope, it’s easier to show than it is to tell.”
Turning her head slightly to the side, her hair brushes across my face, causing me to shiver from the faint touch and her to immediately push her body forward.
“Since—when?” She stammers, her voice visibly shaken.
“Since forever.” Ignoring the way it feels having her this close, and hating the slight pull away she did when she realized just how close we were, I pull her back into me, which the second I do, seems to make my heart steady back out to an even pace.
I’ve been trying to ignore the way it feels being around her for days now and I’m sick of it. Sure, I’m not gonna tell her that she affects me, but I’m done attempting to fight it, or worse, ignore it. Whatever it is, I like it, so until this assignment is over and we go our separate ways, I’m gonna enjoy every second of it.
My heart acting bi-polar, my breathing coming along for the ride, and the way I seem to almost crave this type of closeness after staying away from anything that remotely resembled it for years, I want all of it.
“Play it again. I wanna see if I’m right.”
Moving my hands with hers, the notes memorized in my head, the rhythm of the song and the lyrics that go along with it tattooed on my soul, I lose myself in how the two of us just made something even more perfect together.
As she strums the final note and moves her body away from mine, for once I tell her what I’m really thinking.
“Now it’s perfect.”
“What is with you and that word?” She questions, turning her body around on the seat and facing me down, her eyes reflecting her need to know the answer.
“Are you gonna sit there and tell me it’s not perfect?”
Obviously affected by the compliment, her cheeks begin to flush before she attempts to use her hands to block it, shaking her head in response.
“Thought so. I finally got you to admit defeat.”
“This isn’t the face of defeat, Mikey. This is me knowing how freaking awesome we are!”
Leaping across the small space between us, she throws her arms around me and pulls me into a tight hug. “We freaking did it! Yorke is going to lose his mind!”
While I’m right there with her in excitement over finally getting this done and having it turn out the way we both wanted it to in our heads, the way it feels having my chest pressed to hers and being this close, it’s invading and taking over.
Focus on the music, Cayne. You can’t let her see how into this you are.
“So, are you ready for your first A of the year?”
It’s lame, especially with the chuckle I tack on at the end, but I mean it. I gotta get her back on the music track before sitting here like this gives away more than just the fact that I like her. I can already start to feel my body responding and that definitely can’t happen.
I spend a lot of time embarrassing myself around this girl, I’m not in the mood to add more.
Pulling away from the embrace and situating herself further back on the bench, she grins.
“The first of many.”
My mind struggling with the need to ask if she means hugs like the one we just shared or grades, I swallow down the urge to blurt it out and instead force yet another laugh.
“I sure as hell hope so. The only question is, who’s going to play the music and who’s going to sing?”
“I’ll sing.” She answers quickly. “As long as you can handle the music end.”
“I got it.”
“Then I guess it’s settled. We’re officially done!”
Despite my happiness at hearing her squeal of delight over the assignment finally being completed, I can’t help feeling a stab of regret and loss at the same time.
When I got into this, I didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as I have, usually preferring to play on my own, but there’s no mistaking that I do like it and am going to miss it once tomorrow morning hits and it’s not there anymore.
Why does this have to be so hard?
It was just an assignment, and she’s just the girl I was doing it with. A girl who just also happens to be my first friend, not counting Jonah.
“Hey drifter, you okay?”
Nailed again.
“Yeah, just thinking.”
“About your dad again?”
“Not this time.”
“Well you’re in luck. Now that we’re done with the music, Emery the fantastic listener and part time therapist is officially open for business. So what’s on your mind?”
Screw this. I’m gonna tell her. Meeting her, working and creating this friendship with her, it’s a sign, and if I turn away and ignore it, I’ll not only be screwing myself, but also the man that taught me to look out for them.
“I think…No—I know that when we walk out of here today, I’m going to miss this.”
“Miss what exactly?”
“This. Us. Making music together.”
With the admission out, I flinch and shut my eyes, afraid to hear or see whatever reaction she’s going to have. The fear of rejection so huge it’s making me want to kick myself for saying anything in the first place.
“Well, who says it has to end?”
Chapter Five
Emery
If this week has taught me anything, it’s that everybody needs somebody.
Now that person can be anyone. Family, friend, a pet, maybe even the lone flower that hides away from all of the others in a garden. Whoever or whatever it is, every single person needs just one of them in order to make it through the game of life.
For the longest time, it wasn’t like that for me. I didn’t believe in it. But after spending a week with the one guy that Monday after school I had been so adamant about avoiding, I’m starting to see things differently.
Totally going against my pact to stay away from Christian, I met him at seven on Tuesday morning, and even though it got off to a bit of a rocky start, by the end I couldn’t deny that when it came to music at least, we really did make a good team.
It was eye opening for me, always living life through the lens and all, but that day I realized that at least for the time being, I was becoming Christian’s somebody.
And maybe, just maybe, he was becoming mine.
*****
“This isn’t going to work.” I admit crankily, pinching my fingers over my nose and sighing. “You’re not doing it right.”
“I’m not doing it right? This coming from the girl that hears the entire song in her head and refuses to do anything but bark orders at me when I don’t pick it up immediately! Hilarious.”
“Yell a little louder there, Mikey. I’m not sure my mom heard you all the way across town.”
“Screw this.” He snaps and jumping up from his position in Y
orke’s chair, starts heading for the door.
“Stop!” I call out in desperation. If he walks from the room because of my attitude, it’s not just me that’s going to pay for it when the time comes to present in a few days. He will too, and that’s something I’m not willing to let happen.
So kissing the extremely touchy bass player’s ass it is.
“Look, I think I know what’s going on here,” I attempt to explain, hoping it’s enough to make him stay. “I didn’t get coffee before I came and I’m a complete monster without it.”
Rubbing his hand across his face, he offers up a small nod of understanding and admits his own part in the whole disaster. “I’m used to getting up at seven, not being at school by then. I’m pretty sure this is on me.”
“Is that your way of apologizing?”
“Is that your way of accepting?”
“Maaybe. You tell me.”
“I’m sorry, Emery. I swear I’m not usually this hard to work with.”
Crisis now averted, I move over and pat the top of his head. “You probably are, but it’s the same for me. We’re used to doing this alone so this is new territory. Can I make a suggestion?”
“Let’s hear it.”
“We take a break, grab whatever garbage they’ve got in the vending machines, come back, relax and start again.”
“Sounds like a plan, but can I make one slight alteration?”
“Sure.”
“Before we start again, you explain to me in as much detail as you can how you hear the song in your head, and we start fresh and work from that.”
“Deal.” I agree, holding out my hand and preparing myself mentally for the surge that always seems to hit when we touch this way. A surge that doesn’t disappoint seconds later as his hand grips mine in a handshake.
Crossing the room to my backpack and rooting around inside while Christian starts walking to the door, I grab as much loose change as I can from the bottom and run to catch up, sliding through the door with just enough time for it to shut behind us.
“Pick your poison.” I point once we get to the machine. “We’ve got candy bars or chips.”
“Candy bar, definitely. Chips will make me worse, not better.”
“Same here.”
Sliding the change through one slow coin at a time, he makes his choice, grabbing it when it falls and leans back against the wall to wait for me to do the same thing with mine.
“Your lyrics are good.” He says softly, the sound of the machine dispensing my sugar fix almost blocking out his words entirely. “How did you do that in one night?”
“Not really sure. I just sat down and started thinking and it basically wrote itself.”
“Do you mind if I ask you something personal?”
“Depends on how personal you wanna get.”
“The song feels sad. What were you thinking about when you wrote it?”
He’s not far off the mark. The lyrics are a little on the depressing side, but only because at the time the words started flowing, I was thinking a lot about loss. What he told me about his mom dying and then in a way, my own loss by not having a father around.
“It’s not all sad, I mean there’s a bit of hopefulness toward the end, I think.”
“Yeah, a little, but that doesn’t answer my question.”
“Loss. What it feels like losing someone you love, or aching for the one thing you never had before. I just kept playing over in my head what that would feel like and then what it might feel like to get it and it was done.”
“Hmm, okay.”
The rest of the walk back to the music room is silent, but not uncomfortably so. In fact, it’s probably the first silence in a while that I didn’t feel like grabbing my guitar and playing to try and change.
Heading back into the room, instead of going for the chair like before, Christian heads to the back of the room and makes himself comfortable, as far away from our instruments and our earlier clash of words as he can get. Slipping down into the chair beside him, I focus on ripping the wrapper off the bar and savoring the first bite once it’s been rescued.
“You’re doing it again.” He observes. “So, it’s not just for cookies. It’s for Mr. Big bars too.”
Crap. I moaned again.
“Nope. It’s specific to anything remotely made with chocolate though.”
“Something tells me that you sneak bars up to your room a lot. In fact, you probably have a whole little shoebox dedicated to them.”
“Wrong.”
“I don’t think I am. Tell the truth, Emery. Do you hoard chocolate bars?”
“Eww! Hoarding makes it sound gross. It’s not like I collect them or anything. I just keep a few on hand when the craving hits.”
“And how often is that?”
He’s pushing me. It’s evident by the grin on his face, but there’s something about the way his eyes are lighting up, the first time they’ve done it since he got here today, that makes me wanna answer him just to keep it going.
I like the way he is right now. It’s much better than the tense and angry way he was before.
“Every single day.” I admit and along with the smile comes a thick rumble of laughter.
“So, you admit you have a problem. That’s the first step. Now that you’ve admitted it, I can properly treat you.”
“And how do you plan on doing that?”
“You solemnly swear never to take home and hide another chocolate bar, and I’ll make sure that every day, you have your daily dose of it.”
*****
A silly promise that felt more like a joke than real, and a joke that for the three days that followed, he held up his end of the bargain on. He managed to sneak me mini chocolate bars, like the ones you see at Halloween, bigger ones at lunch and had even snagged me a cupcake and a few cookies.
If he wasn’t already starting to be someone that mattered to me, and we weren’t jumping blindfolded into this whole friendship thing, it would have definitely sealed the deal.
A guy willing to give a girl chocolate every day and asking nothing in return. There’d be a line halfway across the world for that, and for a reason I can’t seem to figure, it’s just for me.
Moving on from the chocolate, it seemed like every morning after that one things were easier between us. Maybe all it really takes is a meltdown and the promise of chocolate to make everything right with the world.
Stranger things have happened, and trust me, if anyone knows it’s me.
I just told the guy I may or may not be able to stop staring at, that whatever this is between us, I didn’t want it to end.
There’s only one thing that makes me now.
Screwed.
Christian
Everyone has a moment as a kid where they go with their parents to the pool and learn how to swim.
Some parents, like my dad until my mom told him off about it the minute we stepped back in the house, take drastic measures in order to teach them. It wasn’t my old man’s fault, he was just doing what he’d been taught after living through it himself, but he threw me straight into the shallow end of the pool, thinking that I’d figure it out on my own. Crazy right?
That situation is a whole lot like the one I’m facing now. After telling her I didn’t want it to end, I feel like I’ve been thrown into the deep end of the pool and it’s up to me to figure out how to get out of it unscathed.
Basically, I feel like I’m drowning. Only instead of sinking to the bottom, Emery’s thrown out a life preserver.
“Are you serious?”
“I don’t know.” she shrugs. “Do you always answer a question with a question?”
“When the question’s a little unbelievable, yeah.”
“Okay, Mikey, now I gotta ask if you’re the one that’s serious because I don’t understand why what I said is so unbelievable.”
“I’ll tell you, but first you gotta tell me something.”
“And that would be?”
It’
s been eating at me all week and with the chance to ask finally here, I’m not gonna waste it.
“Are you planning on calling me Mikey for the rest of the year?”
“I was thinking about it. Why? Does it bother you?”
Something tells me with the way she is, telling her it does wouldn’t make her stop. I’m pretty sure it would just increase how often she did it.
“No, it doesn’t bother me.”
“Then why even ask?”
We’ve been able to go most of the week without bringing up my mom, but if I plan on always being honest with her, answering any other way would be wrong. So as much as I don’t want to get into this, I swallow down my reservations and do it.
“My mom used to call me Mikey. She used to say it was because my dad had stolen Chris from her, so she was using the next best thing.”
“Oh,” she replies before going quiet. The first time in a week I’ve managed to make her go completely silent. “I’m sorry. I had no idea. I’ll stop.”
“No,” I shake my head vehemently. “Please don’t. I just wanted you to know the reason I asked.”
“Is that your way of saying you want me to keep calling you Mikey?”
“Yeah…I mean, if you’re okay with it. I’d rather just keep everything the same. It doesn’t bother me, honestly.”
And I kind of like when you call me Mikey. It makes me feel good.
It takes all of the willpower I’ve got not to admit that particular thought out loud when up until this point I’ve been honest with her. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt anything for anyone, much less feelings one way or the other for a girl. The last thing I want is to start now by dropping something heavy.
Is it even possible to have feelings for someone after spending barely a week getting to know them? And better yet, when you do, is it normal to feel this conflicted about it? Overthinking every thought, focusing on every word you do say and making sure that only the ones you want come out? Being afraid of saying too much and scaring the one person that gave me the time of day away?
“Well okay, Mikey. You wanna tell me what’s so unbelievable now?
The Space In Between Page 5