“He’s been working all summer,” she pointed out.
“Garrett got offered an opening slot on a European tour,” I explained, keeping my tone light. It was no big deal, or at least that’s what I kept telling myself, my aunt Rose, and my dad, for that matter. “It was really last minute. The other band dropped out. He’s pretty much their tour manager, and he’s done Europe a million times, so they asked him to go with them.”
“Well . . . he better make up for it with some kickass gifts,” Jess said, her gaze flicking over to me while I pretended not to notice.
We walked in silence for another few minutes, occasionally bumping shoulders, elbows or hands. The streets of Wayville were picturesque as always, the emerald leaves of the towering trees providing a bit of welcomed shade. It was like something out of a highly polished, family-friendly TV show, perfectly manicured lawns hemmed in with meticulously painted white picket fences. I couldn’t blame my dad for spending as much time as possible on the road. The small town we both reluctantly called home was about as exciting as an afternoon spent watching the grass grow.
Jess held her breath as we turned the corner on to Main Street. Most of our classmates were there, picking up their oh-so-sophisticated coffees and squealing over new outfits, cars, boyfriends, whatever. I could feel Jess rolling her eyes as we carefully navigated our way through the cliques of excitable teenagers. They were too happy, and it set my teeth on edge. Surely, some of them were filled with dread, knowing the safe predictability of high school was going to be torn away from them. Adulthood, whatever that meant, was looming. I refused to believe the only thing bothering them was whether or not they were going to get homework on our first day back.
“You give them too much credit,” Jess whispered as we came to a stop outside the shop. “This is just a glorified fashion show for them.”
“I hate it when you’re right,” I told her as I pulled the keys from my pocket.
“I would’ve thought you’d be used to it by now,” Jess chuckled as I unlocked the door.
My dad had opened Daveyson’s when my mom was still alive. He had been the youngest shop owner in town, back when most people turned their nose up at the idea of having a dedicated music store on Main Street. He’d made it work, though, by using his own college fund to set the shop up and everything.
He had envisioned my mom running the shop while he was on the road, attempting to earn enough money to eventually send me (the result of their unexpected teen pregnancy) to college. When I was grown up, and their expenses were lower, my dad would come back to Wayville full time and run the shop. It was to be their little retirement nest egg, or something.
That had been the plan, but cancer doesn’t really take your ambitions into account. There’s a framed photo of my mom behind the counter, a permanent reminder that no matter how many records or CDs we sell, something will always be missing.
We always get new release stock delivered on a Monday morning, and I’d been swinging by to accept the deliveries since the day I’d started high school. Aunt Rose worked at the shop at least six days a week, as well as offering singing and piano lessons to local kids. We’d fallen into a routine over the years, the two of us taking care of what was left of my dad’s dream.
I could feel the tension lifting from my hunched shoulders as I stepped inside and flipped the lights on. Jess was beaming beside me as she shrugged out of her backpack and leapt onto the front counter, her favorite perch.
I trailed my fingers over the tops of the records as I walked to the new release rail, trying to remember what albums were due to be delivered that day. The rows of carefully organized CDs (by artist, I don’t believe in sorting by genre), DVDs and records were a sharp contrast to the layers and layers of tour, band and movie posters haphazardly decorating walls – and obscuring every inch of the brick underneath. I couldn’t even remember what color the walls were, it had been so long since I’d actually seen them.
My dad had framed the sleeves of some of his favorite records and lined them along the back wall. Nevermind alongside Take Off Your Pants and Jacket, Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge and Hybrid Theory were all proudly displayed. I glanced up at them, wondering what he was doing. He’d call, later, his deep voice made fuzzy by the distance and bad reception.
The sound of the front door opening pulled me from my thoughts. Jessica leapt down from the counter as Karl, the delivery driver, pushed his little trolley in.
Karl had been delivering our weekly stock for as long as I could remember. He was one of the few people who knew my dad reasonably well. We swapped niceties as I signed the delivery sheet, and he left, tipping his hat at Jessica as he did.
We took the boxes to the stock room, stacking them neatly. I’d be back after school, waiting for the store to close so that I could unpack everything. Aunt Rose didn’t trust me to re-stock in the morning, I was too easily distracted. I’d been late more than once because I just had to give one of the new CDs a spin before heading to school.
“Want me to come back and help you stock up later?” Jess asked as I switched off the lights and locked the door behind us.
“You do realize we don’t pay you, right?” I laughed, glad to see that most of our classmates had headed to school.
“I know, I do it out of the goodness of my heart.”
We were still chatting when we reached the school gates. I looked around, hoping to spot Ash in the crowd, but there was no sign of her. She wasn’t exactly hard to miss being five foot eight, with platinum blond hair, and the kind of curves that had inspired a thousand love songs. Heads turned when Ash walked by. Sure, half of them only stared out of wide eyed fear, but they still stared.
“Ash is skipping,” Jess told me as we hovered at the edge of the parking lot. “She texted me this morning to say she’s already sick of senior year.”
“It hasn’t even started yet.”
“I think that’s her point,” Jess added.
I could tell she was disappointed Ash wasn’t joining us. They were pretty close, considering both of them struggled to get on well with other girls.
Our conversation was cut short by the roar of what sounded like an obnoxiously expensive sports car pulling up to the gates. Jess rolled her eyes again, and I started to see where Ash was coming from. I was pretty fed up too.
I don’t know much about cars, but even I could tell the red convertible that pulled into the parking lot was new. It sparkled in the sunlight, the windows glittering as its driver parked it with the sort of casual disregard that I had come to associate with one person.
JJ Keswick got out of the car with a smile on his face that made it perfectly clear he knew everyone was watching. They were always watching him, desperate for his attention and hoping to catch his blue-eyed gaze.
I’d never spoken to him, but there were things that everyone knew about JJ Keswick. One: his dad was the sort of rich that normal people can only dream of, having been born into a family that had made their money in oil, pharmaceuticals, or something equally boring but lucrative. Two: Mr. Keswick spent less time in town than my dad, leaving his only son to be raised by a never-ending parade of nannies before he had been shipped off to boarding school. Three: school and JJ didn’t mix. He’d been expelled from most of the schools on the Eastern seaboard while still in his early teens. Then he had been shipped off to England, but that hadn’t lasted long either. He was back in town just in time to start his sophomore year at Wayville High, and rumor had it, there were no private schools in the US willing to take him.
He was the closest thing Wayville had to a celebrity. It was ridiculous, the way people talked about him. Everyone knew, or thought they knew, JJ Keswick’s business. It had only got worse after his best friend had died in a car crash, not long after JJ had turned sixteen. He’d been in the car, but had survived with a broken arm and an even greater air of mystery.
I understood why people were so captivated by him. He was gorgeous in a way you didn’t see often in
real life, blond haired and blue eyed, with perfect teeth and skin that looked like caramel whenever he came back from another exotic vacation.
I always thought he was a bit short to be a basketball player, his height hovering around the five foot seven mark, but Jess assured me he was a good player. He was leaner than the jocks he hung out with too, his slender legs and carved hips perfect for the ridiculously expensive skinny jeans he wore.
“Oh look,” Jess muttered as JJ’s favorite plaything, Kelly, got out of the car. “It’s Abercrombie and Bitch.”
I choked back a laugh as JJ swaggered by, his arm thrown carelessly around Kelly’s shoulders. She was as flawless as always, her cheerleading uniform so white that I couldn’t look directly at it. I had never paid her much attention, but that didn’t stop her from throwing a venomous look our way as she walked past—trying to intimidate the peasants is her favorite past time.
JJ followed her eye line, his smirk widening when he caught a glimpse of Jess. She gave him one of her keep-walking-asshole eye rolls. It makes most boys blush furiously and offer half-muttered apologies or insults, depending on how brave they are. JJ wasn’t bothered by it in the slightest. He even winked at her.
“Ew!” Jess squealed after JJ and Kelly disappeared from view. She even did a whole body shudder.
“Come on,” I said as I steered Jess towards the gray main building. It was apparently immune to the beauty of the morning, completely untouched by the excitement of the hundreds of kids making their way inside.
“Do you feel any different?” she asked as we walked along the hallway to our lockers. “I thought I’d feel more mature, level-headed and ready for the future, now that I’m a senior.”
“You’re dripping sarcasm everywhere,” I replied as I fiddled with the padlock on my locker door. “They really should put up a caution sign, someone’s going to slip.”
Even with her face hidden by her locker door, I could feel her smiling. I sighed as I got my locker door open, the familiar sight of band stickers, flyers and ticket stubs doing nothing to ease the feeling of dread in my stomach. I liked to learn but wasn’t the biggest fan of school, where I was a shadow at best and the token gay kid at worst. I didn’t know what was more annoying, the girls that giggled at me as they walked past, or the boys that yelled faggot at me as I crossed the cafeteria. I was used to it, numb to it most days, but even my fear of what was waiting for me after graduation didn’t stop me from silently wishing each day would pass just a little bit quicker than the one before.
“Sooner we get started, the sooner it’s over,” Jess reminded me, giving my hand a comforting squeeze before she took off to her first class, her biology textbook and new notebook in hand.
I watched her go, hoping she was right.
***
As far as first days go, it wasn’t as hellish as it could have been. Most of the jocks seemed to have forgotten about me, or they’d gotten bored of teasing me. Either way, I wasn’t about to complain. Jessica and I had spent our lunch break down in the music room, talking to Ash on the phone while we traded items from our lunches (she let me swap my pudding cup for her peanut butter and jelly sandwich) and debated whether or not Kelly had gotten a boob job over the summer.
By the time the last bell rang, I was itching to get out of there. After spending a couple of weeks on the road, waking up in a new town every day and meeting people who loved music as much as I do, school was dull and restrictive in comparison. I forced myself to pay attention, knowing my dad would be upset if I didn’t get decent grades, but it was way more effort than I liked to put in to anything that wasn’t learning a new song.
So I was already grinning to myself as I opened my locker, checking my phone to see if Jess had texted me in her last class. I was so distracted that I didn’t notice the sheet of paper in there until it fell out, fluttering down to my feet.
I glanced around, suspicious. No one had left a note in my locker before, not even Jess. My fellow students were milling around, gossiping as always, none of them paying me the slightest bit of attention. I half expected some idiot to start laughing as I reached down for the note, the anticipation of witnessing my reaction to whatever stupid insult was scrawled there too much for them to take.
The Taste of Ink.
I read the words at least three times. I knew the song well—it was one of my favorites—but I didn’t recognize the handwriting. I dug my iPod out of my pocket, shoving the earphones in as I scrolled through the artists. I knew I’d have time to listen to the song because Jess was always late, and it sounded like a pretty good way to end the day.
I smiled to myself as the song kicked in, feeling better. The familiar lyrics wound their way across my shoulders and down into my chest, easing the knot there. I closed my eyes, letting the music work its magic as I leaned back against my locker, the mysterious note still clutched in my hand.
“.weighted.” – frnkiero andthe cellabration
“You seem happy,” Jess noted as she strolled into the store just after midday. She was up early, considering it was the first Saturday of the school year. I had expected her to be at least fifteen minutes late, but there she was, bang on time and carrying two cups of coffee.
“You could tell that from outside?” I asked as I looked up from the notepad I had been writing in.
The store was quiet, would be for another hour or so. We get a lot of kids coming in on the weekend, looking to talk music and pick up a CD or two. My dad’s shop is the only one of its kind for miles around, and people come from the next town over to swing by. It was one of the reasons I actually enjoyed working the weekends, much to my aunt Rose’s disbelief.
“Yup, you’re not as hunched over as usual. Either that, or you’re getting taller,” she replied as she put one of the coffees down in front of me. “Which isn’t allowed, as per our discussion at the start of the week. You already make me look tiny.”
Jess drinks her coffee black (like her soul, and her favorite type of metal) but I need at least three sachets of sugar to stomach it without any milk. I quirked a brow at her as she emptied the pockets of her purple skinny jeans, producing at least twelve sachets of sugar and three little packets of sweetener.
I flashed her my most dashing smile as I grabbed a handful, carefully removing the plastic lid from the coffee cup. I added the sugar to my coffee, stirring it with my pen while she put down her own coffee and shrugged out of the bass case strapped to her back.
“I’m not getting taller,” I assured her, snatching up my coffee as she leapt onto the counter. It’s a miracle she’s not broken every bone in her body, the way she throws herself around, boots and all.
“Good, because we had a discussion about that.”
“At the start of the week,” I added. “I remember.”
“Do you, though? You’ve been pretty spaced out this week.”
I closed my notebook, trapping the five scraps of paper between the curling pages. I’d found notes in my locker every day that week, each of them listing one of my favorite songs. I was amazed by how much they fit in with my life, even though some of the songs were over a decade old. I’d been a kid when some of them were released, sitting in my dad’s lap while he played his new favorite album. They still worked their magic on me, years later—clearing my head and making me feel way calmer than I usually would in a crowded school hallway.
I still had no clue who was putting them in my locker, though. I didn’t recognize the handwriting—it was freakishly neat, almost sparse and slanted to the right. My new friend never signed the notes, or wrote anything other than the name of the song they apparently wanted me to listen to that day. I was aware of how ridiculous it was, had even considered the idea that it was some sort of elaborate, cruel joke, but the kids who would pull that sort of prank probably didn’t have the knowledge to name drop songs that were almost as old as they were.
So I kept the notes to myself. I wasn’t ready to over analyze the situation. The flutter in my stomach
every time I opened my locker to find a new message was something private, something I couldn’t share just yet. Admitting how they made me tingly would mean admitting that every small scrap of paper made me feel a little less lonely, and I didn’t want Jess or my aunt Rose to worry.
“I’ve been thinking,” I told her as I put my notebook away, playlist suggestions and all.
“Uh oh,” she muttered, playfully rolling her eyes. “Is that why I’ve been summoned to our top secret headquarters?”
“Pretty much,” I said, nodding. “Plus, you volunteered to keep me company. Aunt Rose is giving lessons over at the theatre all day.”
“Right! Company. I will bring my A-plus friend game, promise.”
“Ash and Dylan should be here soon, too. Dylan just had to wait to say goodbye to his folks.”
“Going out of town again?” Jess asked before draining the last of her coffee.
“I guess,” I shrugged, taking a sip of my own cup. It tasted like lighter fluid, and I couldn’t help but make a face.
Jess jumped down from the counter to put her own cup in the trash, muttering something that sounded like “amateur” as she did.
We weren’t waiting long. Ash showed up five minutes later, twirling her drum sticks in her deceptively delicate hands. A cigarette dangled from her bright red lips. She cursed when I held out my coffee cup for her to drop it in to, but did it without much complaint (for her).
“Hello, children,” she muttered as she climbed up onto the countertop beside Jess, swinging her long legs round so she could face me.
Ash was the sort of girl that grandmothers liked to despair over—how pretty she’d be, if she only took out those piercings and washed off some of the black eye make-up, etc. I wasn’t exactly qualified to judge, but I was pretty sure she was gorgeous by anyone’s standards.
Fake It (The Keswick Chronicles Book 1) Page 2