Out of Sync

by Vanessa North

  I shook my head, not sure what to say. I didn’t want to tell him I was only sixteen and had snuck out of my parents’ house to see his show, but I didn’t want to lie to him either.

  “Jackson!” Ade’s panicked voice filled my ears and my head whipped up. She was only a few feet away from us, holding her phone in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. Her eyes were wide, and two splotches of color sat high on her cheeks. She looked like she was about to cry. “It’s your dad.”

  My heart sank and I reached for the phone. Ritchie stepped back.

  “Hello?”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re playing at, but if you aren’t home in twenty minutes—”

  I ended the call and handed the phone back to Ade. I met her panicked gaze and tried to smile. “It’s going to be okay, Ade. I promise.”

  The bathroom door opened. I should be next, but I gestured for Ritchie to go ahead, and he did.

  “What are you doing hanging up on him, Jacks?” she whispered. “He’s going to kill you.”

  I swallowed the cold lump of fear in my throat. “He won’t. But I can probably kiss my laptop goodbye.”

  “Come home with me. My parents will let you stay as long as you need. Maybe they can call Child and Family Services and make it permanent.”

  I shook my head. I didn’t need her family to be involved. Or Child and Family Services. “No, he won’t do anything—he hasn’t. Not since that time I hit back. I promise I’ll be okay.”

  The bathroom door opened again, and Ritchie stepped out. He looked me up and down, and then he looked at Ade.

  “How old are you?” he asked me.

  “Sixteen,” I whispered.

  He winced and took a step back, holding up both hands. “I thought you had to be eighteen to get in here.”

  Ade and I exchanged a guilty glance.

  Ritchie handed me something. “Call me in a couple years.”

  Then he walked away.

  I looked down at the brown paper towel in my hand. His phone number was scrawled across it. I closed my eyes and fought back tears.

  Ade was in my arms in a flash, hugging me tightly. She was scared for me, and I was terrified for myself, but I squeezed her hard and pushed her back. “I’m going to be fine.”

  “Go pee, and I’ll drive you home.” She gave me a watery smile.

  In another life, maybe the drive home would have been giddy with talk. The dancing, the movie-like kiss in the hallway. My first kiss. I wanted to tell my best friend how good it had been and how magical it had felt and how utterly fucking hot Ritchie was.

  Instead, I held her hand in silence as we both tried not to cry.

  Chapter Two

  Jacks - Then

  I got my phone back two weeks after Ade and I snuck out to the club to see Ritchie’s band play. As I had promised her—I was fine. Oh, I’d lost my few privileges and been kept inside like a caged animal, but I was unhurt, at least by my father’s hand.

  My own was another story. I had fresh scabs on my arms, a hash of pain I’d let out of myself in boredom and anger and frustration and then allowed to partially heal. When I needed to, I could dig a thumb into a wrist and wake it all back up.

  I plucked my phone off the kitchen counter where he’d left it for me, whistling. It was Saturday morning, I was no longer grounded, and I had breakfast plans with my best friend.

  Ade’s car horn sounded from the driveway, and I ran out to meet her, light as air. The top was down on the Volkswagen, and her brown hair was tied back in a gorgeous blue scarf. With her giant sunglasses and red lipstick, she looked like she belonged in an old movie.

  “Is that the real Adriana Wilson here in my humble driveway?” I called out, and she threw her head back and laughed.

  “Baby, let me take you away from all this,” she called back, gesturing grandly at her passenger seat. When I settled into it, she threw her arms around me and squeezed tightly. “I missed you.”

  I hugged her back, then pulled away and plugged my phone into her charging port. “I’ve been right here.”

  She picked up my arm and studied it, making a hurt noise.

  I pulled my sleeve down. “It’s nothing.”

  “Jackson…”

  I shook my head. “I said, it’s nothing. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

  With some effort, she turned her scowl to a smile and asked where I wanted to go to breakfast. I pondered that—we had time to go wherever we liked. I had my debit card, which was funded from my dad’s accounts, so we had all the money we could possibly need. I could take her to a fancy brunch place. Or we could go to Waffle House like normal kids our age who didn’t have evil fathers.

  “I can’t decide.” I laughed, and it felt good. “Let’s drive until we figure it out.”

  We ended up at a roadside diner halfway to New York.

  It wasn’t particularly cool or even charmingly retro, but the coffee was hot, the service was prompt, and the company was all I wanted in the world. Well, aside from Ritchie, who had become something of an obsession over the last two weeks. I’d caught myself daydreaming in lecture and woolgathering when I should have been studying, walking from class to class with a vacant smile on my face and incessant arousal in my pants. I was ridiculous. I was exultant. I was hornier than I’d ever been, and I loved it.

  “What is that look on your face?” Ade balled up the wrapper from her straw and pelted me with it.

  “I can’t stop thinking about him.”

  “Who—oh.” Ade rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”

  “I know, it’s ridiculous, right? But Ade, my God. It’s like he woke something up in me. I am—” I paused dramatically, and her eyes widened. “I am a lust monster.”

  She laughed and started balling up my straw wrapper. “A little over the top, don’t you think?”

  I nodded, sipping at my water. “Exactly. I am over the top. I’ve never been over the top before.” I pondered whether that could be made into some kind of sexual innuendo, decided it probably could, and devoted part of my brain to figuring it out.

  “Earth to Jackson.” The straw wrapper bounced off my chin. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

  “Die of priapism, probably.”

  She giggled at that, and then grew serious. “Are you going to call him in two years like he said?”

  I met her gaze across the table, and I grinned. “I’ve been thinking about texting him.”

  She grinned back. “What are you going to say?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Otherwise, I would have done it the second I got my phone back. I guess I should start with ‘I’m sorry.’ I should have told him I was jailbait.”

  “He can’t be that much older than you, can he?” She pulled out her phone. “Let’s google.”

  She entered Glitter Guerrillas into the search bar on her phone. “No Wikipedia page, obvs. They have a Facebook page. Let’s see…” Her tongue stuck between her teeth and her brows furrowed. “He’s the owner of the page—should I send him a friend request?”

  “Don’t you dare. See what you can find out from his public profile.”

  “Hold on, let’s see if he’s on Twitter.”

  I could tell from the way her face lit up that he was. She turned the phone to face me.

  “His birthday is November tenth,” I read from the screen. “Does that make him a Scorpio? Are they good matches with Leos?”

  “The year, Jackson. He’s barely eighteen himself.”

  “Still, I don’t blame him for being cautious. Especially with the way you were freaking out about my dad being on the phone.”

  “You know why I was freaking out. And it wasn’t because you were making out with a very slightly older person.”

  I shrugged. Of course, I knew. But I didn’t want my dad to ruin my good day or my good mood. I jabbed my thumb into the tender hash of scabs on my wrist. The dull pain swept through me like a wildfire.

  I handed her phone back and
pulled my own out, turning it over in my hands. I unlocked it and pulled up the number I’d entered as soon as it had been returned to me. The number I’d memorized from a brown paper towel and recited to myself like a lifeline when the loneliness overwhelmed me.

  I started texting.

  I’m sorry.

  Deleted.

  Started again.

  I owe you an apology.

  “What are you doing? Are you texting him now? Let me see.” Ade leaned across the table, trying to get a look.

  I sent the message and locked my phone.

  She sat back down. “You’re so formal. Such a nerd.”

  I smiled. She liked that I was a nerd because she was too. From her, it was practically a compliment.

  When my phone vibrated on the table, she shrieked.

  Heads around the diner popped up at the noise and she covered her mouth and started laughing uncontrollably, but I couldn’t breathe—he’d replied.

  Ritchie: Well, my father’s number is blocked, and I can’t think of anyone else who owes me one, so you’ll have to tell me who you are.

  I could feel the grin on my face spreading. My cheeks hurt from the pressure of it. My whole body felt heated.

  Jacks: The jailbait you kissed the other night. I should have said I was sixteen.

  I didn’t expect him to reply after that, but it was nearly instant.

  Ritchie: What would have been a convenient time? When I had my tongue down your throat? Don’t worry about it.

  I didn’t know what to say to that. His simple brush-off of my apology as unnecessary took the wind out of the conversation. It had seemed like a good reason to contact him, but what now? My phone buzzed again.

  Ritchie: Playing a show in Bay Ridge tonight. I’ll put your name on the list—they won’t card you at the door if you’re on the list. Just don’t try to drink, okay? Teri’s got a crush on the bartender, and if I get her fired, Glitter Guerrillas will need a new bass player because I’ll be dead.

  I showed my phone to Ade, who shrieked again, then picked up her own phone, probably to text her parents to ask permission to go to the show. I knew better than to do the same. Some people say it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission, but I never bother with either. What they don’t know can’t hurt me. After a moment, she nodded at me.

  Jacks: We’ll be there. Jackson Williams and Adriana Wilson.

  “Jacks,” Ade spoke softly. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  I grinned. “It’s a terrible idea. But God, Ade. Dad’s got an early tee time tomorrow. I’ll tell him we’re going shopping in the city and I’m spending the night at your house. He won’t even realize until the charge from the hotel goes through on my debit card. By then, we’ll already be back. What’s he going to do? Take my phone away again? So what?”

  “Take your phone, give you a black eye, cut you off, I don’t know. I don’t want to find out.”

  “He doesn’t hit anymore. I told you, after that one time I hit back—”

  “Yeah, I don’t believe you.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  I couldn’t blame her. I wouldn’t have believed me either. “Come to the show, Ade. Don’t make me stay in an expensive hotel in New York all by myself. Besides, we need to find something to wear.” I gestured at my boring jeans and striped t-shirt. “You look fabulous, of course, but I look twelve in this. You know you want to hit up a vintage store in the city.”

  She didn’t shriek, but she did smile. “You shouldn’t poke the bear, Jacks.”

  “It’s just money. He has too much of it.”

  “You know that’s not what will set him off.”

  She was right—it wasn’t us spending his money or even sneaking off to the city that would set him off. If he confronted me, I would have to be extremely careful how I replied. One slip, and it would lead to an argument. Arguments were disrespectful and disrespect was punished.

  But this was my chance to see Ritchie again. And I wanted him more than I feared my father.

  “I don’t care. I’m young and queer and the world’s my fucking oyster now. Once I step out the doors of that house, he doesn’t own me.”

  “Oh. My. God.” Ade stared at me, eyes wide, as I came out of the bathroom in the obnoxiously large hotel suite dad was paying for.

  The vintage leather pants were soft as butter, and they perfectly fit my skinny frame. The t-shirt I wore over them had been black once, but time and Tide had faded it to a soft gray. A red bleach spot stained the hem, and the whole thing was threadbare. I’m pretty sure that wasn’t what had shocked her though. I ran a hand through what was left of my hair.

  “What have you done?” Her face started to turn pink as she crossed the room to walk around me in a stunned circle. “Oh, Jacks—it’s ohhhh…” Her hands clapped over her mouth as if she wanted to hold the words in.

  “I’ve always wanted a mohawk,” I told her, so pleased with myself I could hardly stand it.

  “Can I touch it?” she reached but pulled her hand back. I leaned toward her, and she rubbed the sides of my head with both hands. “I can’t believe you sometimes. Did you do this with your razor?”

  “I bought a cheap set of clippers at the CVS while you were in the makeup aisle.” I grinned. “Tell the truth. Do you like it?”

  “It’s really hot.” She grinned back at me. “But it needs something.” She ran to the desk and grabbed her purse, rifling through it until she produced an eyeliner pencil. She carefully sharpened it, then brought it to me. “Look up.”

  I did as I was told, and she lined first my lower, then my upper lids with the soft black pencil.

  “Squeeze your eyes closed tight. Now, look.” She turned me toward a mirror, and I looked.

  My eyes were huge and dark, more coffee than caramel in this light, and the black liner made my face look a little hard, and a lot dirty. I loved it.

  “I feel more like myself right now than I ever have in my entire life,” I whispered, and Ade hugged me tightly, then stepped away.

  “You’re so beautiful, inside and out, Jackson. And tonight, the rest of the world gets to see that part of you that I do.”

  “Do you think Ritchie sees?” The words were out before I could stop them. Stupid. I looked down at my feet.

  “I guess we’ll find out.” She gave my outfit another once-over. “My turn to shower.”

  I ordered a ridiculous amount of room service while she was in the shower, and it was delivered just before she stepped out of the bathroom again in a robe. We made a picnic on the bed in the bigger bedroom, talking about everything ridiculous and nothing important. Afterward, I helped zip her into her dress and fussed over her hair. She looked gorgeous, but then she always looked gorgeous. The dress was very mid-eighties Madonna, black lace and bows, but when she paired it with over-the-knee boots and a high ponytail, she could have been in an editorial spread for any fashion magazine today.

  Finally, it was late enough to head to Brooklyn for the show.

  True to Ritchie’s word, the big Korean guy at the door didn’t card us after confirming we were on the list. He handed me a folded-up piece of paper and ushered us through.

  I opened the note and scanned it quickly. It was a very badly hand-drawn map of the club with a star and the words “find me here.” It made me smile.

  I grabbed Ade’s hand. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?” She shouted over the noise.

  “Backstage,” I shouted back.

  We made our way down a black-painted hallway, past a door for an office, to what Ritchie had labeled the “green room,” complete with ironic quotes.

  I wasn’t sure whether to knock on the door or not, but in the moment I paused to decide, the door flung open. The scary tattooed guitar player gave me a once over, raising an eyebrow.

  “Are you lost?” She seemed to find the idea amusing. She looked past me at Ade, and her expression became almost predatory. “I’m Teri.”

  “They’re h
ere for me.” Ritchie appeared at Teri’s shoulder and grinned at us. “Come on in.”

  Teri disappeared down the hallway behind us.

  The green room was barely bigger than my mother’s closet. It had a couch at one end and a vanity table at the other. A screen separated a small corner as a dressing area. We were alone with Ritchie, who sprawled on the couch.

  “You came.” He watched me as I glanced around the room, suddenly nervous and also uncomfortably hard.

  “Did you think we wouldn’t?” I asked. Maybe he wished we wouldn’t.

  He stared harder. “You’re a fascinating person, Jackson Williams. Hi, Adriana.” He didn’t look at her when he said it, still fixated on me. Probably because I was blushing.

  “I’m going to go use the restroom.” Ade fled.

  I sat on the couch next to Ritchie and placed my hand on his thigh. He sucked in a breath but didn’t remove it.

  “I can’t stop thinking about you,” I whispered, like some kind of high-strung romantic comedy hero.

  “You waited two weeks to text that apology to me.” He kept his arms wide, one along the back of the sofa, one on the arm. “Why?”

  I couldn’t lie to him. “Because my dad takes my phone away when he’s mad at me.”

  His hands ran through his hair, then returned to the sofa. “Christ. Sixteen.”

  “You’re barely eighteen,” I reminded him, my hand sliding further up his thigh. Oh, bold moves from the nerdy virgin, but I didn’t care, I was the lust monster he’d made of me.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Your birthday is in your Twitter profile.”

  He laughed, then reached up and touched my hair. “This looks good.”

  My throat went dry. “Thanks.”

  “Jacks, you have got to take your hand off my leg before I do something we’re going to regret.”

  I looked down at my hand, scant inches away from his—well, from all of it—and I felt the grin sneaking across my face, stretching my cheeks. “I don’t believe in regrets.”